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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/344-0.txt b/344-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c2493ea --- /dev/null +++ b/344-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8235 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Merry Men, by Robert Louis Stevenson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Merry Men + and Other Tales and Fables + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Release Date: October, 1995 [eBook #344] +[Most recently updated: May 17, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY MEN *** + + + + +The Merry Men +and +Other Tales and Fables + +by +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + +tenth edition + +LONDON +CHATTO & WINDUS +1904 + +Three of the following Tales have appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_; +one in _Longman’s_; one in Mr. Henry Norman’s Christmas Annual; and one +in the _Court and Society Review_. The Author desires to make proper +acknowledgements to the Publishers concerned. + +Dedication + + +_My dear Lady Taylor_, + +_To your name_, _if I wrote on brass_, _I could add nothing_; _it has +been already written higher than I could dream to reach_, _by a strong +and dear hand_; _and if I now dedicate to you these tales_, _it is not +as the writer who brings you his work_, _but as the friend who would +remind you of his affection_. + +_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON_ + +Skerryvore, Bournemouth. + + +Contents + + THE MERRY MEN + CHAPTER 1. EILEAN AROS + CHAPTER 2. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS + CHAPTER 3. LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY + CHAPTER 4. THE GALE + CHAPTER 5. A MAN OUT OF THE SEA + + WILL O’ THE MILL + CHAPTER 1. THE PLAIN AND THE STARS + CHAPTER 2. THE PARSON’S MARJORY + CHAPTER 3. DEATH + + MARKHEIM + + THRAWN JANET + + OLALLA + + THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD + CHAPTER 1. BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK + CHAPTER 2. MORNING TALK + CHAPTER 3. THE ADOPTION + CHAPTER 4. THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER + CHAPTER 5. TREASURE TROVE + CHAPTER 6. A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS + CHAPTER 7. THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ + CHAPTER 8. THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY + + + + +THE MERRY MEN + + + + +CHAPTER I. +EILEAN AROS. + + +It was a beautiful morning in the late July when I set forth on foot +for the last time for Aros. A boat had put me ashore the night before +at Grisapol; I had such breakfast as the little inn afforded, and, +leaving all my baggage till I had an occasion to come round for it by +sea, struck right across the promontory with a cheerful heart. + +I was far from being a native of these parts, springing, as I did, from +an unmixed lowland stock. But an uncle of mine, Gordon Darnaway, after +a poor, rough youth, and some years at sea, had married a young wife in +the islands; Mary Maclean she was called, the last of her family; and +when she died in giving birth to a daughter, Aros, the sea-girt farm, +had remained in his possession. It brought him in nothing but the means +of life, as I was well aware; but he was a man whom ill-fortune had +pursued; he feared, cumbered as he was with the young child, to make a +fresh adventure upon life; and remained in Aros, biting his nails at +destiny. Years passed over his head in that isolation, and brought +neither help nor contentment. Meantime our family was dying out in the +lowlands; there is little luck for any of that race; and perhaps my +father was the luckiest of all, for not only was he one of the last to +die, but he left a son to his name and a little money to support it. I +was a student of Edinburgh University, living well enough at my own +charges, but without kith or kin; when some news of me found its way to +Uncle Gordon on the Ross of Grisapol; and he, as he was a man who held +blood thicker than water, wrote to me the day he heard of my existence, +and taught me to count Aros as my home. Thus it was that I came to +spend my vacations in that part of the country, so far from all society +and comfort, between the codfish and the moorcocks; and thus it was +that now, when I had done with my classes, I was returning thither with +so light a heart that July day. + +The Ross, as we call it, is a promontory neither wide nor high, but as +rough as God made it to this day; the deep sea on either hand of it, +full of rugged isles and reefs most perilous to seamen—all overlooked +from the eastward by some very high cliffs and the great peals of Ben +Kyaw. _The Mountain of the Mist_, they say the words signify in the +Gaelic tongue; and it is well named. For that hill-top, which is more +than three thousand feet in height, catches all the clouds that come +blowing from the seaward; and, indeed, I used often to think that it +must make them for itself; since when all heaven was clear to the sea +level, there would ever be a streamer on Ben Kyaw. It brought water, +too, and was mossy[5] to the top in consequence. I have seen us sitting +in broad sunshine on the Ross, and the rain falling black like crape +upon the mountain. But the wetness of it made it often appear more +beautiful to my eyes; for when the sun struck upon the hill sides, +there were many wet rocks and watercourses that shone like jewels even +as far as Aros, fifteen miles away. + +The road that I followed was a cattle-track. It twisted so as nearly to +double the length of my journey; it went over rough boulders so that a +man had to leap from one to another, and through soft bottoms where the +moss came nearly to the knee. There was no cultivation anywhere, and +not one house in the ten miles from Grisapol to Aros. Houses of course +there were—three at least; but they lay so far on the one side or the +other that no stranger could have found them from the track. A large +part of the Ross is covered with big granite rocks, some of them larger +than a two-roomed house, one beside another, with fern and deep heather +in between them where the vipers breed. Anyway the wind was, it was +always sea air, as salt as on a ship; the gulls were as free as +moorfowl over all the Ross; and whenever the way rose a little, your +eye would kindle with the brightness of the sea. From the very midst of +the land, on a day of wind and a high spring, I have heard the Roost +roaring, like a battle where it runs by Aros, and the great and fearful +voices of the breakers that we call the Merry Men. + +Aros itself—Aros Jay, I have heard the natives call it, and they say it +means _the House of God_—Aros itself was not properly a piece of the +Ross, nor was it quite an islet. It formed the south-west corner of the +land, fitted close to it, and was in one place only separated from the +coast by a little gut of the sea, not forty feet across the narrowest. +When the tide was full, this was clear and still, like a pool on a land +river; only there was a difference in the weeds and fishes, and the +water itself was green instead of brown; but when the tide went out, in +the bottom of the ebb, there was a day or two in every month when you +could pass dryshod from Aros to the mainland. There was some good +pasture, where my uncle fed the sheep he lived on; perhaps the feed was +better because the ground rose higher on the islet than the main level +of the Ross, but this I am not skilled enough to settle. The house was +a good one for that country, two storeys high. It looked westward over +a bay, with a pier hard by for a boat, and from the door you could +watch the vapours blowing on Ben Kyaw. + +On all this part of the coast, and especially near Aros, these great +granite rocks that I have spoken of go down together in troops into the +sea, like cattle on a summer’s day. There they stand, for all the world +like their neighbours ashore; only the salt water sobbing between them +instead of the quiet earth, and clots of sea-pink blooming on their +sides instead of heather; and the great sea conger to wreathe about the +base of them instead of the poisonous viper of the land. On calm days +you can go wandering between them in a boat for hours, echoes following +you about the labyrinth; but when the sea is up, Heaven help the man +that hears that cauldron boiling. + +Off the south-west end of Aros these blocks are very many, and much +greater in size. Indeed, they must grow monstrously bigger out to sea, +for there must be ten sea miles of open water sown with them as thick +as a country place with houses, some standing thirty feet above the +tides, some covered, but all perilous to ships; so that on a clear, +westerly blowing day, I have counted, from the top of Aros, the great +rollers breaking white and heavy over as many as six-and-forty buried +reefs. But it is nearer in shore that the danger is worst; for the +tide, here running like a mill race, makes a long belt of broken +water—a _Roost_ we call it—at the tail of the land. I have often been +out there in a dead calm at the slack of the tide; and a strange place +it is, with the sea swirling and combing up and boiling like the +cauldrons of a linn, and now and again a little dancing mutter of sound +as though the _Roost_ were talking to itself. But when the tide begins +to run again, and above all in heavy weather, there is no man could +take a boat within half a mile of it, nor a ship afloat that could +either steer or live in such a place. You can hear the roaring of it +six miles away. At the seaward end there comes the strongest of the +bubble; and it’s here that these big breakers dance together—the dance +of death, it may be called—that have got the name, in these parts, of +the Merry Men. I have heard it said that they run fifty feet high; but +that must be the green water only, for the spray runs twice as high as +that. Whether they got the name from their movements, which are swift +and antic, or from the shouting they make about the turn of the tide, +so that all Aros shakes with it, is more than I can tell. + +The truth is, that in a south-westerly wind, that part of our +archipelago is no better than a trap. If a ship got through the reefs, +and weathered the Merry Men, it would be to come ashore on the south +coast of Aros, in Sandag Bay, where so many dismal things befell our +family, as I propose to tell. The thought of all these dangers, in the +place I knew so long, makes me particularly welcome the works now going +forward to set lights upon the headlands and buoys along the channels +of our iron-bound, inhospitable islands. + +The country people had many a story about Aros, as I used to hear from +my uncle’s man, Rorie, an old servant of the Macleans, who had +transferred his services without afterthought on the occasion of the +marriage. There was some tale of an unlucky creature, a sea-kelpie, +that dwelt and did business in some fearful manner of his own among the +boiling breakers of the Roost. A mermaid had once met a piper on Sandag +beach, and there sang to him a long, bright midsummer’s night, so that +in the morning he was found stricken crazy, and from thenceforward, +till the day he died, said only one form of words; what they were in +the original Gaelic I cannot tell, but they were thus translated: “Ah, +the sweet singing out of the sea.” Seals that haunted on that coast +have been known to speak to man in his own tongue, presaging great +disasters. It was here that a certain saint first landed on his voyage +out of Ireland to convert the Hebrideans. And, indeed, I think he had +some claim to be called saint; for, with the boats of that past age, to +make so rough a passage, and land on such a ticklish coast, was surely +not far short of the miraculous. It was to him, or to some of his +monkish underlings who had a cell there, that the islet owes its holy +and beautiful name, the House of God. + +Among these old wives’ stories there was one which I was inclined to +hear with more credulity. As I was told, in that tempest which +scattered the ships of the Invincible Armada over all the north and +west of Scotland, one great vessel came ashore on Aros, and before the +eyes of some solitary people on a hill-top, went down in a moment with +all hands, her colours flying even as she sank. There was some +likelihood in this tale; for another of that fleet lay sunk on the +north side, twenty miles from Grisapol. It was told, I thought, with +more detail and gravity than its companion stories, and there was one +particularity which went far to convince me of its truth: the name, +that is, of the ship was still remembered, and sounded, in my ears, +Spanishly. The _Espirito Santo_ they called it, a great ship of many +decks of guns, laden with treasure and grandees of Spain, and fierce +soldadoes, that now lay fathom deep to all eternity, done with her wars +and voyages, in Sandag bay, upon the west of Aros. No more salvos of +ordnance for that tall ship, the “Holy Spirit,” no more fair winds or +happy ventures; only to rot there deep in the sea-tangle and hear the +shoutings of the Merry Men as the tide ran high about the island. It +was a strange thought to me first and last, and only grew stranger as I +learned the more of Spain, from which she had set sail with so proud a +company, and King Philip, the wealthy king, that sent her on that +voyage. + +And now I must tell you, as I walked from Grisapol that day, the +_Espirito Santo_ was very much in my reflections. I had been favourably +remarked by our then Principal in Edinburgh College, that famous +writer, Dr. Robertson, and by him had been set to work on some papers +of an ancient date to rearrange and sift of what was worthless; and in +one of these, to my great wonder, I found a note of this very ship, the +_Espirito Santo_, with her captain’s name, and how she carried a great +part of the Spaniard’s treasure, and had been lost upon the Ross of +Grisapol; but in what particular spot, the wild tribes of that place +and period would give no information to the king’s inquiries. Putting +one thing with another, and taking our island tradition together with +this note of old King Jamie’s perquisitions after wealth, it had come +strongly on my mind that the spot for which he sought in vain could be +no other than the small bay of Sandag on my uncle’s land; and being a +fellow of a mechanical turn, I had ever since been plotting how to +weigh that good ship up again with all her ingots, ounces, and +doubloons, and bring back our house of Darnaway to its long-forgotten +dignity and wealth. + +This was a design of which I soon had reason to repent. My mind was +sharply turned on different reflections; and since I became the witness +of a strange judgment of God’s, the thought of dead men’s treasures has +been intolerable to my conscience. But even at that time I must acquit +myself of sordid greed; for if I desired riches, it was not for their +own sake, but for the sake of a person who was dear to my heart—my +uncle’s daughter, Mary Ellen. She had been educated well, and had been +a time to school upon the mainland; which, poor girl, she would have +been happier without. For Aros was no place for her, with old Rorie the +servant, and her father, who was one of the unhappiest men in Scotland, +plainly bred up in a country place among Cameronians, long a skipper +sailing out of the Clyde about the islands, and now, with infinite +discontent, managing his sheep and a little “long shore fishing for the +necessary bread. If it was sometimes weariful to me, who was there but +a month or two, you may fancy what it was to her who dwelt in that same +desert all the year round, with the sheep and flying sea-gulls, and the +Merry Men singing and dancing in the Roost! + + + + +CHAPTER II. +WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS. + + +It was half-flood when I got the length of Aros; and there was nothing +for it but to stand on the far shore and whistle for Rorie with the +boat. I had no need to repeat the signal. At the first sound, Mary was +at the door flying a handkerchief by way of answer, and the old +long-legged serving-man was shambling down the gravel to the pier. For +all his hurry, it took him a long while to pull across the bay; and I +observed him several times to pause, go into the stern, and look over +curiously into the wake. As he came nearer, he seemed to me aged and +haggard, and I thought he avoided my eye. The coble had been repaired, +with two new thwarts and several patches of some rare and beautiful +foreign wood, the name of it unknown to me. + +“Why, Rorie,” said I, as we began the return voyage, “this is fine +wood. How came you by that?” + +“It will be hard to cheesel,” Rorie opined reluctantly; and just then, +dropping the oars, he made another of those dives into the stern which +I had remarked as he came across to fetch me, and, leaning his hand on +my shoulder, stared with an awful look into the waters of the bay. + +“What is wrong?” I asked, a good deal startled. + +“It will be a great feesh,” said the old man, returning to his oars; +and nothing more could I get out of him, but strange glances and an +ominous nodding of the head. In spite of myself, I was infected with a +measure of uneasiness; I turned also, and studied the wake. The water +was still and transparent, but, out here in the middle of the bay, +exceeding deep. For some time I could see naught; but at last it did +seem to me as if something dark—a great fish, or perhaps only a +shadow—followed studiously in the track of the moving coble. And then I +remembered one of Rorie’s superstitions: how in a ferry in Morven, in +some great, exterminating feud among the clans; a fish, the like of it +unknown in all our waters, followed for some years the passage of the +ferry-boat, until no man dared to make the crossing. + +“He will be waiting for the right man,” said Rorie. + +Mary met me on the beach, and led me up the brae and into the house of +Aros. Outside and inside there were many changes. The garden was fenced +with the same wood that I had noted in the boat; there were chairs in +the kitchen covered with strange brocade; curtains of brocade hung from +the window; a clock stood silent on the dresser; a lamp of brass was +swinging from the roof; the table was set for dinner with the finest of +linen and silver; and all these new riches were displayed in the plain +old kitchen that I knew so well, with the high-backed settle, and the +stools, and the closet bed for Rorie; with the wide chimney the sun +shone into, and the clear-smouldering peats; with the pipes on the +mantelshelf and the three-cornered spittoons, filled with sea-shells +instead of sand, on the floor; with the bare stone walls and the bare +wooden floor, and the three patchwork rugs that were of yore its sole +adornment—poor man’s patchwork, the like of it unknown in cities, woven +with homespun, and Sunday black, and sea-cloth polished on the bench of +rowing. The room, like the house, had been a sort of wonder in that +country-side, it was so neat and habitable; and to see it now, shamed +by these incongruous additions, filled me with indignation and a kind +of anger. In view of the errand I had come upon to Aros, the feeling +was baseless and unjust; but it burned high, at the first moment, in my +heart. + +“Mary, girl,” said I, “this is the place I had learned to call my home, +and I do not know it.” + +“It is my home by nature, not by the learning,” she replied; “the place +I was born and the place I’m like to die in; and I neither like these +changes, nor the way they came, nor that which came with them. I would +have liked better, under God’s pleasure, they had gone down into the +sea, and the Merry Men were dancing on them now.” + +Mary was always serious; it was perhaps the only trait that she shared +with her father; but the tone with which she uttered these words was +even graver than of custom. + +“Ay,” said I, “I feared it came by wreck, and that’s by death; yet when +my father died, I took his goods without remorse.” + +“Your father died a clean strae death, as the folk say,” said Mary. + +“True,” I returned; “and a wreck is like a judgment. What was she +called?” + +“They ca’d her the _Christ-Anna_,” said a voice behind me; and, turning +round, I saw my uncle standing in the doorway. + +He was a sour, small, bilious man, with a long face and very dark eyes; +fifty-six years old, sound and active in body, and with an air somewhat +between that of a shepherd and that of a man following the sea. He +never laughed, that I heard; read long at the Bible; prayed much, like +the Cameronians he had been brought up among; and indeed, in many ways, +used to remind me of one of the hill-preachers in the killing times +before the Revolution. But he never got much comfort, nor even, as I +used to think, much guidance, by his piety. He had his black fits when +he was afraid of hell; but he had led a rough life, to which he would +look back with envy, and was still a rough, cold, gloomy man. + +As he came in at the door out of the sunlight, with his bonnet on his +head and a pipe hanging in his button-hole, he seemed, like Rorie, to +have grown older and paler, the lines were deeplier ploughed upon his +face, and the whites of his eyes were yellow, like old stained ivory, +or the bones of the dead. + +“Ay” he repeated, dwelling upon the first part of the word, “the +_Christ-Anna_. It’s an awfu’ name.” + +I made him my salutations, and complimented him upon his look of +health; for I feared he had perhaps been ill. + +“I’m in the body,” he replied, ungraciously enough; “aye in the body +and the sins of the body, like yoursel’. Denner,” he said abruptly to +Mary, and then ran on to me: “They’re grand braws, thir that we hae +gotten, are they no? Yon’s a bonny knock[15], but it’ll no gang; and +the napery’s by ordnar. Bonny, bairnly braws; it’s for the like o’ them +folk sells the peace of God that passeth understanding; it’s for the +like o’ them, an’ maybe no even sae muckle worth, folk daunton God to +His face and burn in muckle hell; and it’s for that reason the +Scripture ca’s them, as I read the passage, the accursed thing. Mary, +ye girzie,” he interrupted himself to cry with some asperity, “what for +hae ye no put out the twa candlesticks?” + +“Why should we need them at high noon?” she asked. + +But my uncle was not to be turned from his idea. “We’ll bruik[16] them +while we may,” he said; and so two massive candlesticks of wrought +silver were added to the table equipage, already so unsuited to that +rough sea-side farm. + +“She cam’ ashore Februar’ 10, about ten at nicht,” he went on to me. +“There was nae wind, and a sair run o’ sea; and she was in the sook o’ +the Roost, as I jaloose. We had seen her a’ day, Rorie and me, beating +to the wind. She wasnae a handy craft, I’m thinking, that +_Christ-Anna_; for she would neither steer nor stey wi’ them. A sair +day they had of it; their hands was never aff the sheets, and it +perishin’ cauld—ower cauld to snaw; and aye they would get a bit nip o’ +wind, and awa’ again, to pit the emp’y hope into them. Eh, man! but +they had a sair day for the last o’t! He would have had a prood, prood +heart that won ashore upon the back o’ that.” + +“And were all lost?” I cried. “God held them!” + +“Wheesht!” he said sternly. “Nane shall pray for the deid on my +hearth-stane.” + +I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation; and he seemed to accept +my disclaimer with unusual facility, and ran on once more upon what had +evidently become a favourite subject. + +“We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an’ me, and a’ thae braws in the +inside of her. There’s a kittle bit, ye see, about Sandag; whiles the +sook rins strong for the Merry Men; an’ whiles again, when the tide’s +makin’ hard an’ ye can hear the Roost blawin’ at the far-end of Aros, +there comes a back-spang of current straucht into Sandag Bay. Weel, +there’s the thing that got the grip on the _Christ-Anna_. She but to +have come in ram-stam an’ stern forrit; for the bows of her are aften +under, and the back-side of her is clear at hie-water o’ neaps. But, +man! the dunt that she cam doon wi’ when she struck! Lord save us a’! +but it’s an unco life to be a sailor—a cauld, wanchancy life. Mony’s +the gliff I got mysel’ in the great deep; and why the Lord should hae +made yon unco water is mair than ever I could win to understand. He +made the vales and the pastures, the bonny green yaird, the halesome, +canty land— + +And now they shout and sing to Thee, +For Thou hast made them glad, + + +as the Psalms say in the metrical version. No that I would preen my +faith to that clink neither; but it’s bonny, and easier to mind. ‘Who +go to sea in ships,’ they hae’t again— + +And in +Great waters trading be, +Within the deep these men God’s works +And His great wonders see. + + +Weel, it’s easy sayin’ sae. Maybe Dauvit wasnae very weel acquant wi’ +the sea. But, troth, if it wasnae prentit in the Bible, I wad whiles be +temp’it to think it wasnae the Lord, but the muckle, black deil that +made the sea. There’s naething good comes oot o’t but the fish; an’ the +spentacle o’ God riding on the tempest, to be shure, whilk would be +what Dauvit was likely ettling at. But, man, they were sair wonders +that God showed to the _Christ-Anna_—wonders, do I ca’ them? Judgments, +rather: judgments in the mirk nicht among the draygons o’ the deep. And +their souls—to think o’ that—their souls, man, maybe no prepared! The +sea—a muckle yett to hell!” + +I observed, as my uncle spoke, that his voice was unnaturally moved and +his manner unwontedly demonstrative. He leaned forward at these last +words, for example, and touched me on the knee with his spread fingers, +looking up into my face with a certain pallor, and I could see that his +eyes shone with a deep-seated fire, and that the lines about his mouth +were drawn and tremulous. + +Even the entrance of Rorie, and the beginning of our meal, did not +detach him from his train of thought beyond a moment. He condescended, +indeed, to ask me some questions as to my success at college, but I +thought it was with half his mind; and even in his extempore grace, +which was, as usual, long and wandering, I could find the trace of his +preoccupation, praying, as he did, that God would “remember in mercy +fower puir, feckless, fiddling, sinful creatures here by their lee-lane +beside the great and dowie waters.” + +Soon there came an interchange of speeches between him and Rorie. + +“Was it there?” asked my uncle. + +“Ou, ay!” said Rorie. + +I observed that they both spoke in a manner of aside, and with some +show of embarrassment, and that Mary herself appeared to colour, and +looked down on her plate. Partly to show my knowledge, and so relieve +the party from an awkward strain, partly because I was curious, I +pursued the subject. + +“You mean the fish?” I asked. + +“Whatten fish?” cried my uncle. “Fish, quo’ he! Fish! Your een are fu’ +o’ fatness, man; your heid dozened wi’ carnal leir. Fish! it’s a +bogle!” + +He spoke with great vehemence, as though angry; and perhaps I was not +very willing to be put down so shortly, for young men are disputatious. +At least I remember I retorted hotly, crying out upon childish +superstitions. + +“And ye come frae the College!” sneered Uncle Gordon. “Gude kens what +they learn folk there; it’s no muckle service onyway. Do ye think, man, +that there’s naething in a’ yon saut wilderness o’ a world oot wast +there, wi’ the sea grasses growin’, an’ the sea beasts fechtin’, an’ +the sun glintin’ down into it, day by day? Na; the sea’s like the land, +but fearsomer. If there’s folk ashore, there’s folk in the sea—deid +they may be, but they’re folk whatever; and as for deils, there’s nane +that’s like the sea deils. There’s no sae muckle harm in the land +deils, when a’s said and done. Lang syne, when I was a callant in the +south country, I mind there was an auld, bald bogle in the Peewie Moss. +I got a glisk o’ him mysel’, sittin’ on his hunkers in a hag, as gray’s +a tombstane. An’, troth, he was a fearsome-like taed. But he steered +naebody. Nae doobt, if ane that was a reprobate, ane the Lord hated, +had gane by there wi’ his sin still upon his stamach, nae doobt the +creature would hae lowped upo’ the likes o’ him. But there’s deils in +the deep sea would yoke on a communicant! Eh, sirs, if ye had gane doon +wi’ the puir lads in the _Christ-Anna_, ye would ken by now the mercy +o’ the seas. If ye had sailed it for as lang as me, ye would hate the +thocht of it as I do. If ye had but used the een God gave ye, ye would +hae learned the wickedness o’ that fause, saut, cauld, bullering +creature, and of a’ that’s in it by the Lord’s permission: labsters an’ +partans, an’ sic like, howking in the deid; muckle, gutsy, blawing +whales; an’ fish—the hale clan o’ them—cauld-wamed, blind-eed uncanny +ferlies. O, sirs,” he cried, “the horror—the horror o’ the sea!” + +We were all somewhat staggered by this outburst; and the speaker +himself, after that last hoarse apostrophe, appeared to sink gloomily +into his own thoughts. But Rorie, who was greedy of superstitious lore, +recalled him to the subject by a question. + +“You will not ever have seen a teevil of the sea?” he asked. + +“No clearly,” replied the other. “I misdoobt if a mere man could see +ane clearly and conteenue in the body. I hae sailed wi’ a lad—they ca’d +him Sandy Gabart; he saw ane, shure eneueh, an’ shure eneueh it was the +end of him. We were seeven days oot frae the Clyde—a sair wark we had +had—gaun north wi’ seeds an’ braws an’ things for the Macleod. We had +got in ower near under the Cutchull’ns, an’ had just gane about by soa, +an’ were off on a lang tack, we thocht would maybe hauld as far’s +Copnahow. I mind the nicht weel; a mune smoored wi’ mist; a fine gaun +breeze upon the water, but no steedy; an’—what nane o’ us likit to +hear—anither wund gurlin’ owerheid, amang thae fearsome, auld stane +craigs o’ the Cutchull’ns. Weel, Sandy was forrit wi’ the jib sheet; we +couldnae see him for the mains’l, that had just begude to draw, when a’ +at ance he gied a skirl. I luffed for my life, for I thocht we were +ower near Soa; but na, it wasnae that, it was puir Sandy Gabart’s deid +skreigh, or near hand, for he was deid in half an hour. A’t he could +tell was that a sea deil, or sea bogle, or sea spenster, or sic-like, +had clum up by the bowsprit, an’ gi’en him ae cauld, uncanny look. An’, +or the life was oot o’ Sandy’s body, we kent weel what the thing +betokened, and why the wund gurled in the taps o’ the Cutchull’ns; for +doon it cam’—a wund do I ca’ it! it was the wund o’ the Lord’s +anger—an’ a’ that nicht we foucht like men dementit, and the niest that +we kenned we were ashore in Loch Uskevagh, an’ the cocks were crawin’ +in Benbecula.” + +“It will have been a merman,” Rorie said. + +“A merman!” screamed my uncle with immeasurable scorn. “Auld wives’ +clavers! There’s nae sic things as mermen.” + +“But what was the creature like?” I asked. + +“What like was it? Gude forbid that we suld ken what like it was! It +had a kind of a heid upon it—man could say nae mair.” + +Then Rorie, smarting under the affront, told several tales of mermen, +mermaids, and sea-horses that had come ashore upon the islands and +attacked the crews of boats upon the sea; and my uncle, in spite of his +incredulity, listened with uneasy interest. + +“Aweel, aweel,” he said, “it may be sae; I may be wrang; but I find nae +word o’ mermen in the Scriptures.” + +“And you will find nae word of Aros Roost, maybe,” objected Rorie, and +his argument appeared to carry weight. + +When dinner was over, my uncle carried me forth with him to a bank +behind the house. It was a very hot and quiet afternoon; scarce a +ripple anywhere upon the sea, nor any voice but the familiar voice of +sheep and gulls; and perhaps in consequence of this repose in nature, +my kinsman showed himself more rational and tranquil than before. He +spoke evenly and almost cheerfully of my career, with every now and +then a reference to the lost ship or the treasures it had brought to +Aros. For my part, I listened to him in a sort of trance, gazing with +all my heart on that remembered scene, and drinking gladly the sea-air +and the smoke of peats that had been lit by Mary. + +Perhaps an hour had passed when my uncle, who had all the while been +covertly gazing on the surface of the little bay, rose to his feet and +bade me follow his example. Now I should say that the great run of tide +at the south-west end of Aros exercises a perturbing influence round +all the coast. In Sandag Bay, to the south, a strong current runs at +certain periods of the flood and ebb respectively; but in this northern +bay—Aros Bay, as it is called—where the house stands and on which my +uncle was now gazing, the only sign of disturbance is towards the end +of the ebb, and even then it is too slight to be remarkable. When there +is any swell, nothing can be seen at all; but when it is calm, as it +often is, there appear certain strange, undecipherable marks—sea-runes, +as we may name them—on the glassy surface of the bay. The like is +common in a thousand places on the coast; and many a boy must have +amused himself as I did, seeking to read in them some reference to +himself or those he loved. It was to these marks that my uncle now +directed my attention, struggling, as he did so, with an evident +reluctance. + +“Do ye see yon scart upo’ the water?” he inquired; “yon ane wast the +gray stane? Ay? Weel, it’ll no be like a letter, wull it?” + +“Certainly it is,” I replied. “I have often remarked it. It is like a +C.” + +He heaved a sigh as if heavily disappointed with my answer, and then +added below his breath: “Ay, for the _Christ-Anna_.” + +“I used to suppose, sir, it was for myself,” said I; “for my name is +Charles.” + +“And so ye saw’t afore?”, he ran on, not heeding my remark. “Weel, +weel, but that’s unco strange. Maybe, it’s been there waitin’, as a man +wad say, through a’ the weary ages. Man, but that’s awfu’.” And then, +breaking off: “Ye’ll no see anither, will ye?” he asked. + +“Yes,” said I. “I see another very plainly, near the Ross side, where +the road comes down—an M.” + +“An M,” he repeated very low; and then, again after another pause: “An’ +what wad ye make o’ that?” he inquired. + +“I had always thought it to mean Mary, sir,” I answered, growing +somewhat red, convinced as I was in my own mind that I was on the +threshold of a decisive explanation. + +But we were each following his own train of thought to the exclusion of +the other’s. My uncle once more paid no attention to my words; only +hung his head and held his peace; and I might have been led to fancy +that he had not heard me, if his next speech had not contained a kind +of echo from my own. + +“I would say naething o’ thae clavers to Mary,” he observed, and began +to walk forward. + +There is a belt of turf along the side of Aros Bay, where walking is +easy; and it was along this that I silently followed my silent kinsman. +I was perhaps a little disappointed at having lost so good an +opportunity to declare my love; but I was at the same time far more +deeply exercised at the change that had befallen my uncle. He was never +an ordinary, never, in the strict sense, an amiable, man; but there was +nothing in even the worst that I had known of him before, to prepare me +for so strange a transformation. It was impossible to close the eyes +against one fact; that he had, as the saying goes, something on his +mind; and as I mentally ran over the different words which might be +represented by the letter M—misery, mercy, marriage, money, and the +like—I was arrested with a sort of start by the word murder. I was +still considering the ugly sound and fatal meaning of the word, when +the direction of our walk brought us to a point from which a view was +to be had to either side, back towards Aros Bay and homestead, and +forward on the ocean, dotted to the north with isles, and lying to the +southward blue and open to the sky. There my guide came to a halt, and +stood staring for awhile on that expanse. Then he turned to me and laid +a hand on my arm. + +“Ye think there’s naething there?” he said, pointing with his pipe; and +then cried out aloud, with a kind of exultation: “I’ll tell ye, man! +The deid are down there—thick like rattons!” + +He turned at once, and, without another word, we retraced our steps to +the house of Aros. + +I was eager to be alone with Mary; yet it was not till after supper, +and then but for a short while, that I could have a word with her. I +lost no time beating about the bush, but spoke out plainly what was on +my mind. + +“Mary,” I said, “I have not come to Aros without a hope. If that should +prove well founded, we may all leave and go somewhere else, secure of +daily bread and comfort; secure, perhaps, of something far beyond that, +which it would seem extravagant in me to promise. But there’s a hope +that lies nearer to my heart than money.” And at that I paused. “You +can guess fine what that is, Mary,” I said. She looked away from me in +silence, and that was small encouragement, but I was not to be put off. +“All my days I have thought the world of you,” I continued; “the time +goes on and I think always the more of you; I could not think to be +happy or hearty in my life without you: you are the apple of my eye.” +Still she looked away, and said never a word; but I thought I saw that +her hands shook. “Mary,” I cried in fear, “do ye no like me?” + +“O, Charlie man,” she said, “is this a time to speak of it? Let me be, +a while; let me be the way I am; it’ll not be you that loses by the +waiting!” + +I made out by her voice that she was nearly weeping, and this put me +out of any thought but to compose her. “Mary Ellen,” I said, “say no +more; I did not come to trouble you: your way shall be mine, and your +time too; and you have told me all I wanted. Only just this one thing +more: what ails you?” + +She owned it was her father, but would enter into no particulars, only +shook her head, and said he was not well and not like himself, and it +was a great pity. She knew nothing of the wreck. “I havenae been near +it,” said she. “What for would I go near it, Charlie lad? The poor +souls are gone to their account long syne; and I would just have wished +they had ta’en their gear with them—poor souls!” + +This was scarcely any great encouragement for me to tell her of the +_Espirito Santo_; yet I did so, and at the very first word she cried +out in surprise. “There was a man at Grisapol,” she said, “in the month +of May—a little, yellow, black-avised body, they tell me, with gold +rings upon his fingers, and a beard; and he was speiring high and low +for that same ship.” + +It was towards the end of April that I had been given these papers to +sort out by Dr. Robertson: and it came suddenly back upon my mind that +they were thus prepared for a Spanish historian, or a man calling +himself such, who had come with high recommendations to the Principal, +on a mission of inquiry as to the dispersion of the great Armada. +Putting one thing with another, I fancied that the visitor “with the +gold rings upon his fingers” might be the same with Dr. Robertson’s +historian from Madrid. If that were so, he would be more likely after +treasure for himself than information for a learned society. I made up +my mind, I should lose no time over my undertaking; and if the ship lay +sunk in Sandag Bay, as perhaps both he and I supposed, it should not be +for the advantage of this ringed adventurer, but for Mary and myself, +and for the good, old, honest, kindly family of the Darnaways. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY. + + +I was early afoot next morning; and as soon as I had a bite to eat, set +forth upon a tour of exploration. Something in my heart distinctly told +me that I should find the ship of the Armada; and although I did not +give way entirely to such hopeful thoughts, I was still very light in +spirits and walked upon air. Aros is a very rough islet, its surface +strewn with great rocks and shaggy with fernland heather; and my way +lay almost north and south across the highest knoll; and though the +whole distance was inside of two miles it took more time and exertion +than four upon a level road. Upon the summit, I paused. Although not +very high—not three hundred feet, as I think—it yet outtops all the +neighbouring lowlands of the Ross, and commands a great view of sea and +islands. The sun, which had been up some time, was already hot upon my +neck; the air was listless and thundery, although purely clear; away +over the north-west, where the isles lie thickliest congregated, some +half-a-dozen small and ragged clouds hung together in a covey; and the +head of Ben Kyaw wore, not merely a few streamers, but a solid hood of +vapour. There was a threat in the weather. The sea, it is true, was +smooth like glass: even the Roost was but a seam on that wide mirror, +and the Merry Men no more than caps of foam; but to my eye and ear, so +long familiar with these places, the sea also seemed to lie uneasily; a +sound of it, like a long sigh, mounted to me where I stood; and, quiet +as it was, the Roost itself appeared to be revolving mischief. For I +ought to say that all we dwellers in these parts attributed, if not +prescience, at least a quality of warning, to that strange and +dangerous creature of the tides. + +I hurried on, then, with the greater speed, and had soon descended the +slope of Aros to the part that we call Sandag Bay. It is a pretty large +piece of water compared with the size of the isle; well sheltered from +all but the prevailing wind; sandy and shoal and bounded by low +sand-hills to the west, but to the eastward lying several fathoms deep +along a ledge of rocks. It is upon that side that, at a certain time +each flood, the current mentioned by my uncle sets so strong into the +bay; a little later, when the Roost begins to work higher, an undertow +runs still more strongly in the reverse direction; and it is the action +of this last, as I suppose, that has scoured that part so deep. Nothing +is to be seen out of Sandag Bay, but one small segment of the horizon +and, in heavy weather, the breakers flying high over a deep sea reef. + +From half-way down the hill, I had perceived the wreck of February +last, a brig of considerable tonnage, lying, with her back broken, high +and dry on the east corner of the sands; and I was making directly +towards it, and already almost on the margin of the turf, when my eyes +were suddenly arrested by a spot, cleared of fern and heather, and +marked by one of those long, low, and almost human-looking mounds that +we see so commonly in graveyards. I stopped like a man shot. Nothing +had been said to me of any dead man or interment on the island; Rorie, +Mary, and my uncle had all equally held their peace; of her at least, I +was certain that she must be ignorant; and yet here, before my eyes, +was proof indubitable of the fact. Here was a grave; and I had to ask +myself, with a chill, what manner of man lay there in his last sleep, +awaiting the signal of the Lord in that solitary, sea-beat +resting-place? My mind supplied no answer but what I feared to +entertain. Shipwrecked, at least, he must have been; perhaps, like the +old Armada mariners, from some far and rich land over-sea; or perhaps +one of my own race, perishing within eyesight of the smoke of home. I +stood awhile uncovered by his side, and I could have desired that it +had lain in our religion to put up some prayer for that unhappy +stranger, or, in the old classic way, outwardly to honour his +misfortune. I knew, although his bones lay there, a part of Aros, till +the trumpet sounded, his imperishable soul was forth and far away, +among the raptures of the everlasting Sabbath or the pangs of hell; and +yet my mind misgave me even with a fear, that perhaps he was near me +where I stood, guarding his sepulchre, and lingering on the scene of +his unhappy fate. + +Certainly it was with a spirit somewhat over-shadowed that I turned +away from the grave to the hardly less melancholy spectacle of the +wreck. Her stem was above the first arc of the flood; she was broken in +two a little abaft the foremast—though indeed she had none, both masts +having broken short in her disaster; and as the pitch of the beach was +very sharp and sudden, and the bows lay many feet below the stern, the +fracture gaped widely open, and you could see right through her poor +hull upon the farther side. Her name was much defaced, and I could not +make out clearly whether she was called _Christiania_, after the +Norwegian city, or _Christiana_, after the good woman, Christian’s +wife, in that old book the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” By her build she was a +foreign ship, but I was not certain of her nationality. She had been +painted green, but the colour was faded and weathered, and the paint +peeling off in strips. The wreck of the mainmast lay alongside, half +buried in sand. She was a forlorn sight, indeed, and I could not look +without emotion at the bits of rope that still hung about her, so often +handled of yore by shouting seamen; or the little scuttle where they +had passed up and down to their affairs; or that poor noseless angel of +a figure-head that had dipped into so many running billows. + +I do not know whether it came most from the ship or from the grave, but +I fell into some melancholy scruples, as I stood there, leaning with +one hand against the battered timbers. The homelessness of men and even +of inanimate vessels, cast away upon strange shores, came strongly in +upon my mind. To make a profit of such pitiful misadventures seemed an +unmanly and a sordid act; and I began to think of my then quest as of +something sacrilegious in its nature. But when I remembered Mary, I +took heart again. My uncle would never consent to an imprudent +marriage, nor would she, as I was persuaded, wed without his full +approval. It behoved me, then, to be up and doing for my wife; and I +thought with a laugh how long it was since that great sea-castle, the +_Espirito Santo_, had left her bones in Sandag Bay, and how weak it +would be to consider rights so long extinguished and misfortunes so +long forgotten in the process of time. + +I had my theory of where to seek for her remains. The set of the +current and the soundings both pointed to the east side of the bay +under the ledge of rocks. If she had been lost in Sandag Bay, and if, +after these centuries, any portion of her held together, it was there +that I should find it. The water deepens, as I have said, with great +rapidity, and even close along-side the rocks several fathoms may be +found. As I walked upon the edge I could see far and wide over the +sandy bottom of the bay; the sun shone clear and green and steady in +the deeps; the bay seemed rather like a great transparent crystal, as +one sees them in a lapidary’s shop; there was naught to show that it +was water but an internal trembling, a hovering within of sun-glints +and netted shadows, and now and then a faint lap and a dying bubble +round the edge. The shadows of the rocks lay out for some distance at +their feet, so that my own shadow, moving, pausing, and stooping on the +top of that, reached sometimes half across the bay. It was above all in +this belt of shadows that I hunted for the _Espirito Santo_; since it +was there the undertow ran strongest, whether in or out. Cool as the +whole water seemed this broiling day, it looked, in that part, yet +cooler, and had a mysterious invitation for the eyes. Peer as I +pleased, however, I could see nothing but a few fishes or a bush of +sea-tangle, and here and there a lump of rock that had fallen from +above and now lay separate on the sandy floor. Twice did I pass from +one end to the other of the rocks, and in the whole distance I could +see nothing of the wreck, nor any place but one where it was possible +for it to be. This was a large terrace in five fathoms of water, raised +off the surface of the sand to a considerable height, and looking from +above like a mere outgrowth of the rocks on which I walked. It was one +mass of great sea-tangles like a grove, which prevented me judging of +its nature, but in shape and size it bore some likeness to a vessel’s +hull. At least it was my best chance. If the _Espirito Santo_ lay not +there under the tangles, it lay nowhere at all in Sandag Bay; and I +prepared to put the question to the proof, once and for all, and either +go back to Aros a rich man or cured for ever of my dreams of wealth. + +I stripped to the skin, and stood on the extreme margin with my hands +clasped, irresolute. The bay at that time was utterly quiet; there was +no sound but from a school of porpoises somewhere out of sight behind +the point; yet a certain fear withheld me on the threshold of my +venture. Sad sea-feelings, scraps of my uncle’s superstitions, thoughts +of the dead, of the grave, of the old broken ships, drifted through my +mind. But the strong sun upon my shoulders warmed me to the heart, and +I stooped forward and plunged into the sea. + +It was all that I could do to catch a trail of the sea-tangle that grew +so thickly on the terrace; but once so far anchored I secured myself by +grasping a whole armful of these thick and slimy stalks, and, planting +my feet against the edge, I looked around me. On all sides the clear +sand stretched forth unbroken; it came to the foot of the rocks, +scoured into the likeness of an alley in a garden by the action of the +tides; and before me, for as far as I could see, nothing was visible +but the same many-folded sand upon the sun-bright bottom of the bay. +Yet the terrace to which I was then holding was as thick with strong +sea-growths as a tuft of heather, and the cliff from which it bulged +hung draped below the water-line with brown lianas. In this complexity +of forms, all swaying together in the current, things were hard to be +distinguished; and I was still uncertain whether my feet were pressed +upon the natural rock or upon the timbers of the Armada treasure-ship, +when the whole tuft of tangle came away in my hand, and in an instant I +was on the surface, and the shores of the bay and the bright water swam +before my eyes in a glory of crimson. + +I clambered back upon the rocks, and threw the plant of tangle at my +feet. Something at the same moment rang sharply, like a falling coin. I +stooped, and there, sure enough, crusted with the red rust, there lay +an iron shoe-buckle. The sight of this poor human relic thrilled me to +the heart, but not with hope nor fear, only with a desolate melancholy. +I held it in my hand, and the thought of its owner appeared before me +like the presence of an actual man. His weather-beaten face, his +sailor’s hands, his sea-voice hoarse with singing at the capstan, the +very foot that had once worn that buckle and trod so much along the +swerving decks—the whole human fact of him, as a creature like myself, +with hair and blood and seeing eyes, haunted me in that sunny, solitary +place, not like a spectre, but like some friend whom I had basely +injured. Was the great treasure ship indeed below there, with her guns +and chain and treasure, as she had sailed from Spain; her decks a +garden for the seaweed, her cabin a breeding place for fish, soundless +but for the dredging water, motionless but for the waving of the tangle +upon her battlements—that old, populous, sea-riding castle, now a reef +in Sandag Bay? Or, as I thought it likelier, was this a waif from the +disaster of the foreign brig—was this shoe-buckle bought but the other +day and worn by a man of my own period in the world’s history, hearing +the same news from day to day, thinking the same thoughts, praying, +perhaps, in the same temple with myself? However it was, I was assailed +with dreary thoughts; my uncle’s words, “the dead are down there,” +echoed in my ears; and though I determined to dive once more, it was +with a strong repugnance that I stepped forward to the margin of the +rocks. + +A great change passed at that moment over the appearance of the bay. It +was no more that clear, visible interior, like a house roofed with +glass, where the green, submarine sunshine slept so stilly. A breeze, I +suppose, had flawed the surface, and a sort of trouble and blackness +filled its bosom, where flashes of light and clouds of shadow tossed +confusedly together. Even the terrace below obscurely rocked and +quivered. It seemed a graver thing to venture on this place of +ambushes; and when I leaped into the sea the second time it was with a +quaking in my soul. + +I secured myself as at first, and groped among the waving tangle. All +that met my touch was cold and soft and gluey. The thicket was alive +with crabs and lobsters, trundling to and fro lopsidedly, and I had to +harden my heart against the horror of their carrion neighbourhood. On +all sides I could feel the grain and the clefts of hard, living stone; +no planks, no iron, not a sign of any wreck; the _Espirito Santo_ was +not there. I remember I had almost a sense of relief in my +disappointment, and I was about ready to leave go, when something +happened that sent me to the surface with my heart in my mouth. I had +already stayed somewhat late over my explorations; the current was +freshening with the change of the tide, and Sandag Bay was no longer a +safe place for a single swimmer. Well, just at the last moment there +came a sudden flush of current, dredging through the tangles like a +wave. I lost one hold, was flung sprawling on my side, and, +instinctively grasping for a fresh support, my fingers closed on +something hard and cold. I think I knew at that moment what it was. At +least I instantly left hold of the tangle, leaped for the surface, and +clambered out next moment on the friendly rocks with the bone of a +man’s leg in my grasp. + +Mankind is a material creature, slow to think and dull to perceive +connections. The grave, the wreck of the brig, and the rusty +shoe-buckle were surely plain advertisements. A child might have read +their dismal story, and yet it was not until I touched that actual +piece of mankind that the full horror of the charnel ocean burst upon +my spirit. I laid the bone beside the buckle, picked up my clothes, and +ran as I was along the rocks towards the human shore. I could not be +far enough from the spot; no fortune was vast enough to tempt me back +again. The bones of the drowned dead should henceforth roll undisturbed +by me, whether on tangle or minted gold. But as soon as I trod the good +earth again, and had covered my nakedness against the sun, I knelt down +over against the ruins of the brig, and out of the fulness of my heart +prayed long and passionately for all poor souls upon the sea. A +generous prayer is never presented in vain; the petition may be +refused, but the petitioner is always, I believe, rewarded by some +gracious visitation. The horror, at least, was lifted from my mind; I +could look with calm of spirit on that great bright creature, God’s +ocean; and as I set off homeward up the rough sides of Aros, nothing +remained of my concern beyond a deep determination to meddle no more +with the spoils of wrecked vessels or the treasures of the dead. + +I was already some way up the hill before I paused to breathe and look +behind me. The sight that met my eyes was doubly strange. + +For, first, the storm that I had foreseen was now advancing with almost +tropical rapidity. The whole surface of the sea had been dulled from +its conspicuous brightness to an ugly hue of corrugated lead; already +in the distance the white waves, the “skipper’s daughters,” had begun +to flee before a breeze that was still insensible on Aros; and already +along the curve of Sandag Bay there was a splashing run of sea that I +could hear from where I stood. The change upon the sky was even more +remarkable. There had begun to arise out of the south-west a huge and +solid continent of scowling cloud; here and there, through rents in its +contexture, the sun still poured a sheaf of spreading rays; and here +and there, from all its edges, vast inky streamers lay forth along the +yet unclouded sky. The menace was express and imminent. Even as I +gazed, the sun was blotted out. At any moment the tempest might fall +upon Aros in its might. + +The suddenness of this change of weather so fixed my eyes on heaven +that it was some seconds before they alighted on the bay, mapped out +below my feet, and robbed a moment later of the sun. The knoll which I +had just surmounted overflanked a little amphitheatre of lower hillocks +sloping towards the sea, and beyond that the yellow arc of beach and +the whole extent of Sandag Bay. It was a scene on which I had often +looked down, but where I had never before beheld a human figure. I had +but just turned my back upon it and left it empty, and my wonder may be +fancied when I saw a boat and several men in that deserted spot. The +boat was lying by the rocks. A pair of fellows, bareheaded, with their +sleeves rolled up, and one with a boathook, kept her with difficulty to +her moorings for the current was growing brisker every moment. A little +way off upon the ledge two men in black clothes, whom I judged to be +superior in rank, laid their heads together over some task which at +first I did not understand, but a second after I had made it out—they +were taking bearings with the compass; and just then I saw one of them +unroll a sheet of paper and lay his finger down, as though identifying +features in a map. Meanwhile a third was walking to and fro, polling +among the rocks and peering over the edge into the water. While I was +still watching them with the stupefaction of surprise, my mind hardly +yet able to work on what my eyes reported, this third person suddenly +stooped and summoned his companions with a cry so loud that it reached +my ears upon the hill. The others ran to him, even dropping the compass +in their hurry, and I could see the bone and the shoe-buckle going from +hand to hand, causing the most unusual gesticulations of surprise and +interest. Just then I could hear the seamen crying from the boat, and +saw them point westward to that cloud continent which was ever the more +rapidly unfurling its blackness over heaven. The others seemed to +consult; but the danger was too pressing to be braved, and they bundled +into the boat carrying my relies with them, and set forth out of the +bay with all speed of oars. + +I made no more ado about the matter, but turned and ran for the house. +Whoever these men were, it was fit my uncle should be instantly +informed. It was not then altogether too late in the day for a descent +of the Jacobites; and may be Prince Charlie, whom I knew my uncle to +detest, was one of the three superiors whom I had seen upon the rock. +Yet as I ran, leaping from rock to rock, and turned the matter loosely +in my mind, this theory grew ever the longer the less welcome to my +reason. The compass, the map, the interest awakened by the buckle, and +the conduct of that one among the strangers who had looked so often +below him in the water, all seemed to point to a different explanation +of their presence on that outlying, obscure islet of the western sea. +The Madrid historian, the search instituted by Dr. Robertson, the +bearded stranger with the rings, my own fruitless search that very +morning in the deep water of Sandag Bay, ran together, piece by piece, +in my memory, and I made sure that these strangers must be Spaniards in +quest of ancient treasure and the lost ship of the Armada. But the +people living in outlying islands, such as Aros, are answerable for +their own security; there is none near by to protect or even to help +them; and the presence in such a spot of a crew of foreign +adventurers—poor, greedy, and most likely lawless—filled me with +apprehensions for my uncle’s money, and even for the safety of his +daughter. I was still wondering how we were to get rid of them when I +came, all breathless, to the top of Aros. The whole world was shadowed +over; only in the extreme east, on a hill of the mainland, one last +gleam of sunshine lingered like a jewel; rain had begun to fall, not +heavily, but in great drops; the sea was rising with each moment, and +already a band of white encircled Aros and the nearer coasts of +Grisapol. The boat was still pulling seaward, but I now became aware of +what had been hidden from me lower down—a large, heavily sparred, +handsome schooner, lying to at the south end of Aros. Since I had not +seen her in the morning when I had looked around so closely at the +signs of the weather, and upon these lone waters where a sail was +rarely visible, it was clear she must have lain last night behind the +uninhabited Eilean Gour, and this proved conclusively that she was +manned by strangers to our coast, for that anchorage, though good +enough to look at, is little better than a trap for ships. With such +ignorant sailors upon so wild a coast, the coming gale was not unlikely +to bring death upon its wings. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +THE GALE. + + +I found my uncle at the gable end, watching the signs of the weather, +with a pipe in his fingers. + +“Uncle,” said I, “there were men ashore at Sandag Bay—” + +I had no time to go further; indeed, I not only forgot my words, but +even my weariness, so strange was the effect on Uncle Gordon. He +dropped his pipe and fell back against the end of the house with his +jaw fallen, his eyes staring, and his long face as white as paper. We +must have looked at one another silently for a quarter of a minute, +before he made answer in this extraordinary fashion: “Had he a hair kep +on?” + +I knew as well as if I had been there that the man who now lay buried +at Sandag had worn a hairy cap, and that he had come ashore alive. For +the first and only time I lost toleration for the man who was my +benefactor and the father of the woman I hoped to call my wife. + +“These were living men,” said I, “perhaps Jacobites, perhaps the +French, perhaps pirates, perhaps adventurers come here to seek the +Spanish treasure ship; but, whatever they may be, dangerous at least to +your daughter and my cousin. As for your own guilty terrors, man, the +dead sleeps well where you have laid him. I stood this morning by his +grave; he will not wake before the trump of doom.” + +My kinsman looked upon me, blinking, while I spoke; then he fixed his +eyes for a little on the ground, and pulled his fingers foolishly; but +it was plain that he was past the power of speech. + +“Come,” said I. “You must think for others. You must come up the hill +with me, and see this ship.” + +He obeyed without a word or a look, following slowly after my impatient +strides. The spring seemed to have gone out of his body, and he +scrambled heavily up and down the rocks, instead of leaping, as he was +wont, from one to another. Nor could I, for all my cries, induce him to +make better haste. Only once he replied to me complainingly, and like +one in bodily pain: “Ay, ay, man, I’m coming.” Long before we had +reached the top, I had no other thought for him but pity. If the crime +had been monstrous the punishment was in proportion. + +At last we emerged above the sky-line of the hill, and could see around +us. All was black and stormy to the eye; the last gleam of sun had +vanished; a wind had sprung up, not yet high, but gusty and unsteady to +the point; the rain, on the other hand, had ceased. Short as was the +interval, the sea already ran vastly higher than when I had stood there +last; already it had begun to break over some of the outward reefs, and +already it moaned aloud in the sea-caves of Aros. I looked, at first, +in vain for the schooner. + +“There she is,” I said at last. But her new position, and the course +she was now lying, puzzled me. “They cannot mean to beat to sea,” I +cried. + +“That’s what they mean,” said my uncle, with something like joy; and +just then the schooner went about and stood upon another tack, which +put the question beyond the reach of doubt. These strangers, seeing a +gale on hand, had thought first of sea-room. With the wind that +threatened, in these reef-sown waters and contending against so violent +a stream of tide, their course was certain death. + +“Good God!” said I, “they are all lost.” + +“Ay,” returned my uncle, “a’—a’ lost. They hadnae a chance but to rin +for Kyle Dona. The gate they’re gaun the noo, they couldnae win through +an the muckle deil were there to pilot them. Eh, man,” he continued, +touching me on the sleeve, “it’s a braw nicht for a shipwreck! Twa in +ae twalmonth! Eh, but the Merry Men’ll dance bonny!” + +I looked at him, and it was then that I began to fancy him no longer in +his right mind. He was peering up to me, as if for sympathy, a timid +joy in his eyes. All that had passed between us was already forgotten +in the prospect of this fresh disaster. + +“If it were not too late,” I cried with indignation, “I would take the +coble and go out to warn them.” + +“Na, na,” he protested, “ye maunnae interfere; ye maunnae meddle wi’ +the like o’ that. It’s His”—doffing his bonnet—“His wull. And, eh, man! +but it’s a braw nicht for’t!” + +Something like fear began to creep into my soul and, reminding him that +I had not yet dined, I proposed we should return to the house. But no; +nothing would tear him from his place of outlook. + +“I maun see the hail thing, man, Cherlie,” he explained—and then as the +schooner went about a second time, “Eh, but they han’le her bonny!” he +cried. “The _Christ-Anna_ was naething to this.” + +Already the men on board the schooner must have begun to realise some +part, but not yet the twentieth, of the dangers that environed their +doomed ship. At every lull of the capricious wind they must have seen +how fast the current swept them back. Each tack was made shorter, as +they saw how little it prevailed. Every moment the rising swell began +to boom and foam upon another sunken reef; and ever and again a breaker +would fall in sounding ruin under the very bows of her, and the brown +reef and streaming tangle appear in the hollow of the wave. I tell you, +they had to stand to their tackle: there was no idle men aboard that +ship, God knows. It was upon the progress of a scene so horrible to any +human-hearted man that my misguided uncle now pored and gloated like a +connoisseur. As I turned to go down the hill, he was lying on his belly +on the summit, with his hands stretched forth and clutching in the +heather. He seemed rejuvenated, mind and body. + +When I got back to the house already dismally affected, I was still +more sadly downcast at the sight of Mary. She had her sleeves rolled up +over her strong arms, and was quietly making bread. I got a bannock +from the dresser and sat down to eat it in silence. + +“Are ye wearied, lad?” she asked after a while. + +“I am not so much wearied, Mary,” I replied, getting on my feet, “as I +am weary of delay, and perhaps of Aros too. You know me well enough to +judge me fairly, say what I like. Well, Mary, you may be sure of this: +you had better be anywhere but here.” + +“I’ll be sure of one thing,” she returned: “I’ll be where my duty is.” + +“You forget, you have a duty to yourself,” I said. + +“Ay, man?” she replied, pounding at the dough; “will you have found +that in the Bible, now?” + +“Mary,” I said solemnly, “you must not laugh at me just now. God knows +I am in no heart for laughing. If we could get your father with us, it +would be best; but with him or without him, I want you far away from +here, my girl; for your own sake, and for mine, ay, and for your +father’s too, I want you far—far away from here. I came with other +thoughts; I came here as a man comes home; now it is all changed, and I +have no desire nor hope but to flee—for that’s the word—flee, like a +bird out of the fowler’s snare, from this accursed island.” + +She had stopped her work by this time. + +“And do you think, now,” said she, “do you think, now, I have neither +eyes nor ears? Do ye think I havenae broken my heart to have these +braws (as he calls them, God forgive him!) thrown into the sea? Do ye +think I have lived with him, day in, day out, and not seen what you saw +in an hour or two? No,” she said, “I know there’s wrong in it; what +wrong, I neither know nor want to know. There was never an ill thing +made better by meddling, that I could hear of. But, my lad, you must +never ask me to leave my father. While the breath is in his body, I’ll +be with him. And he’s not long for here, either: that I can tell you, +Charlie—he’s not long for here. The mark is on his brow; and better +so—maybe better so.” + +I was a while silent, not knowing what to say; and when I roused my +head at last to speak, she got before me. + +“Charlie,” she said, “what’s right for me, neednae be right for you. +There’s sin upon this house and trouble; you are a stranger; take your +things upon your back and go your ways to better places and to better +folk, and if you were ever minded to come back, though it were twenty +years syne, you would find me aye waiting.” + +“Mary Ellen,” I said, “I asked you to be my wife, and you said as good +as yes. That’s done for good. Wherever you are, I am; as I shall answer +to my God.” + +As I said the words, the wind suddenly burst out raving, and then +seemed to stand still and shudder round the house of Aros. It was the +first squall, or prologue, of the coming tempest, and as we started and +looked about us, we found that a gloom, like the approach of evening, +had settled round the house. + +“God pity all poor folks at sea!” she said. “We’ll see no more of my +father till the morrow’s morning.” + +And then she told me, as we sat by the fire and hearkened to the rising +gusts, of how this change had fallen upon my uncle. All last winter he +had been dark and fitful in his mind. Whenever the Roost ran high, or, +as Mary said, whenever the Merry Men were dancing, he would lie out for +hours together on the Head, if it were at night, or on the top of Aros +by day, watching the tumult of the sea, and sweeping the horizon for a +sail. After February the tenth, when the wealth-bringing wreck was cast +ashore at Sandag, he had been at first unnaturally gay, and his +excitement had never fallen in degree, but only changed in kind from +dark to darker. He neglected his work, and kept Rorie idle. They two +would speak together by the hour at the gable end, in guarded tones and +with an air of secrecy and almost of guilt; and if she questioned +either, as at first she sometimes did, her inquiries were put aside +with confusion. Since Rorie had first remarked the fish that hung about +the ferry, his master had never set foot but once upon the mainland of +the Ross. That once—it was in the height of the springs—he had passed +dryshod while the tide was out; but, having lingered overlong on the +far side, found himself cut off from Aros by the returning waters. It +was with a shriek of agony that he had leaped across the gut, and he +had reached home thereafter in a fever-fit of fear. A fear of the sea, +a constant haunting thought of the sea, appeared in his talk and +devotions, and even in his looks when he was silent. + +Rorie alone came in to supper; but a little later my uncle appeared, +took a bottle under his arm, put some bread in his pocket, and set +forth again to his outlook, followed this time by Rorie. I heard that +the schooner was losing ground, but the crew were still fighting every +inch with hopeless ingenuity and course; and the news filled my mind +with blackness. + +A little after sundown the full fury of the gale broke forth, such a +gale as I have never seen in summer, nor, seeing how swiftly it had +come, even in winter. Mary and I sat in silence, the house quaking +overhead, the tempest howling without, the fire between us sputtering +with raindrops. Our thoughts were far away with the poor fellows on the +schooner, or my not less unhappy uncle, houseless on the promontory; +and yet ever and again we were startled back to ourselves, when the +wind would rise and strike the gable like a solid body, or suddenly +fall and draw away, so that the fire leaped into flame and our hearts +bounded in our sides. Now the storm in its might would seize and shake +the four corners of the roof, roaring like Leviathan in anger. Anon, in +a lull, cold eddies of tempest moved shudderingly in the room, lifting +the hair upon our heads and passing between us as we sat. And again the +wind would break forth in a chorus of melancholy sounds, hooting low in +the chimney, wailing with flutelike softness round the house. + +It was perhaps eight o’clock when Rorie came in and pulled me +mysteriously to the door. My uncle, it appeared, had frightened even +his constant comrade; and Rorie, uneasy at his extravagance, prayed me +to come out and share the watch. I hastened to do as I was asked; the +more readily as, what with fear and horror, and the electrical tension +of the night, I was myself restless and disposed for action. I told +Mary to be under no alarm, for I should be a safeguard on her father; +and wrapping myself warmly in a plaid, I followed Rorie into the open +air. + +The night, though we were so little past midsummer, was as dark as +January. Intervals of a groping twilight alternated with spells of +utter blackness; and it was impossible to trace the reason of these +changes in the flying horror of the sky. The wind blew the breath out +of a man’s nostrils; all heaven seemed to thunder overhead like one +huge sail; and when there fell a momentary lull on Aros, we could hear +the gusts dismally sweeping in the distance. Over all the lowlands of +the Ross, the wind must have blown as fierce as on the open sea; and +God only knows the uproar that was raging around the head of Ben Kyaw. +Sheets of mingled spray and rain were driven in our faces. All round +the isle of Aros the surf, with an incessant, hammering thunder, beat +upon the reefs and beaches. Now louder in one place, now lower in +another, like the combinations of orchestral music, the constant mass +of sound was hardly varied for a moment. And loud above all this +hurly-burly I could hear the changeful voices of the Roost and the +intermittent roaring of the Merry Men. At that hour, there flashed into +my mind the reason of the name that they were called. For the noise of +them seemed almost mirthful, as it out-topped the other noises of the +night; or if not mirthful, yet instinct with a portentous joviality. +Nay, and it seemed even human. As when savage men have drunk away their +reason, and, discarding speech, bawl together in their madness by the +hour; so, to my ears, these deadly breakers shouted by Aros in the +night. + +Arm in arm, and staggering against the wind, Rorie and I won every yard +of ground with conscious effort. We slipped on the wet sod, we fell +together sprawling on the rocks. Bruised, drenched, beaten, and +breathless, it must have taken us near half an hour to get from the +house down to the Head that overlooks the Roost. There, it seemed, was +my uncle’s favourite observatory. Right in the face of it, where the +cliff is highest and most sheer, a hump of earth, like a parapet, makes +a place of shelter from the common winds, where a man may sit in quiet +and see the tide and the mad billows contending at his feet. As he +might look down from the window of a house upon some street +disturbance, so, from this post, he looks down upon the tumbling of the +Merry Men. On such a night, of course, he peers upon a world of +blackness, where the waters wheel and boil, where the waves joust +together with the noise of an explosion, and the foam towers and +vanishes in the twinkling of an eye. Never before had I seen the Merry +Men thus violent. The fury, height, and transiency of their spoutings +was a thing to be seen and not recounted. High over our heads on the +cliff rose their white columns in the darkness; and the same instant, +like phantoms, they were gone. Sometimes three at a time would thus +aspire and vanish; sometimes a gust took them, and the spray would fall +about us, heavy as a wave. And yet the spectacle was rather maddening +in its levity than impressive by its force. Thought was beaten down by +the confounding uproar—a gleeful vacancy possessed the brains of men, a +state akin to madness; and I found myself at times following the dance +of the Merry Men as it were a tune upon a jigging instrument. + +I first caught sight of my uncle when we were still some yards away in +one of the flying glimpses of twilight that chequered the pitch +darkness of the night. He was standing up behind the parapet, his head +thrown back and the bottle to his mouth. As he put it down, he saw and +recognised us with a toss of one hand fleeringly above his head. + +“Has he been drinking?” shouted I to Rorie. + +“He will aye be drunk when the wind blaws,” returned Rorie in the same +high key, and it was all that I could do to hear him. + +“Then—was he so—in February?” I inquired. + +Rorie’s “Ay” was a cause of joy to me. The murder, then, had not sprung +in cold blood from calculation; it was an act of madness no more to be +condemned than to be pardoned. My uncle was a dangerous madman, if you +will, but he was not cruel and base as I had feared. Yet what a scene +for a carouse, what an incredible vice, was this that the poor man had +chosen! I have always thought drunkenness a wild and almost fearful +pleasure, rather demoniacal than human; but drunkenness, out here in +the roaring blackness, on the edge of a cliff above that hell of +waters, the man’s head spinning like the Roost, his foot tottering on +the edge of death, his ear watching for the signs of ship-wreck, surely +that, if it were credible in any one, was morally impossible in a man +like my uncle, whose mind was set upon a damnatory creed and haunted by +the darkest superstitions. Yet so it was; and, as we reached the bight +of shelter and could breathe again, I saw the man’s eyes shining in the +night with an unholy glimmer. + +“Eh, Charlie, man, it’s grand!” he cried. “See to them!” he continued, +dragging me to the edge of the abyss from whence arose that deafening +clamour and those clouds of spray; “see to them dancin’, man! Is that +no wicked?” + +He pronounced the word with gusto, and I thought it suited with the +scene. + +“They’re yowlin’ for thon schooner,” he went on, his thin, insane voice +clearly audible in the shelter of the bank, “an’ she’s comin’ aye +nearer, aye nearer, aye nearer an’ nearer an’ nearer; an’ they ken’t, +the folk kens it, they ken wool it’s by wi’ them. Charlie, lad, they’re +a’ drunk in yon schooner, a’ dozened wi’ drink. They were a’ drunk in +the _Christ-Anna_, at the hinder end. There’s nane could droon at sea +wantin’ the brandy. Hoot awa, what do you ken?” with a sudden blast of +anger. “I tell ye, it cannae be; they droon withoot it. Ha’e,” holding +out the bottle, “tak’ a sowp.” + +I was about to refuse, but Rorie touched me as if in warning; and +indeed I had already thought better of the movement. I took the bottle, +therefore, and not only drank freely myself, but contrived to spill +even more as I was doing so. It was pure spirit, and almost strangled +me to swallow. My kinsman did not observe the loss, but, once more +throwing back his head, drained the remainder to the dregs. Then, with +a loud laugh, he cast the bottle forth among the Merry Men, who seemed +to leap up, shouting to receive it. + +“Ha’e, bairns!” he cried, “there’s your han’sel. Ye’ll get bonnier nor +that, or morning.” + +Suddenly, out in the black night before us, and not two hundred yards +away, we heard, at a moment when the wind was silent, the clear note of +a human voice. Instantly the wind swept howling down upon the Head, and +the Roost bellowed, and churned, and danced with a new fury. But we had +heard the sound, and we knew, with agony, that this was the doomed ship +now close on ruin, and that what we had heard was the voice of her +master issuing his last command. Crouching together on the edge, we +waited, straining every sense, for the inevitable end. It was long, +however, and to us it seemed like ages, ere the schooner suddenly +appeared for one brief instant, relieved against a tower of glimmering +foam. I still see her reefed mainsail flapping loose, as the boom fell +heavily across the deck; I still see the black outline of the hull, and +still think I can distinguish the figure of a man stretched upon the +tiller. Yet the whole sight we had of her passed swifter than +lightning; the very wave that disclosed her fell burying her for ever; +the mingled cry of many voices at the point of death rose and was +quenched in the roaring of the Merry Men. And with that the tragedy was +at an end. The strong ship, with all her gear, and the lamp perhaps +still burning in the cabin, the lives of so many men, precious surely +to others, dear, at least, as heaven to themselves, had all, in that +one moment, gone down into the surging waters. They were gone like a +dream. And the wind still ran and shouted, and the senseless waters in +the Roost still leaped and tumbled as before. + +How long we lay there together, we three, speechless and motionless, is +more than I can tell, but it must have been for long. At length, one by +one, and almost mechanically, we crawled back into the shelter of the +bank. As I lay against the parapet, wholly wretched and not entirely +master of my mind, I could hear my kinsman maundering to himself in an +altered and melancholy mood. Now he would repeat to himself with +maudlin iteration, “Sic a fecht as they had—sic a sair fecht as they +had, puir lads, puir lads!” and anon he would bewail that “a’ the gear +was as gude’s tint,” because the ship had gone down among the Merry Men +instead of stranding on the shore; and throughout, the name—the +_Christ-Anna_—would come and go in his divagations, pronounced with +shuddering awe. The storm all this time was rapidly abating. In half an +hour the wind had fallen to a breeze, and the change was accompanied or +caused by a heavy, cold, and plumping rain. I must then have fallen +asleep, and when I came to myself, drenched, stiff, and unrefreshed, +day had already broken, grey, wet, discomfortable day; the wind blew in +faint and shifting capfuls, the tide was out, the Roost was at its +lowest, and only the strong beating surf round all the coasts of Aros +remained to witness of the furies of the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +A MAN OUT OF THE SEA. + + +Rorie set out for the house in search of warmth and breakfast; but my +uncle was bent upon examining the shores of Aros, and I felt it a part +of duty to accompany him throughout. He was now docile and quiet, but +tremulous and weak in mind and body; and it was with the eagerness of a +child that he pursued his exploration. He climbed far down upon the +rocks; on the beaches, he pursued the retreating breakers. The merest +broken plank or rag of cordage was a treasure in his eyes to be secured +at the peril of his life. To see him, with weak and stumbling +footsteps, expose himself to the pursuit of the surf, or the snares and +pitfalls of the weedy rock, kept me in a perpetual terror. My arm was +ready to support him, my hand clutched him by the skirt, I helped him +to draw his pitiful discoveries beyond the reach of the returning wave; +a nurse accompanying a child of seven would have had no different +experience. + +Yet, weakened as he was by the reaction from his madness of the night +before, the passions that smouldered in his nature were those of a +strong man. His terror of the sea, although conquered for the moment, +was still undiminished; had the sea been a lake of living flames, he +could not have shrunk more panically from its touch; and once, when his +foot slipped and he plunged to the midleg into a pool of water, the +shriek that came up out of his soul was like the cry of death. He sat +still for a while, panting like a dog, after that; but his desire for +the spoils of shipwreck triumphed once more over his fears; once more +he tottered among the curded foam; once more he crawled upon the rocks +among the bursting bubbles; once more his whole heart seemed to be set +on driftwood, fit, if it was fit for anything, to throw upon the fire. +Pleased as he was with what he found, he still incessantly grumbled at +his ill-fortune. + +“Aros,” he said, “is no a place for wrecks ava’—no ava’. A’ the years +I’ve dwalt here, this ane maks the second; and the best o’ the gear +clean tint!” + +“Uncle,” said I, for we were now on a stretch of open sand, where there +was nothing to divert his mind, “I saw you last night, as I never +thought to see you—you were drunk.” + +“Na, na,” he said, “no as bad as that. I had been drinking, though. And +to tell ye the God’s truth, it’s a thing I cannae mend. There’s nae +soberer man than me in my ordnar; but when I hear the wind blaw in my +lug, it’s my belief that I gang gyte.” + +“You are a religious man,” I replied, “and this is sin’. + +“Ou,” he returned, “if it wasnae sin, I dinnae ken that I would care +for’t. Ye see, man, it’s defiance. There’s a sair spang o’ the auld sin +o’ the warld in you sea; it’s an unchristian business at the best o’t; +an’ whiles when it gets up, an’ the wind skreights—the wind an’ her are +a kind of sib, I’m thinkin’—an’ thae Merry Men, the daft callants, +blawin’ and lauchin’, and puir souls in the deid thraws warstlin’ the +leelang nicht wi’ their bit ships—weel, it comes ower me like a +glamour. I’m a deil, I ken’t. But I think naething o’ the puir sailor +lads; I’m wi’ the sea, I’m just like ane o’ her ain Merry Men.” + +I thought I should touch him in a joint of his harness. I turned me +towards the sea; the surf was running gaily, wave after wave, with +their manes blowing behind them, riding one after another up the beach, +towering, curving, falling one upon another on the trampled sand. +Without, the salt air, the scared gulls, the widespread army of the +sea-chargers, neighing to each other, as they gathered together to the +assault of Aros; and close before us, that line on the flat sands that, +with all their number and their fury, they might never pass. + +“Thus far shalt thou go,” said I, “and no farther.” And then I quoted +as solemnly as I was able a verse that I had often before fitted to the +chorus of the breakers:— + +But yet the Lord that is on high, +Is more of might by far, +Than noise of many waters is, +As great sea billows are. + + +“Ay,” said my kinsinan, “at the hinder end, the Lord will triumph; I +dinnae misdoobt that. But here on earth, even silly men-folk daur Him +to His face. It is nae wise; I am nae sayin’ that it’s wise; but it’s +the pride of the eye, and it’s the lust o’ life, an’ it’s the wale o’ +pleesures.” + +I said no more, for we had now begun to cross a neck of land that lay +between us and Sandag; and I withheld my last appeal to the man’s +better reason till we should stand upon the spot associated with his +crime. Nor did he pursue the subject; but he walked beside me with a +firmer step. The call that I had made upon his mind acted like a +stimulant, and I could see that he had forgotten his search for +worthless jetsam, in a profound, gloomy, and yet stirring train of +thought. In three or four minutes we had topped the brae and begun to +go down upon Sandag. The wreck had been roughly handled by the sea; the +stem had been spun round and dragged a little lower down; and perhaps +the stern had been forced a little higher, for the two parts now lay +entirely separate on the beach. When we came to the grave I stopped, +uncovered my head in the thick rain, and, looking my kinsman in the +face, addressed him. + +“A man,” said I, “was in God’s providence suffered to escape from +mortal dangers; he was poor, he was naked, he was wet, he was weary, he +was a stranger; he had every claim upon the bowels of your compassion; +it may be that he was the salt of the earth, holy, helpful, and kind; +it may be he was a man laden with iniquities to whom death was the +beginning of torment. I ask you in the sight of heaven: Gordon +Darnaway, where is the man for whom Christ died?” + +He started visibly at the last words; but there came no answer, and his +face expressed no feeling but a vague alarm. + +“You were my father’s brother,” I continued; “You, have taught me to +count your house as if it were my father’s house; and we are both +sinful men walking before the Lord among the sins and dangers of this +life. It is by our evil that God leads us into good; we sin, I dare not +say by His temptation, but I must say with His consent; and to any but +the brutish man his sins are the beginning of wisdom. God has warned +you by this crime; He warns you still by the bloody grave between our +feet; and if there shall follow no repentance, no improvement, no +return to Him, what can we look for but the following of some memorable +judgment?” + +Even as I spoke the words, the eyes of my uncle wandered from my face. +A change fell upon his looks that cannot be described; his features +seemed to dwindle in size, the colour faded from his cheeks, one hand +rose waveringly and pointed over my shoulder into the distance, and the +oft-repeated name fell once more from his lips: “The _Christ-Anna_!” + +I turned; and if I was not appalled to the same degree, as I return +thanks to Heaven that I had not the cause, I was still startled by the +sight that met my eyes. The form of a man stood upright on the +cabin-hutch of the wrecked ship; his back was towards us; he appeared +to be scanning the offing with shaded eyes, and his figure was relieved +to its full height, which was plainly very great, against the sea and +sky. I have said a thousand times that I am not superstitious; but at +that moment, with my mind running upon death and sin, the unexplained +appearance of a stranger on that sea-girt, solitary island filled me +with a surprise that bordered close on terror. It seemed scarce +possible that any human soul should have come ashore alive in such a +sea as had rated last night along the coasts of Aros; and the only +vessel within miles had gone down before our eyes among the Merry Men. +I was assailed with doubts that made suspense unbearable, and, to put +the matter to the touch at once, stepped forward and hailed the figure +like a ship. + +He turned about, and I thought he started to behold us. At this my +courage instantly revived, and I called and signed to him to draw near, +and he, on his part, dropped immediately to the sands, and began slowly +to approach, with many stops and hesitations. At each repeated mark of +the man’s uneasiness I grew the more confident myself; and I advanced +another step, encouraging him as I did so with my head and hand. It was +plain the castaway had heard indifferent accounts of our island +hospitality; and indeed, about this time, the people farther north had +a sorry reputation. + +“Why,” I said, “the man is black!” + +And just at that moment, in a voice that I could scarce have +recognised, my kinsman began swearing and praying in a mingled stream. +I looked at him; he had fallen on his knees, his face was agonised; at +each step of the castaway’s the pitch of his voice rose, the volubility +of his utterance and the fervour of his language redoubled. I call it +prayer, for it was addressed to God; but surely no such ranting +incongruities were ever before addressed to the Creator by a creature: +surely if prayer can be a sin, this mad harangue was sinful. I ran to +my kinsman, I seized him by the shoulders, I dragged him to his feet. + +“Silence, man,” said I, “respect your God in words, if not in action. +Here, on the very scene of your transgressions, He sends you an +occasion of atonement. Forward and embrace it; welcome like a father +yon creature who comes trembling to your mercy.” + +With that, I tried to force him towards the black; but he felled me to +the ground, burst from my grasp, leaving the shoulder of his jacket, +and fled up the hillside towards the top of Aros like a deer. I +staggered to my feet again, bruised and somewhat stunned; the negro had +paused in surprise, perhaps in terror, some halfway between me and the +wreck; my uncle was already far away, bounding from rock to rock; and I +thus found myself torn for a time between two duties. But I judged, and +I pray Heaven that I judged rightly, in favour of the poor wretch upon +the sands; his misfortune was at least not plainly of his own creation; +it was one, besides, that I could certainly relieve; and I had begun by +that time to regard my uncle as an incurable and dismal lunatic. I +advanced accordingly towards the black, who now awaited my approach +with folded arms, like one prepared for either destiny. As I came +nearer, he reached forth his hand with a great gesture, such as I had +seen from the pulpit, and spoke to me in something of a pulpit voice, +but not a word was comprehensible. I tried him first in English, then +in Gaelic, both in vain; so that it was clear we must rely upon the +tongue of looks and gestures. Thereupon I signed to him to follow me, +which he did readily and with a grave obeisance like a fallen king; all +the while there had come no shade of alteration in his face, neither of +anxiety while he was still waiting, nor of relief now that he was +reassured; if he were a slave, as I supposed, I could not but judge he +must have fallen from some high place in his own country, and fallen as +he was, I could not but admire his bearing. As we passed the grave, I +paused and raised my hands and eyes to heaven in token of respect and +sorrow for the dead; and he, as if in answer, bowed low and spread his +hands abroad; it was a strange motion, but done like a thing of common +custom; and I supposed it was ceremonial in the land from which he +came. At the same time he pointed to my uncle, whom we could just see +perched upon a knoll, and touched his head to indicate that he was mad. + +We took the long way round the shore, for I feared to excite my uncle +if we struck across the island; and as we walked, I had time enough to +mature the little dramatic exhibition by which I hoped to satisfy my +doubts. Accordingly, pausing on a rock, I proceeded to imitate before +the negro the action of the man whom I had seen the day before taking +bearings with the compass at Sandag. He understood me at once, and, +taking the imitation out of my hands, showed me where the boat was, +pointed out seaward as if to indicate the position of the schooner, and +then down along the edge of the rock with the words “Espirito Santo,” +strangely pronounced, but clear enough for recognition. I had thus been +right in my conjecture; the pretended historical inquiry had been but a +cloak for treasure-hunting; the man who had played on Dr. Robertson was +the same as the foreigner who visited Grisapol in spring, and now, with +many others, lay dead under the Roost of Aros: there had their greed +brought them, there should their bones be tossed for evermore. In the +meantime the black continued his imitation of the scene, now looking up +skyward as though watching the approach of the storm now, in the +character of a seaman, waving the rest to come aboard; now as an +officer, running along the rock and entering the boat; and anon bending +over imaginary oars with the air of a hurried boatman; but all with the +same solemnity of manner, so that I was never even moved to smile. +Lastly, he indicated to me, by a pantomime not to be described in +words, how he himself had gone up to examine the stranded wreck, and, +to his grief and indignation, had been deserted by his comrades; and +thereupon folded his arms once more, and stooped his head, like one +accepting fate. + +The mystery of his presence being thus solved for me, I explained to +him by means of a sketch the fate of the vessel and of all aboard her. +He showed no surprise nor sorrow, and, with a sudden lifting of his +open hand, seemed to dismiss his former friends or masters (whichever +they had been) into God’s pleasure. Respect came upon me and grew +stronger, the more I observed him; I saw he had a powerful mind and a +sober and severe character, such as I loved to commune with; and before +we reached the house of Aros I had almost forgotten, and wholly +forgiven him, his uncanny colour. + +To Mary I told all that had passed without suppression, though I own my +heart failed me; but I did wrong to doubt her sense of justice. + +“You did the right,” she said. “God’s will be done.” And she set out +meat for us at once. + +As soon as I was satisfied, I bade Rorie keep an eye upon the castaway, +who was still eating, and set forth again myself to find my uncle. I +had not gone far before I saw him sitting in the same place, upon the +very topmost knoll, and seemingly in the same attitude as when I had +last observed him. From that point, as I have said, the most of Aros +and the neighbouring Ross would be spread below him like a map; and it +was plain that he kept a bright look-out in all directions, for my head +had scarcely risen above the summit of the first ascent before he had +leaped to his feet and turned as if to face me. I hailed him at once, +as well as I was able, in the same tones and words as I had often used +before, when I had come to summon him to dinner. He made not so much as +a movement in reply. I passed on a little farther, and again tried +parley, with the same result. But when I began a second time to +advance, his insane fears blazed up again, and still in dead silence, +but with incredible speed, he began to flee from before me along the +rocky summit of the hill. An hour before, he had been dead weary, and I +had been comparatively active. But now his strength was recruited by +the fervour of insanity, and it would have been vain for me to dream of +pursuit. Nay, the very attempt, I thought, might have inflamed his +terrors, and thus increased the miseries of our position. And I had +nothing left but to turn homeward and make my sad report to Mary. + +She heard it, as she had heard the first, with a concerned composure, +and, bidding me lie down and take that rest of which I stood so much in +need, set forth herself in quest of her misguided father. At that age +it would have been a strange thing that put me from either meat or +sleep; I slept long and deep; and it was already long past noon before +I awoke and came downstairs into the kitchen. Mary, Rorie, and the +black castaway were seated about the fire in silence; and I could see +that Mary had been weeping. There was cause enough, as I soon learned, +for tears. First she, and then Rorie, had been forth to seek my uncle; +each in turn had found him perched upon the hill-top, and from each in +turn he had silently and swiftly fled. Rorie had tried to chase him, +but in vain; madness lent a new vigour to his bounds; he sprang from +rock to rock over the widest gullies; he scoured like the wind along +the hill-tops; he doubled and twisted like a hare before the dogs; and +Rorie at length gave in; and the last that he saw, my uncle was seated +as before upon the crest of Aros. Even during the hottest excitement of +the chase, even when the fleet-footed servant had come, for a moment, +very near to capture him, the poor lunatic had uttered not a sound. He +fled, and he was silent, like a beast; and this silence had terrified +his pursuer. + +There was something heart-breaking in the situation. How to capture the +madman, how to feed him in the meanwhile, and what to do with him when +he was captured, were the three difficulties that we had to solve. + +“The black,” said I, “is the cause of this attack. It may even be his +presence in the house that keeps my uncle on the hill. We have done the +fair thing; he has been fed and warmed under this roof; now I propose +that Rorie put him across the bay in the coble, and take him through +the Ross as far as Grisapol.” + +In this proposal Mary heartily concurred; and bidding the black follow +us, we all three descended to the pier. Certainly, Heaven’s will was +declared against Gordon Darnaway; a thing had happened, never +paralleled before in Aros; during the storm, the coble had broken +loose, and, striking on the rough splinters of the pier, now lay in +four feet of water with one side stove in. Three days of work at least +would be required to make her float. But I was not to be beaten. I led +the whole party round to where the gut was narrowest, swam to the other +side, and called to the black to follow me. He signed, with the same +clearness and quiet as before, that he knew not the art; and there was +truth apparent in his signals, it would have occurred to none of us to +doubt his truth; and that hope being over, we must all go back even as +we came to the house of Aros, the negro walking in our midst without +embarrassment. + +All we could do that day was to make one more attempt to communicate +with the unhappy madman. Again he was visible on his perch; again he +fled in silence. But food and a great cloak were at least left for his +comfort; the rain, besides, had cleared away, and the night promised to +be even warm. We might compose ourselves, we thought, until the morrow; +rest was the chief requisite, that we might be strengthened for unusual +exertions; and as none cared to talk, we separated at an early hour. + +I lay long awake, planning a campaign for the morrow. I was to place +the black on the side of Sandag, whence he should head my uncle towards +the house; Rorie in the west, I on the east, were to complete the +cordon, as best we might. It seemed to me, the more I recalled the +configuration of the island, that it should be possible, though hard, +to force him down upon the low ground along Aros Bay; and once there, +even with the strength of his madness, ultimate escape was hardly to be +feared. It was on his terror of the black that I relied; for I made +sure, however he might run, it would not be in the direction of the man +whom he supposed to have returned from the dead, and thus one point of +the compass at least would be secure. + +When at length I fell asleep, it was to be awakened shortly after by a +dream of wrecks, black men, and submarine adventure; and I found myself +so shaken and fevered that I arose, descended the stair, and stepped +out before the house. Within, Rorie and the black were asleep together +in the kitchen; outside was a wonderful clear night of stars, with here +and there a cloud still hanging, last stragglers of the tempest. It was +near the top of the flood, and the Merry Men were roaring in the +windless quiet of the night. Never, not even in the height of the +tempest, had I heard their song with greater awe. Now, when the winds +were gathered home, when the deep was dandling itself back into its +summer slumber, and when the stars rained their gentle light over land +and sea, the voice of these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc. +They seemed, indeed, to be a part of the world’s evil and the tragic +side of life. Nor were their meaningless vociferations the only sounds +that broke the silence of the night. For I could hear, now shrill and +thrilling and now almost drowned, the note of a human voice that +accompanied the uproar of the Roost. I knew it for my kinsman’s; and a +great fear fell upon me of God’s judgments, and the evil in the world. +I went back again into the darkness of the house as into a place of +shelter, and lay long upon my bed, pondering these mysteries. + +It was late when I again woke, and I leaped into my clothes and hurried +to the kitchen. No one was there; Rorie and the black had both +stealthily departed long before; and my heart stood still at the +discovery. I could rely on Rorie’s heart, but I placed no trust in his +discretion. If he had thus set out without a word, he was plainly bent +upon some service to my uncle. But what service could he hope to render +even alone, far less in the company of the man in whom my uncle found +his fears incarnated? Even if I were not already too late to prevent +some deadly mischief, it was plain I must delay no longer. With the +thought I was out of the house; and often as I have run on the rough +sides of Aros, I never ran as I did that fatal morning. I do not +believe I put twelve minutes to the whole ascent. + +My uncle was gone from his perch. The basket had indeed been torn open +and the meat scattered on the turf; but, as we found afterwards, no +mouthful had been tasted; and there was not another trace of human +existence in that wide field of view. Day had already filled the clear +heavens; the sun already lighted in a rosy bloom upon the crest of Ben +Kyaw; but all below me the rude knolls of Aros and the shield of sea +lay steeped in the clear darkling twilight of the dawn. + +“Rorie!” I cried; and again “Rorie!” My voice died in the silence, but +there came no answer back. If there were indeed an enterprise afoot to +catch my uncle, it was plainly not in fleetness of foot, but in +dexterity of stalking, that the hunters placed their trust. I ran on +farther, keeping the higher spurs, and looking right and left, nor did +I pause again till I was on the mount above Sandag. I could see the +wreck, the uncovered belt of sand, the waves idly beating, the long +ledge of rocks, and on either hand the tumbled knolls, boulders, and +gullies of the island. But still no human thing. + +At a stride the sunshine fell on Aros, and the shadows and colours +leaped into being. Not half a moment later, below me to the west, sheep +began to scatter as in a panic. There came a cry. I saw my uncle +running. I saw the black jump up in hot pursuit; and before I had time +to understand, Rorie also had appeared, calling directions in Gaelic as +to a dog herding sheep. + +I took to my heels to interfere, and perhaps I had done better to have +waited where I was, for I was the means of cutting off the madman’s +last escape. There was nothing before him from that moment but the +grave, the wreck, and the sea in Sandag Bay. And yet Heaven knows that +what I did was for the best. + +My uncle Gordon saw in what direction, horrible to him, the chase was +driving him. He doubled, darting to the right and left; but high as the +fever ran in his veins, the black was still the swifter. Turn where he +would, he was still forestalled, still driven toward the scene of his +crime. Suddenly he began to shriek aloud, so that the coast re-echoed; +and now both I and Rorie were calling on the black to stop. But all was +vain, for it was written otherwise. The pursuer still ran, the chase +still sped before him screaming; they avoided the grave, and skimmed +close past the timbers of the wreck; in a breath they had cleared the +sand; and still my kinsman did not pause, but dashed straight into the +surf; and the black, now almost within reach, still followed swiftly +behind him. Rorie and I both stopped, for the thing was now beyond the +hands of men, and these were the decrees of God that came to pass +before our eyes. There was never a sharper ending. On that steep beach +they were beyond their depth at a bound; neither could swim; the black +rose once for a moment with a throttling cry; but the current had them, +racing seaward; and if ever they came up again, which God alone can +tell, it would be ten minutes after, at the far end of Aros Roost, +where the seabirds hover fishing. + + + + +WILL O’ THE MILL. + + + + +CHAPTER I. +THE PLAIN AND THE STARS. + + +The Mill here Will lived with his adopted parents stood in a falling +valley between pinewoods and great mountains. Above, hill after hill, +soared upwards until they soared out of the depth of the hardiest +timber, and stood naked against the sky. Some way up, a long grey +village lay like a seam or a ray of vapour on a wooded hillside; and +when the wind was favourable, the sound of the church bells would drop +down, thin and silvery, to Will. Below, the valley grew ever steeper +and steeper, and at the same time widened out on either hand; and from +an eminence beside the mill it was possible to see its whole length and +away beyond it over a wide plain, where the river turned and shone, and +moved on from city to city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced +that over this valley there lay a pass into a neighbouring kingdom; so +that, quiet and rural as it was, the road that ran along beside the +river was a high thoroughfare between two splendid and powerful +societies. All through the summer, travelling-carriages came crawling +up, or went plunging briskly downwards past the mill; and as it +happened that the other side was very much easier of ascent, the path +was not much frequented, except by people going in one direction; and +of all the carriages that Will saw go by, five-sixths were plunging +briskly downwards and only one-sixth crawling up. Much more was this +the case with foot-passengers. All the light-footed tourists, all the +pedlars laden with strange wares, were tending downward like the river +that accompanied their path. Nor was this all; for when Will was yet a +child a disastrous war arose over a great part of the world. The +newspapers were full of defeats and victories, the earth rang with +cavalry hoofs, and often for days together and for miles around the +coil of battle terrified good people from their labours in the field. +Of all this, nothing was heard for a long time in the valley; but at +last one of the commanders pushed an army over the pass by forced +marches, and for three days horse and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum +and standard, kept pouring downward past the mill. All day the child +stood and watched them on their passage—the rhythmical stride, the +pale, unshaven faces tanned about the eyes, the discoloured regimentals +and the tattered flags, filled him with a sense of weariness, pity, and +wonder; and all night long, after he was in bed, he could hear the +cannon pounding and the feet trampling, and the great armament sweeping +onward and downward past the mill. No one in the valley ever heard the +fate of the expedition, for they lay out of the way of gossip in those +troublous times; but Will saw one thing plainly, that not a man +returned. Whither had they all gone? Whither went all the tourists and +pedlars with strange wares? whither all the brisk barouches with +servants in the dicky? whither the water of the stream, ever coursing +downward and ever renewed from above? Even the wind blew oftener down +the valley, and carried the dead leaves along with it in the fall. It +seemed like a great conspiracy of things animate and inanimate; they +all went downward, fleetly and gaily downward, and only he, it seemed, +remained behind, like a stock upon the wayside. It sometimes made him +glad when he noticed how the fishes kept their heads up stream. They, +at least, stood faithfully by him, while all else were posting downward +to the unknown world. + +One evening he asked the miller where the river went. + +“It goes down the valley,” answered he, “and turns a power of mills—six +score mills, they say, from here to Unterdeck—and is none the wearier +after all. And then it goes out into the lowlands, and waters the great +corn country, and runs through a sight of fine cities (so they say) +where kings live all alone in great palaces, with a sentry walling up +and down before the door. And it goes under bridges with stone men upon +them, looking down and smiling so curious it the water, and living +folks leaning their elbows on the wall and looking over too. And then +it goes on and on, and down through marshes and sands, until at last it +falls into the sea, where the ships are that bring parrots and tobacco +from the Indies. Ay, it has a long trot before it as it goes singing +over our weir, bless its heart!” + +“And what is the sea?” asked Will. + +“The sea!” cried the miller. “Lord help us all, it is the greatest +thing God made! That is where all the water in the world runs down into +a great salt lake. There it lies, as flat as my hand and as +innocent-like as a child; but they do say when the wind blows it gets +up into water-mountains bigger than any of ours, and swallows down +great ships bigger than our mill, and makes such a roaring that you can +hear it miles away upon the land. There are great fish in it five times +bigger than a bull, and one old serpent as long as our river and as old +as all the world, with whiskers like a man, and a crown of silver on +her head.” + +Will thought he had never heard anything like this, and he kept on +asking question after question about the world that lay away down the +river, with all its perils and marvels, until the old miller became +quite interested himself, and at last took him by the hand and led him +to the hilltop that overlooks the valley and the plain. The sun was +near setting, and hung low down in a cloudless sky. Everything was +defined and glorified in golden light. Will had never seen so great an +expanse of country in his life; he stood and gazed with all his eyes. +He could see the cities, and the woods and fields, and the bright +curves of the river, and far away to where the rim of the plain +trenched along the shining heavens. An over-mastering emotion seized +upon the boy, soul and body; his heart beat so thickly that he could +not breathe; the scene swam before his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel +round and round, and throw off, as it turned, strange shapes which +disappeared with the rapidity of thought, and were succeeded by others. +Will covered his face with his hands, and burst into a violent fit of +tears; and the poor miller, sadly disappointed and perplexed, saw +nothing better for it than to take him up in his arms and carry him +home in silence. + +From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. +Something kept tugging at his heart-strings; the running water carried +his desires along with it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the +wind, as it ran over innumerable tree-tops, hailed him with encouraging +words; branches beckoned downward; the open road, as it shouldered +round the angles and went turning and vanishing fast and faster down +the valley, tortured him with its solicitations. He spent long whiles +on the eminence, looking down the rivershed and abroad on the fat +lowlands, and watched the clouds that travelled forth upon the sluggish +wind and trailed their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger +by the wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled +downward by the river. It did not matter what it was; everything that +went that way, were it cloud or carriage, bird or brown water in the +stream, he felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of longing. + +We are told by men of science that all the ventures of mariners on the +sea, all that counter-marching of tribes and races that confounds old +history with its dust and rumour, sprang from nothing more abstruse +than the laws of supply and demand, and a certain natural instinct for +cheap rations. To any one thinking deeply, this will seem a dull and +pitiful explanation. The tribes that came swarming out of the North and +East, if they were indeed pressed onward from behind by others, were +drawn at the same time by the magnetic influence of the South and West. +The fame of other lands had reached them; the name of the eternal city +rang in their ears; they were not colonists, but pilgrims; they +travelled towards wine and gold and sunshine, but their hearts were set +on something higher. That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble of +humanity that makes all high achievements and all miserable failure, +the same that spread wings with Icarus, the same that sent Columbus +into the desolate Atlantic, inspired and supported these barbarians on +their perilous march. There is one legend which profoundly represents +their spirit, of how a flying party of these wanderers encountered a +very old man shod with iron. The old man asked them whither they were +going; and they answered with one voice: “To the Eternal City!” He +looked upon them gravely. “I have sought it,” he said, “over the most +part of the world. Three such pairs as I now carry on my feet have I +worn out upon this pilgrimage, and now the fourth is growing slender +underneath my steps. And all this while I have not found the city.” And +he turned and went his own way alone, leaving them astonished. + +And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will’s feeling +for the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, he felt as if +his eyesight would be purged and clarified, as if his hearing would +grow more delicate, and his very breath would come and go with luxury. +He was transplanted and withering where he was; he lay in a strange +country and was sick for home. Bit by bit, he pieced together broken +notions of the world below: of the river, ever moving and growing until +it sailed forth into the majestic ocean; of the cities, full of brisk +and beautiful people, playing fountains, bands of music and marble +palaces, and lighted up at night from end to end with artificial stars +of gold; of the great churches, wise universities, brave armies, and +untold money lying stored in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved +in the sunshine, and the stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I +have said he was sick as if for home: the figure halts. He was like +some one lying in twilit, formless preexistence, and stretching out his +hands lovingly towards many-coloured, many-sounding life. It was no +wonder he was unhappy, he would go and tell the fish: they were made +for their life, wished for no more than worms and running water, and a +hole below a falling bank; but he was differently designed, full of +desires and aspirations, itching at the fingers, lusting with the eyes, +whom the whole variegated world could not satisfy with aspects. The +true life, the true bright sunshine, lay far out upon the plain. And O! +to see this sunlight once before he died! to move with a jocund spirit +in a golden land! to hear the trained singers and sweet church bells, +and see the holiday gardens! “And O fish!” he would cry, “if you would +only turn your noses down stream, you could swim so easily into the +fabled waters and see the vast ships passing over your head like +clouds, and hear the great water-hills making music over you all day +long!” But the fish kept looking patiently in their own direction, +until Will hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. + +Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something +seen in a picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a tourist, +or caught sight of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage +window; but for the most part it had been a mere symbol, which he +contemplated from apart and with something of a superstitious feeling. +A time came at last when this was to be changed. The miller, who was a +greedy man in his way, and never forewent an opportunity of honest +profit, turned the mill-house into a little wayside inn, and, several +pieces of good fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and got +the position of post master on the road. It now became Will’s duty to +wait upon people, as they sat to break their fasts in the little arbour +at the top of the mill garden; and you may be sure that he kept his +ears open, and learned many new things about the outside world as he +brought the omelette or the wine. Nay, he would often get into +conversation with single guests, and by adroit questions and polite +attention, not only gratify his own curiosity, but win the goodwill of +the travellers. Many complimented the old couple on their serving-boy; +and a professor was eager to take him away with him, and have him +properly educated in the plain. The miller and his wife were mightily +astonished and even more pleased. They thought it a very good thing +that they should have opened their inn. “You see,” the old man would +remark, “he has a kind of talent for a publican; he never would have +made anything else!” And so life wagged on in the valley, with high +satisfaction to all concerned but Will. Every carriage that left the +inn-door seemed to take a part of him away with it; and when people +jestingly offered him a lift, he could with difficulty command his +emotion. Night after night he would dream that he was awakened by +flustered servants, and that a splendid equipage waited at the door to +carry him down into the plain; night after night; until the dream, +which had seemed all jollity to him at first, began to take on a colour +of gravity, and the nocturnal summons and waiting equipage occupied a +place in his mind as something to be both feared and hoped for. + +One day, when Will was about sixteen, a fat young man arrived at sunset +to pass the night. He was a contented-looking fellow, with a jolly eye, +and carried a knapsack. While dinner was preparing, he sat in the +arbour to read a book; but as soon as he had begun to observe Will, the +book was laid aside; he was plainly one of those who prefer living +people to people made of ink and paper. Will, on his part, although he +had not been much interested in the stranger at first sight, soon began +to take a great deal of pleasure in his talk, which was full of good +nature and good sense, and at last conceived a great respect for his +character and wisdom. They sat far into the night; and about two in the +morning Will opened his heart to the young man, and told him how he +longed to leave the valley and what bright hopes he had connected with +the cities of the plain. The young man whistled, and then broke into a +smile. + +“My young friend,” he remarked, “you are a very curious little fellow +to be sure, and wish a great many things which you will never get. Why, +you would feel quite ashamed if you knew how the little fellows in +these fairy cities of yours are all after the same sort of nonsense, +and keep breaking their hearts to get up into the mountains. And let me +tell you, those who go down into the plains are a very short while +there before they wish themselves heartily back again. The air is not +so light nor so pure; nor is the sun any brighter. As for the beautiful +men and women, you would see many of them in rags and many of them +deformed with horrible disorders; and a city is so hard a place for +people who are poor and sensitive that many choose to die by their own +hand.” + +“You must think me very simple,” answered Will. “Although I have never +been out of this valley, believe me, I have used my eyes. I know how +one thing lives on another; for instance, how the fish hangs in the +eddy to catch his fellows; and the shepherd, who makes so pretty a +picture carrying home the lamb, is only carrying it home for dinner. I +do not expect to find all things right in your cities. That is not what +troubles me; it might have been that once upon a time; but although I +live here always, I have asked many questions and learned a great deal +in these last years, and certainly enough to cure me of my old fancies. +But you would not have me die like a dog and not see all that is to be +seen, and do all that a man can do, let it be good or evil? you would +not have me spend all my days between this road here and the river, and +not so much as make a motion to be up and live my life?—I would rather +die out of hand,” he cried, “than linger on as I am doing.” + +“Thousands of people,” said the young man, “live and die like you, and +are none the less happy.” + +“Ah!” said Will, “if there are thousands who would like, why should not +one of them have my place?” + +It was quite dark; there was a hanging lamp in the arbour which lit up +the table and the faces of the speakers; and along the arch, the leaves +upon the trellis stood out illuminated against the night sky, a pattern +of transparent green upon a dusky purple. The fat young man rose, and, +taking Will by the arm, led him out under the open heavens. + +“Did you ever look at the stars?” he asked, pointing upwards. + +“Often and often,” answered Will. + +“And do you know what they are?” + +“I have fancied many things.” + +“They are worlds like ours,” said the young man. “Some of them less; +many of them a million times greater; and some of the least sparkles +that you see are not only worlds, but whole clusters of worlds turning +about each other in the midst of space. We do not know what there may +be in any of them; perhaps the answer to all our difficulties or the +cure of all our sufferings: and yet we can never reach them; not all +the skill of the craftiest of men can fit out a ship for the nearest of +these our neighbours, nor would the life of the most aged suffice for +such a journey. When a great battle has been lost or a dear friend is +dead, when we are hipped or in high spirits, there they are unweariedly +shining overhead. We may stand down here, a whole army of us together, +and shout until we break our hearts, and not a whisper reaches them. We +may climb the highest mountain, and we are no nearer them. All we can +do is to stand down here in the garden and take off our hats; the +starshine lights upon our heads, and where mine is a little bald, I +dare say you can see it glisten in the darkness. The mountain and the +mouse. That is like to be all we shall ever have to do with Arcturus or +Aldebaran. Can you apply a parable?” he added, laying his hand upon +Will’s shoulder. “It is not the same thing as a reason, but usually +vastly more convincing.” + +Will hung his head a little, and then raised it once more to heaven. +The stars seemed to expand and emit a sharper brilliancy; and as he +kept turning his eyes higher and higher, they seemed to increase in +multitude under his gaze. + +“I see,” he said, turning to the young man. “We are in a rat-trap.” + +“Something of that size. Did you ever see a squirrel turning in a cage? +and another squirrel sitting philosophically over his nuts? I needn’t +ask you which of them looked more of a fool.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. +THE PARSON’S MARJORY. + + +After some years the old people died, both in one winter, very +carefully tended by their adopted son, and very quietly mourned when +they were gone. People who had heard of his roving fancies supposed he +would hasten to sell the property, and go down the river to push his +fortunes. But there was never any sign of such in intention on the part +of Will. On the contrary, he had the inn set on a better footing, and +hired a couple of servants to assist him in carrying it on; and there +he settled down, a kind, talkative, inscrutable young man, six feet +three in his stockings, with an iron constitution and a friendly voice. +He soon began to take rank in the district as a bit of an oddity: it +was not much to be wondered at from the first, for he was always full +of notions, and kept calling the plainest common-sense in question; but +what most raised the report upon him was the odd circumstance of his +courtship with the parson’s Marjory. + +The parson’s Marjory was a lass about nineteen, when Will would be +about thirty; well enough looking, and much better educated than any +other girl in that part of the country, as became her parentage. She +held her head very high, and had already refused several offers of +marriage with a grand air, which had got her hard names among the +neighbours. For all that she was a good girl, and one that would have +made any man well contented. + +Will had never seen much of her; for although the church and parsonage +were only two miles from his own door, he was never known to go there +but on Sundays. It chanced, however, that the parsonage fell into +disrepair, and had to be dismantled; and the parson and his daughter +took lodgings for a month or so, on very much reduced terms, at Will’s +inn. Now, what with the inn, and the mill, and the old miller’s +savings, our friend was a man of substance; and besides that, he had a +name for good temper and shrewdness, which make a capital portion in +marriage; and so it was currently gossiped, among their ill-wishers, +that the parson and his daughter had not chosen their temporary lodging +with their eyes shut. Will was about the last man in the world to be +cajoled or frightened into marriage. You had only to look into his +eyes, limpid and still like pools of water, and yet with a sort of +clear light that seemed to come from within, and you would understand +at once that here was one who knew his own mind, and would stand to it +immovably. Marjory herself was no weakling by her looks, with strong, +steady eyes and a resolute and quiet bearing. It might be a question +whether she was not Will’s match in stedfastness, after all, or which +of them would rule the roost in marriage. But Marjory had never given +it a thought, and accompanied her father with the most unshaken +innocence and unconcern. + +The season was still so early that Will’s customers were few and far +between; but the lilacs were already flowering, and the weather was so +mild that the party took dinner under the trellice, with the noise of +the river in their ears and the woods ringing about them with the songs +of birds. Will soon began to take a particular pleasure in these +dinners. The parson was rather a dull companion, with a habit of dozing +at table; but nothing rude or cruel ever fell from his lips. And as for +the parson’s daughter, she suited her surroundings with the best grace +imaginable; and whatever she said seemed so pat and pretty that Will +conceived a great idea of her talents. He could see her face, as she +leaned forward, against a background of rising pinewoods; her eyes +shone peaceably; the light lay around her hair like a kerchief; +something that was hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and Will +could not contain himself from gazing on her in an agreeable dismay. +She looked, even in her quietest moments, so complete in herself, and +so quick with life down to her finger tips and the very skirts of her +dress, that the remainder of created things became no more than a blot +by comparison; and if Will glanced away from her to her surroundings, +the trees looked inanimate and senseless, the clouds hung in heaven +like dead things, and even the mountain tops were disenchanted. The +whole valley could not compare in looks with this one girl. + +Will was always observant in the society of his fellow-creatures; but +his observation became almost painfully eager in the case of Marjory. +He listened to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the same time, +for the unspoken commentary. Many kind, simple, and sincere speeches +found an echo in his heart. He became conscious of a soul beautifully +poised upon itself, nothing doubting, nothing desiring, clothed in +peace. It was not possible to separate her thoughts from her +appearance. The turn of her wrist, the still sound of her voice, the +light in her eyes, the lines of her body, fell in tune with her grave +and gentle words, like the accompaniment that sustains and harmonises +the voice of the singer. Her influence was one thing, not to be divided +or discussed, only to be felt with gratitude and joy. To Will, her +presence recalled something of his childhood, and the thought of her +took its place in his mind beside that of dawn, of running water, and +of the earliest violets and lilacs. It is the property of things seen +for the first time, or for the first time after long, like the flowers +in spring, to reawaken in us the sharp edge of sense and that +impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise passes out of life +with the coming of years; but the sight of a loved face is what renews +a man’s character from the fountain upwards. + +One day after dinner Will took a stroll among the firs; a grave +beatitude possessed him from top to toe, and he kept smiling to himself +and the landscape as he went. The river ran between the stepping-stones +with a pretty wimple; a bird sang loudly in the wood; the hill-tops +looked immeasurably high, and as he glanced at them from time to time +seemed to contemplate his movements with a beneficent but awful +curiosity. His way took him to the eminence which overlooked the plain; +and there he sat down upon a stone, and fell into deep and pleasant +thought. The plain lay abroad with its cities and silver river; +everything was asleep, except a great eddy of birds which kept rising +and falling and going round and round in the blue air. He repeated +Marjory’s name aloud, and the sound of it gratified his ear. He shut +his eyes, and her image sprang up before him, quietly luminous and +attended with good thoughts. The river might run for ever; the birds +fly higher and higher till they touched the stars. He saw it was empty +bustle after all; for here, without stirring a feet, waiting patiently +in his own narrow valley, he also had attained the better sunlight. + +The next day Will made a sort of declaration across the dinner-table, +while the parson was filling his pipe. + +“Miss Marjory,” he said, “I never knew any one I liked so well as you. +I am mostly a cold, unkindly sort of man; not from want of heart, but +out of strangeness in my way of thinking; and people seem far away from +me. ’Tis as if there were a circle round me, which kept every one out +but you; I can hear the others talking and laughing; but you come quite +close. Maybe, this is disagreeable to you?” he asked. + +Marjory made no answer. + +“Speak up, girl,” said the parson. + +“Nay, now,” returned Will, “I wouldn’t press her, parson. I feel +tongue-tied myself, who am not used to it; and she’s a woman, and +little more than a child, when all is said. But for my part, as far as +I can understand what people mean by it, I fancy I must be what they +call in love. I do not wish to be held as committing myself; for I may +be wrong; but that is how I believe things are with me. And if Miss +Marjory should feel any otherwise on her part, mayhap she would be so +kind as shake her head.” + +Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had heard. + +“How is that, parson?” asked Will. + +“The girl must speak,” replied the parson, laying down his pipe. +“Here’s our neighbour who says he loves you, Madge. Do you love him, ay +or no?” + +“I think I do,” said Marjory, faintly. + +“Well then, that’s all that could be wished!” cried Will, heartily. And +he took her hand across the table, and held it a moment in both of his +with great satisfaction. + +“You must marry,” observed the parson, replacing his pipe in his mouth. + +“Is that the right thing to do, think you?” demanded Will. + +“It is indispensable,” said the parson. + +“Very well,” replied the wooer. + +Two or three days passed away with great delight to Will, although a +bystander might scarce have found it out. He continued to take his +meals opposite Marjory, and to talk with her and gaze upon her in her +father’s presence; but he made no attempt to see her alone, nor in any +other way changed his conduct towards her from what it had been since +the beginning. Perhaps the girl was a little disappointed, and perhaps +not unjustly; and yet if it had been enough to be always in the +thoughts of another person, and so pervade and alter his whole life, +she might have been thoroughly contented. For she was never out of +Will’s mind for an instant. He sat over the stream, and watched the +dust of the eddy, and the poised fish, and straining weeds; he wandered +out alone into the purple even, with all the blackbirds piping round +him in the wood; he rose early in the morning, and saw the sky turn +from grey to gold, and the light leap upon the hill-tops; and all the +while he kept wondering if he had never seen such things before, or how +it was that they should look so different now. The sound of his own +mill-wheel, or of the wind among the trees, confounded and charmed his +heart. The most enchanting thoughts presented themselves unbidden in +his mind. He was so happy that he could not sleep at night, and so +restless, that he could hardly sit still out of her company. And yet it +seemed as if he avoided her rather than sought her out. + +One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will found Marjory in the +garden picking flowers, and as he came up with her, slackened his pace +and continued walking by her side. + +“You like flowers?” he said. + +“Indeed I love them dearly,” she replied. “Do you?” + +“Why, no,” said he, “not so much. They are a very small affair, when +all is done. I can fancy people caring for them greatly, but not doing +as you are just now.” + +“How?” she asked, pausing and looking up at him. + +“Plucking them,” said he. “They are a deal better off where they are, +and look a deal prettier, if you go to that.” + +“I wish to have them for my own,” she answered, “to carry them near my +heart, and keep them in my room. They tempt me when they grow here; +they seem to say, ‘Come and do something with us;’ but once I have cut +them and put them by, the charm is laid, and I can look at them with +quite an easy heart.” + +“You wish to possess them,” replied Will, “in order to think no more +about them. It’s a bit like killing the goose with the golden eggs. +It’s a bit like what I wished to do when I was a boy. Because I had a +fancy for looking out over the plain, I wished to go down there—where I +couldn’t look out over it any longer. Was not that fine reasoning? +Dear, dear, if they only thought of it, all the world would do like me; +and you would let your flowers alone, just as I stay up here in the +mountains.” Suddenly he broke off sharp. “By the Lord!” he cried. And +when she asked him what was wrong, he turned the question off and +walked away into the house with rather a humorous expression of face. + +He was silent at table; and after the night hid fallen and the stars +had come out overhead, he walked up and down for hours in the courtyard +and garden with an uneven pace. There was still a light in the window +of Marjory’s room: one little oblong patch of orange in a world of dark +blue hills and silver starlight. Will’s mind ran a great deal on the +window; but his thoughts were not very lover-like. “There she is in her +room,” he thought, “and there are the stars overhead:—a blessing upon +both!” Both were good influences in his life; both soothed and braced +him in his profound contentment with the world. And what more should he +desire with either? The fat young man and his councils were so present +to his mind, that he threw back his head, and, putting his hands before +his mouth, shouted aloud to the populous heavens. Whether from the +position of his head or the sudden strain of the exertion, he seemed to +see a momentary shock among the stars, and a diffusion of frosty light +pass from one to another along the sky. At the same instant, a corner +of the blind was lifted and lowered again at once. He laughed a loud +ho-ho! “One and another!” thought Will. “The stars tremble, and the +blind goes up. Why, before Heaven, what a great magician I must be! Now +if I were only a fool, should not I be in a pretty way?” And he went +off to bed, chuckling to himself: “If I were only a fool!” + +The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once more in the garden, and +sought her out. + +“I have been thinking about getting married,” he began abruptly; “and +after having turned it all over, I have made up my mind it’s not +worthwhile.” + +She turned upon him for a single moment; but his radiant, kindly +appearance would, under the circumstances, have disconcerted an angel, +and she looked down again upon the ground in silence. He could see her +tremble. + +“I hope you don’t mind,” he went on, a little taken aback. “You ought +not. I have turned it all over, and upon my soul there’s nothing in it. +We should never be one whit nearer than we are just now, and, if I am a +wise man, nothing like so happy.” + +“It is unnecessary to go round about with me,” she said. “I very well +remember that you refused to commit yourself; and now that I see you +were mistaken, and in reality have never cared for me, I can only feel +sad that I have been so far misled.” + +“I ask your pardon,” said Will stoutly; “you do not understand my +meaning. As to whether I have ever loved you or not, I must leave that +to others. But for one thing, my feeling is not changed; and for +another, you may make it your boast that you have made my whole life +and character something different from what they were. I mean what I +say; no less. I do not think getting married is worth while. I would +rather you went on living with your father, so that I could walk over +and see you once, or maybe twice a week, as people go to church, and +then we should both be all the happier between whiles. That’s my +notion. But I’ll marry you if you will,” he added. + +“Do you know that you are insulting me?” she broke out. + +“Not I, Marjory,” said he; “if there is anything in a clear conscience, +not I. I offer all my heart’s best affection; you can take it or want +it, though I suspect it’s beyond either your power or mine to change +what has once been done, and set me fancy-free. I’ll marry you, if you +like; but I tell you again and again, it’s not worth while, and we had +best stay friends. Though I am a quiet man I have noticed a heap of +things in my life. Trust in me, and take things as I propose; or, if +you don’t like that, say the word, and I’ll marry you out of hand.” + +There was a considerable pause, and Will, who began to feel uneasy, +began to grow angry in consequence. + +“It seems you are too proud to say your mind,” he said. “Believe me +that’s a pity. A clean shrift makes simple living. Can a man be more +downright or honourable, to a woman than I have been? I have said my +say, and given you your choice. Do you want me to marry you? or will +you take my friendship, as I think best? or have you had enough of me +for good? Speak out for the dear God’s sake! You know your father told +you a girl should speak her mind in these affairs.” + +She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without a word, walked +rapidly through the garden, and disappeared into the house, leaving +Will in some confusion as to the result. He walked up and down the +garden, whistling softly to himself. Sometimes he stopped and +contemplated the sky and hill-tops; sometimes he went down to the tail +of the weir and sat there, looking foolishly in the water. All this +dubiety and perturbation was so foreign to his nature and the life +which he had resolutely chosen for himself, that he began to regret +Marjory’s arrival. “After all,” he thought, “I was as happy as a man +need be. I could come down here and watch my fishes all day long if I +wanted: I was as settled and contented as my old mill.” + +Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim and quiet; and no sooner +were all three at table than she made her father a speech, with her +eyes fixed upon her plate, but showing no other sign of embarrassment +or distress. + +“Father,” she began, “Mr. Will and I have been talking things over. We +see that we have each made a mistake about our feelings, and he has +agreed, at my request, to give up all idea of marriage, and be no more +than my very good friend, as in the past. You see, there is no shadow +of a quarrel, and indeed I hope we shall see a great deal of him in the +future, for his visits will always be welcome in our house. Of course, +father, you will know best, but perhaps we should do better to leave +Mr. Will’s house for the present. I believe, after what has passed, we +should hardly be agreeable inmates for some days.” + +Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from the first, broke +out upon this into an inarticulate noise, and raised one hand with an +appearance of real dismay, as if he were about to interfere and +contradict. But she checked him at once looking up at him with a swift +glance and an angry flush upon her cheek. + +“You will perhaps have the good grace,” she said, “to let me explain +these matters for myself.” + +Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expression and the ring +of her voice. He held his peace, concluding that there were some things +about this girl beyond his comprehension, in which he was exactly +right. + +The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove that this was +no more than a true lovers’ tiff, which would pass off before night; +and when he was dislodged from that position, he went on to argue that +where there was no quarrel there could be no call for a separation; for +the good man liked both his entertainment and his host. It was curious +to see how the girl managed them, saying little all the time, and that +very quietly, and yet twisting them round her finger and insensibly +leading them wherever she would by feminine tact and generalship. It +scarcely seemed to have been her doing—it seemed as if things had +merely so fallen out—that she and her father took their departure that +same afternoon in a farm-cart, and went farther down the valley, to +wait, until their own house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But +Will had been observing closely, and was well aware of her dexterity +and resolution. When he found himself alone he had a great many curious +matters to turn over in his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to +begin with. All the interest had gone out of his life, and he might +look up at the stars as long as he pleased, he somehow failed to find +support or consolation. And then he was in such a turmoil of spirit +about Marjory. He had been puzzled and irritated at her behaviour, and +yet he could not keep himself from admiring it. He thought he +recognised a fine, perverse angel in that still soul which he had never +hitherto suspected; and though he saw it was an influence that would +fit but ill with his own life of artificial calm, he could not keep +himself from ardently desiring to possess it. Like a man who has lived +among shadows and now meets the sun, he was both pained and delighted. + +As the days went forward he passed from one extreme to another; now +pluming himself on the strength of his determination, now despising his +timid and silly caution. The former was, perhaps, the true thought of +his heart, and represented the regular tenor of the man’s reflections; +but the latter burst forth from time to time with an unruly violence, +and then he would forget all consideration, and go up and down his +house and garden or walk among the fir-woods like one who is beside +himself with remorse. To equable, steady-minded Will this state of +matters was intolerable; and he determined, at whatever cost, to bring +it to an end. So, one warm summer afternoon he put on his best clothes, +took a thorn switch in his hand, and set out down the valley by the +river. As soon as he had taken his determination, he had regained at a +bound his customary peace of heart, and he enjoyed the bright weather +and the variety of the scene without any admixture of alarm or +unpleasant eagerness. It was nearly the same to him how the matter +turned out. If she accepted him he would have to marry her this time, +which perhaps was, all for the best. If she refused him, he would have +done his utmost, and might follow his own way in the future with an +untroubled conscience. He hoped, on the whole, she would refuse him; +and then, again, as he saw the brown roof which sheltered her, peeping +through some willows at an angle of the stream, he was half inclined to +reverse the wish, and more than half ashamed of himself for this +infirmity of purpose. + +Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her hand without +affectation or delay. + +“I have been thinking about this marriage,” he began. + +“So have I,” she answered. “And I respect you more and more for a very +wise man. You understood me better than I understood myself; and I am +now quite certain that things are all for the best as they are.” + +“At the same time—,” ventured Will. + +“You must be tired,” she interrupted. “Take a seat and let me fetch you +a glass of wine. The afternoon is so warm; and I wish you not to be +displeased with your visit. You must come quite often; once a week, if +you can spare the time; I am always so glad to see my friends.” + +“O, very well,” thought Will to himself. “It appears I was right after +all.” And he paid a very agreeable visit, walked home again in capital +spirits, and gave himself no further concern about the matter. + +For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued on these terms, +seeing each other once or twice a week without any word of love between +them; and for all that time I believe Will was nearly as happy as a man +can be. He rather stinted himself the pleasure of seeing her; and he +would often walk half-way over to the parsonage, and then back again, +as if to whet his appetite. Indeed there was one corner of the road, +whence he could see the church-spire wedged into a crevice of the +valley between sloping firwoods, with a triangular snatch of plain by +way of background, which he greatly affected as a place to sit and +moralise in before returning homewards; and the peasants got so much +into the habit of finding him there in the twilight that they gave it +the name of “Will o’ the Mill’s Corner.” + +At the end of the three years Marjory played him a sad trick by +suddenly marrying somebody else. Will kept his countenance bravely, and +merely remarked that, for as little as he knew of women, he had acted +very prudently in not marrying her himself three years before. She +plainly knew very little of her own mind, and, in spite of a deceptive +manner, was as fickle and flighty as the rest of them. He had to +congratulate himself on an escape, he said, and would take a higher +opinion of his own wisdom in consequence. But at heart, he was +reasonably displeased, moped a good deal for a month or two, and fell +away in flesh, to the astonishment of his serving-lads. + +It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will was awakened late +one night by the sound of a horse galloping on the road, followed by +precipitate knocking at the inn-door. He opened his window and saw a +farm servant, mounted and holding a led horse by the bridle, who told +him to make what haste he could and go along with him; for Marjory was +dying, and had sent urgently to fetch him to her bedside. Will was no +horseman, and made so little speed upon the way that the poor young +wife was very near her end before he arrived. But they had some +minutes’ talk in private, and he was present and wept very bitterly +while she breathed her last. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +DEATH + + +Year after year went away into nothing, with great explosions and +outcries in the cities on the plain: red revolt springing up and being +suppressed in blood, battle swaying hither and thither, patient +astronomers in observatory towers picking out and christening new +stars, plays being performed in lighted theatres, people being carried +into hospital on stretchers, and all the usual turmoil and agitation of +men’s lives in crowded centres. Up in Will’s valley only the winds and +seasons made an epoch; the fish hung in the swift stream, the birds +circled overhead, the pine-tops rustled underneath the stars, the tall +hills stood over all; and Will went to and fro, minding his wayside +inn, until the snow began to thicken on his head. His heart was young +and vigorous; and if his pulses kept a sober time, they still beat +strong and steady in his wrists. He carried a ruddy stain on either +cheek, like a ripe apple; he stooped a little, but his step was still +firm; and his sinewy hands were reached out to all men with a friendly +pressure. His face was covered with those wrinkles which are got in +open air, and which rightly looked at, are no more than a sort of +permanent sunburning; such wrinkles heighten the stupidity of stupid +faces; but to a person like Will, with his clear eyes and smiling +mouth, only give another charm by testifying to a simple and easy life. +His talk was full of wise sayings. He had a taste for other people; and +other people had a taste for him. When the valley was full of tourists +in the season, there were merry nights in Will’s arbour; and his views, +which seemed whimsical to his neighbours, were often enough admired by +learned people out of towns and colleges. Indeed, he had a very noble +old age, and grew daily better known; so that his fame was heard of in +the cities of the plain; and young men who had been summer travellers +spoke together in _cafés_ of Will o’ the Mill and his rough philosophy. +Many and many an invitation, you may be sure, he had; but nothing could +tempt him from his upland valley. He would shake his head and smile +over his tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. “You come too late,” he +would answer. “I am a dead man now: I have lived and died already. +Fifty years ago you would have brought my heart into my mouth; and now +you do not even tempt me. But that is the object of long living, that +man should cease to care about life.” And again: “There is only one +difference between a long life and a good dinner: that, in the dinner, +the sweets come last.” Or once more: “When I was a boy, I was a bit +puzzled, and hardly knew whether it was myself or the world that was +curious and worth looking into. Now, I know it is myself, and stick to +that.” + +He never showed any symptom of frailty, but kept stalwart and firm to +the last; but they say he grew less talkative towards the end, and +would listen to other people by the hour in an amused and sympathetic +silence. Only, when he did speak, it was more to the point and more +charged with old experience. He drank a bottle of wine gladly; above +all, at sunset on the hill-top or quite late at night under the stars +in the arbour. The sight of something attractive and unatttainable +seasoned his enjoyment, he would say; and he professed he had lived +long enough to admire a candle all the more when he could compare it +with a planet. + +One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed in such +uneasiness of body and mind that he arose and dressed himself and went +out to meditate in the arbour. It was pitch dark, without a star; the +river was swollen, and the wet woods and meadows loaded the air with +perfume. It had thundered during the day, and it promised more thunder +for the morrow. A murky, stifling night for a man of seventy-two! +Whether it was the weather or the wakefulness, or some little touch of +fever in his old limbs, Will’s mind was besieged by tumultuous and +crying memories. His boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the +death of his adopted parents, the summer days with Marjory, and many of +those small circumstances, which seem nothing to another, and are yet +the very gist of a man’s own life to himself—things seen, words heard, +looks misconstrued—arose from their forgotten corners and usurped his +attention. The dead themselves were with him, not merely taking part in +this thin show of memory that defiled before his brain, but revisiting +his bodily senses as they do in profound and vivid dreams. The fat +young man leaned his elbows on the table opposite; Marjory came and +went with an apronful of flowers between the garden and the arbour; he +could hear the old parson knocking out his pipe or blowing his resonant +nose. The tide of his consciousness ebbed and flowed: he was sometimes +half-asleep and drowned in his recollections of the past; and sometimes +he was broad awake, wondering at himself. But about the middle of the +night he was startled by the voice of the dead miller calling to him +out of the house as he used to do on the arrival of custom. The +hallucination was so perfect that Will sprang from his seat and stood +listening for the summons to be repeated; and as he listened he became +conscious of another noise besides the brawling of the river and the +ringing in his feverish ears. It was like the stir of horses and the +creaking of harness, as though a carriage with an impatient team had +been brought up upon the road before the courtyard gate. At such an +hour, upon this rough and dangerous pass, the supposition was no better +than absurd; and Will dismissed it from his mind, and resumed his seat +upon the arbour chair; and sleep closed over him again like running +water. He was once again awakened by the dead miller’s call, thinner +and more spectral than before; and once again he heard the noise of an +equipage upon the road. And so thrice and four times, the same dream, +or the same fancy, presented itself to his senses: until at length, +smiling to himself as when one humours a nervous child, he proceeded +towards the gate to set his uncertainty at rest. + +From the arbour to the gate was no great distance, and yet it took Will +some time; it seemed as if the dead thickened around him in the court, +and crossed his path at every step. For, first, he was suddenly +surprised by an overpowering sweetness of heliotropes; it was as if his +garden had been planted with this flower from end to end, and the hot, +damp night had drawn forth all their perfumes in a breath. Now the +heliotrope had been Marjory’s favourite flower, and since her death not +one of them had ever been planted in Will’s ground. + +“I must be going crazy,” he thought. “Poor Marjory and her +heliotropes!” + +And with that he raised his eyes towards the window that had once been +hers. If he had been bewildered before, he was now almost terrified; +for there was a light in the room; the window was an orange oblong as +of yore; and the corner of the blind was lifted and let fall as on the +night when he stood and shouted to the stars in his perplexity. The +illusion only endured an instant; but it left him somewhat unmanned, +rubbing his eyes and staring at the outline of the house and the black +night behind it. While he thus stood, and it seemed as if he must have +stood there quite a long time, there came a renewal of the noises on +the road: and he turned in time to meet a stranger, who was advancing +to meet him across the court. There was something like the outline of a +great carriage discernible on the road behind the stranger, and, above +that, a few black pine-tops, like so many plumes. + +“Master Will?” asked the new-comer, in brief military fashion. + +“That same, sir,” answered Will. “Can I do anything to serve you?” + +“I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will,” returned the other; +“much spoken of, and well. And though I have both hands full of +business, I wish to drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbour. +Before I go, I shall introduce myself.” + +Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted and a bottle +uncorked. He was not altogether unused to such complimentary +interviews, and hoped little enough from this one, being schooled by +many disappointments. A sort of cloud had settled on his wits and +prevented him from remembering the strangeness of the hour. He moved +like a person in his sleep; and it seemed as if the lamp caught fire +and the bottle came uncorked with the facility of thought. Still, he +had some curiosity about the appearance of his visitor, and tried in +vain to turn the light into his face; either he handled the lamp +clumsily, or there was a dimness over his eyes; but he could make out +little more than a shadow at table with him. He stared and stared at +this shadow, as he wiped out the glasses, and began to feel cold and +strange about the heart. The silence weighed upon him, for he could +hear nothing now, not even the river, but the drumming of his own +arteries in his ears. + +“Here’s to you,” said the stranger, roughly. + +“Here is my service, sir,” replied Will, sipping his wine, which +somehow tasted oddly. + +“I understand you are a very positive fellow,” pursued the stranger. + +Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction and a little nod. + +“So am I,” continued the other; “and it is the delight of my heart to +tramp on people’s corns. I will have nobody positive but myself; not +one. I have crossed the whims, in my time, of kings and generals and +great artists. And what would you say,” he went on, “if I had come up +here on purpose to cross yours?” + +Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder; but the politeness +of an old innkeeper prevailed; and he held his peace and made answer +with a civil gesture of the hand. + +“I have,” said the stranger. “And if I did not hold you in a particular +esteem, I should make no words about the matter. It appears you pride +yourself on staying where you are. You mean to stick by your inn. Now I +mean you shall come for a turn with me in my barouche; and before this +bottle’s empty, so you shall.” + +“That would be an odd thing, to be sure,” replied Will, with a chuckle. +“Why, sir, I have grown here like an old oak-tree; the Devil himself +could hardly root me up: and for all I perceive you are a very +entertaining old gentleman, I would wager you another bottle you lose +your pains with me.” + +The dimness of Will’s eyesight had been increasing all this while; but +he was somehow conscious of a sharp and chilling scrutiny which +irritated and yet overmastered him. + +“You need not think,” he broke out suddenly, in an explosive, febrile +manner that startled and alarmed himself, “that I am a stay-at-home, +because I fear anything under God. God knows I am tired enough of it +all; and when the time comes for a longer journey than ever you dream +of, I reckon I shall find myself prepared.” + +The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away from him. He looked +down for a little, and then, leaning over the table, tapped Will three +times upon the forearm with a single finger. “The time has come!” he +said solemnly. + +An ugly thrill spread from the spot he touched. The tones of his voice +were dull and startling, and echoed strangely in Will’s heart. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said, with some discomposure. “What do you +mean?” + +“Look at me, and you will find your eyesight swim. Raise your hand; it +is dead-heavy. This is your last bottle of wine, Master Will, and your +last night upon the earth.” + +“You are a doctor?” quavered Will. + +“The best that ever was,” replied the other; “for I cure both mind and +body with the same prescription. I take away all pain and I forgive all +sins; and where my patients have gone wrong in life, I smooth out all +complications and set them free again upon their feet.” + +“I have no need of you,” said Will. + +“A time comes for all men, Master Will,” replied the doctor, “when the +helm is taken out of their hands. For you, because you were prudent and +quiet, it has been long of coming, and you have had long to discipline +yourself for its reception. You have seen what is to be seen about your +mill; you have sat close all your days like a hare in its form; but now +that is at an end; and,” added the doctor, getting on his feet, “you +must arise and come with me.” + +“You are a strange physician,” said Will, looking steadfastly upon his +guest. + +“I am a natural law,” he replied, “and people call me Death.” + +“Why did you not tell me so at first?” cried Will. “I have been waiting +for you these many years. Give me your hand, and welcome.” + +“Lean upon my arm,” said the stranger, “for already your strength +abates. Lean on me as heavily as you need; for though I am old, I am +very strong. It is but three steps to my carriage, and there all your +trouble ends. Why, Will,” he added, “I have been yearning for you as if +you were my own son; and of all the men that ever I came for in my long +days, I have come for you most gladly. I am caustic, and sometimes +offend people at first sight; but I am a good friend at heart to such +as you.” + +“Since Marjory was taken,” returned Will, “I declare before God you +were the only friend I had to look for.” So the pair went arm-in-arm +across the courtyard. + +One of the servants awoke about this time and heard the noise of horses +pawing before he dropped asleep again; all down the valley that night +there was a rushing as of a smooth and steady wind descending towards +the plain; and when the world rose next morning, sure enough Will o’ +the Mill had gone at last upon his travels. + + + + +MARKHEIM + + +“Yes,” said the dealer, “our windfalls are of various kinds. Some +customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior +knowledge. Some are dishonest,” and here he held up the candle, so that +the light fell strongly on his visitor, “and in that case,” he +continued, “I profit by my virtue.” + +Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes +had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the +shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the +flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. + +The dealer chuckled. “You come to me on Christmas Day,” he resumed, +“when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and +make a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; +you will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing my +books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I +remark in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and +ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the +eye, he has to pay for it.” The dealer once more chuckled; and then, +changing to his usual business voice, though still with a note of +irony, “You can give, as usual, a clear account of how you came into +the possession of the object?” he continued. “Still your uncle’s +cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir!” + +And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip-toe, +looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with +every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of +infinite pity, and a touch of horror. + +“This time,” said he, “you are in error. I have not come to sell, but +to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle’s cabinet is bare to +the wainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock +Exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my +errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas present for a +lady,” he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he +had prepared; “and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus disturbing +you upon so small a matter. But the thing was neglected yesterday; I +must produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well +know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected.” + +There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh this +statement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curious +lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near +thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. + +“Well, sir,” said the dealer, “be it so. You are an old customer after +all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, far be +it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady now,” he +went on, “this hand glass—fifteenth century, warranted; comes from a +good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the interests of my +customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole +heir of a remarkable collector.” + +The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had +stooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, a +shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a +sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as +swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of the +hand that now received the glass. + +“A glass,” he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more +clearly. “A glass? For Christmas? Surely not?” + +“And why not?” cried the dealer. “Why not a glass?” + +Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. “You ask +me why not?” he said. “Why, look here—look in it—look at yourself! Do +you like to see it? No! nor I—nor any man.” + +The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly confronted +him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse on +hand, he chuckled. “Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard +favoured,” said he. + +“I ask you,” said Markheim, “for a Christmas present, and you give me +this—this damned reminder of years, and sins and follies—this +hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tell +me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. +I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?” + +The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheim +did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like an +eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. + +“What are you driving at?” the dealer asked. + +“Not charitable?” returned the other, gloomily. “Not charitable; not +pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safe +to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?” + +“I will tell you what it is,” began the dealer, with some sharpness, +and then broke off again into a chuckle. “But I see this is a love +match of yours, and you have been drinking the lady’s health.” + +“Ah!” cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. “Ah, have you been in +love? Tell me about that.” + +“I,” cried the dealer. “I in love! I never had the time, nor have I the +time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?” + +“Where is the hurry?” returned Markheim. “It is very pleasant to stand +here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurry +away from any pleasure—no, not even from so mild a one as this. We +should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a +cliff’s edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it—a cliff a +mile high—high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of +humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each +other: why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, +we might become friends?” + +“I have just one word to say to you,” said the dealer. “Either make +your purchase, or walk out of my shop!” + +“True true,” said Markheim. “Enough, fooling. To business. Show me +something else.” + +The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon the +shelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. Markheim +moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat; he +drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time many different +emotions were depicted together on his face—terror, horror, and +resolve, fascination and a physical repulsion; and through a haggard +lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out. + +“This, perhaps, may suit,” observed the dealer: and then, as he began +to re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, +skewerlike dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, +striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in a +heap. + +Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and slow +as was becoming to their great age; others garrulous and hurried. All +these told out the seconds in an intricate, chorus of tickings. Then +the passage of a lad’s feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in +upon these smaller voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness +of his surroundings. He looked about him awfully. The candle stood on +the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that +inconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled with noiseless +bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross +blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration, the faces +of the portraits and the china gods changing and wavering like images +in water. The inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of +shadows with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. + +From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim’s eyes returned to the body +of his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incredibly small +and strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in +that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. Markheim +had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And yet, as he gazed, +this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquent +voices. There it must lie; there was none to work the cunning hinges or +direct the miracle of locomotion—there it must lie till it was found. +Found! ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that +would ring over England, and fill the world with the echoes of pursuit. +Ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. “Time was that when the +brains were out,” he thought; and the first word struck into his mind. +Time, now that the deed was accomplished—time, which had closed for the +victim, had become instant and momentous for the slayer. + +The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, with +every variety of pace and voice—one deep as the bell from a cathedral +turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz-the +clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. + +The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggered +him. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, +beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance +reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home design, some from +Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it were +an army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound of +his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. And +still, as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him with a +sickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. He should +have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he +should not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and +only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have +been more bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done all +things otherwise: poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the +mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to +be the architect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind all +this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of rats in a deserted +attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with riot; the hand +of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves would +jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, the dock, +the prison, the gallows, and the black coffin. + +Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like a +besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some rumour of +the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge their +curiosity; and now, in all the neighbouring houses, he divined them +sitting motionless and with uplifted ear—solitary people, condemned to +spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, and now +startingly recalled from that tender exercise; happy family parties +struck into silence round the table, the mother still with raised +finger: every degree and age and humour, but all, by their own hearths, +prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. +Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of +the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by +the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the clocks. And +then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, the very silence +of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing to strike and +freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, and bustle aloud +among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate bravado, +the movements of a busy man at ease in his own house. + +But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while one +portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on +the brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a strong hold +on his credulity. The neighbour hearkening with white face beside his +window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on the +pavement—these could at worst suspect, they could not know; through the +brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. But +here, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched +the servant set forth sweet-hearting, in her poor best, “out for the +day” written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; +and yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear a +stir of delicate footing—he was surely conscious, inexplicably +conscious of some presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the +house his imagination followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and +yet had eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet +again behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and +hatred. + +At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door which +still seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight small +and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to +the ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the +threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, +did there not hang wavering a shadow? + +Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to +beat with a staff on the shop-door, accompanying his blows with shouts +and railleries in which the dealer was continually called upon by name. +Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he lay +quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows and +shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, which +would once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had +become an empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desisted from +his knocking, and departed. + +Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth +from this accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of London +multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of +safety and apparent innocence—his bed. One visitor had come: at any +moment another might follow and be more obstinate. To have done the +deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. +The money, that was now Markheim’s concern; and as a means to that, the +keys. + +He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow was +still lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of the +mind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his +victim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suit +half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on +the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy and +inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more significance to +the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and turned it on its +back. It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had +been broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all +expression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with +blood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing +circumstance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain +fair-day in a fishers’ village: a gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon +the street, the blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice +of a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in the +crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon the +chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen with +pictures, dismally designed, garishly coloured: Brown-rigg with her +apprentice; the Mannings with their murdered guest; Weare in the +death-grip of Thurtell; and a score besides of famous crimes. The thing +was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that little boy; he was +looking once again, and with the same sense of physical revolt, at +these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the thumping of the drums. +A bar of that day’s music returned upon his memory; and at that, for +the first time, a qualm came over him, a breath of nausea, a sudden +weakness of the joints, which he must instantly resist and conquer. + +He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these +considerations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending his +mind to realise the nature and greatness of his crime. So little a +while ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that pale +mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable +energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had been +arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the +beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more +remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before the +painted effigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he +felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all +those faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one +who had never lived and who was now dead. But of penitence, no, not a +tremor. + +With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the +keys and advanced towards the open door of the shop. Outside, it had +begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof had +banished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house +were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled +with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, +he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of +another foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated +loosely on the threshold. He threw a ton’s weight of resolve upon his +muscles, and drew back the door. + +The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs; +on the bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing; +and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung against +the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of the rain +through all the house that, in Markheim’s ears, it began to be +distinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the +tread of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in the +counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to +mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of +the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him +to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by +presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, +he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great +effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed +stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he +would possess his soul! And then again, and hearkening with ever fresh +attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense which held the +outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His head turned +continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting from their +orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half-rewarded as +with the tail of something nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty +steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. + +On that first storey, the doors stood ajar, three of them like three +ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could never +again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men’s +observing eyes, he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among +bedclothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought he +wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear +they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, at +least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callous +and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence of +his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitions +terror, some scission in the continuity of man’s experience, some +wilful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on +the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as +the defeated tyrant overthrew the chess-board, should break the mould +of their succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) +when the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might +befall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal +his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might +yield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch; +ay, and there were soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, for +instance, the house should fall and imprison him beside the body of his +victim; or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen +invade him from all sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, +these things might be called the hands of God reached forth against +sin. But about God himself he was at ease; his act was doubtless +exceptional, but so were his excuses, which God knew; it was there, and +not among men, that he felt sure of justice. + +When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind +him, he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite +dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases and +incongruous furniture; several great pier-glasses, in which he beheld +himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, +framed and unframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine +Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, with +tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good +fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this +concealed him from the neighbours. Here, then, Markheim drew in a +packing case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It +was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome, besides; +for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on +the wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. With the +tail of his eye he saw the door—even glanced at it from time to time +directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the good estate +of his defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the +street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the +notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of +many children took up the air and words. How stately, how comfortable +was the melody! How fresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it +smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with +answerable ideas and images; church-going children and the pealing of +the high organ; children afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on +the brambly common, kite-flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; +and then, at another cadence of the hymn, back again to church, and the +somnolence of summer Sundays, and the high genteel voice of the parson +(which he smiled a little to recall) and the painted Jacobean tombs, +and the dim lettering of the Ten Commandments in the chancel. + +And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his +feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, went +over him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted +the stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the +knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. + +Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether the +dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some +chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But +when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, +looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, and +then withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke +loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the +visitant returned. + +“Did you call me?” he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered the +room and closed the door behind him. + +Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was a +film upon his sight, but the outlines of the new comer seemed to change +and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light of the +shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he +bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, +there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the +earth and not of God. + +And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood +looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: “You are looking +for the money, I believe?” it was in the tones of everyday politeness. + +Markheim made no answer. + +“I should warn you,” resumed the other, “that the maid has left her +sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be +found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences.” + +“You know me?” cried the murderer. + +The visitor smiled. “You have long been a favourite of mine,” he said; +“and I have long observed and often sought to help you.” + +“What are you?” cried Markheim: “the devil?” + +“What I may be,” returned the other, “cannot affect the service I +propose to render you.” + +“It can,” cried Markheim; “it does! Be helped by you? No, never; not by +you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!” + +“I know you,” replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or +rather firmness. “I know you to the soul.” + +“Know me!” cried Markheim. “Who can do so? My life is but a travesty +and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all +men are better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them. +You see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and +muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control—if you could see +their faces, they would be altogether different, they would shine out +for heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself is more overlaid; +my excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose +myself.” + +“To me?” inquired the visitant. + +“To you before all,” returned the murderer. “I supposed you were +intelligent. I thought—since you exist—you would prove a reader of the +heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of it; +my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants have +dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother—the giants +of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not +look within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you +not see within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any +wilful sophistry, although too often disregarded? Can you not read me +for a thing that surely must be common as humanity—the unwilling +sinner?” + +“All this is very feelingly expressed,” was the reply, “but it regards +me not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I care +not in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, so +as you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the +servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures +on the hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it +is as if the gallows itself was striding towards you through the +Christmas streets! Shall I help you; I, who know all? Shall I tell you +where to find the money?” + +“For what price?” asked Markheim. + +“I offer you the service for a Christmas gift,” returned the other. + +Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph. +“No,” said he, “I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying of +thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should +find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing +to commit myself to evil.” + +“I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,” observed the visitant. + +“Because you disbelieve their efficacy!” Markheim cried. + +“I do not say so,” returned the other; “but I look on these things from +a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The man +has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of religion, +or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course of weak +compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliverance, +he can add but one act of service—to repent, to die smiling, and thus +to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving +followers. I am not so hard a master. Try me. Accept my help. Please +yourself in life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, +spread your elbows at the board; and when the night begins to fall and +the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for your greater comfort, that +you will find it even easy to compound your quarrel with your +conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. I came but now from +such a deathbed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening +to the man’s last words: and when I looked into that face, which had +been set as a flint against mercy, I found it smiling with hope.” + +“And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?” asked Markheim. “Do you +think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and +sin, and, at the last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the +thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because +you find me with red hands that you presume such baseness? and is this +crime of murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of +good?” + +“Murder is to me no special category,” replied the other. “All sins are +murder, even as all life is war. I behold your race, like starving +mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and +feeding on each other’s lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of their +acting; I find in all that the last consequence is death; and to my +eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on +a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a +murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtues +also; they differ not by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythes +for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in +action but in character. The bad man is dear to me; not the bad act, +whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtling +cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of the +rarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer, but +because you are Markheim, that I offer to forward your escape.” + +“I will lay my heart open to you,” answered Markheim. “This crime on +which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned many +lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been +driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond-slave to poverty, +driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in these +temptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, +and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches—both the power +and a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor +in the world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents +of good, this heart at peace. Something comes over me out of the past; +something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of +the church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over noble +books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my +life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my city of +destination.” + +“You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?” remarked +the visitor; “and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost some +thousands?” + +“Ah,” said Markheim, “but this time I have a sure thing.” + +“This time, again, you will lose,” replied the visitor quietly. + +“Ah, but I keep back the half!” cried Markheim. + +“That also you will lose,” said the other. + +The sweat started upon Markheim’s brow. “Well, then, what matter?” he +exclaimed. “Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall +one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override +the better? Evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways. I do +not love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, +renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as +murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows +their trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I +love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth +but I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, +and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the +mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts.” + +But the visitant raised his finger. “For six-and-thirty years that you +have been in this world,” said be, “through many changes of fortune and +varieties of humour, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years +ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would have +blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any +cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil?—five years from now I +shall detect you in the fact! Downward, downward, lies your way; nor +can anything but death avail to stop you.” + +“It is true,” Markheim said huskily, “I have in some degree complied +with evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere exercise +of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their +surroundings.” + +“I will propound to you one simple question,” said the other; “and as +you answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grown in +many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so—and at any +account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in any +one particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your +own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?” + +“In any one?” repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. +“No,” he added, with despair, “in none! I have gone down in all.” + +“Then,” said the visitor, “content yourself with what you are, for you +will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are +irrevocably written down.” + +Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitor +who first broke the silence. “That being so,” he said, “shall I show +you the money?” + +“And grace?” cried Markheim. + +“Have you not tried it?” returned the other. “Two or three years ago, +did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not your +voice the loudest in the hymn?” + +“It is true,” said Markheim; “and I see clearly what remains for me by +way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes are +opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am.” + +At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the house; +and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for which +he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanour. + +“The maid!” he cried. “She has returned, as I forewarned you, and there +is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you must say, +is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather serious +countenance—no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success! Once +the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has +already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in +your path. Thenceforward you have the whole evening—the whole night, if +needful—to ransack the treasures of the house and to make good your +safety. This is help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!” he +cried; “up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the scales: up, and +act!” + +Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. “If I be condemned to evil +acts,” he said, “there is still one door of freedom open—I can cease +from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I +be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, +by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love +of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! But I have +still my hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, +you shall see that I can draw both energy and courage.” + +The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely +change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, even +as they brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause to +watch or understand the transformation. He opened the door and went +downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly +before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, +random as chance-medley—a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed +it, tempted him no longer; but on the further side he perceived a quiet +haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop, +where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely +silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood +gazing. And then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour. + +He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. + +“You had better go for the police,” said he: “I have killed your +master.” + + + + +THRAWN JANET + + +The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish of +Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadful +to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without +relative or servant or any human company, in the small and lonely manse +under the Hanging Shaw. In spite of the iron composure of his features, +his eye was wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private +admonitions, on the future of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eye +pierced through the storms of time to the terrors of eternity. Many +young persons, coming to prepare themselves against the season of the +Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk. He had a sermon +on lst Peter, v. and 8th, “The devil as a roaring lion,” on the Sunday +after every seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to surpass +himself upon that text both by the appalling nature of the matter and +the terror of his bearing in the pulpit. The children were frightened +into fits, and the old looked more than usually oracular, and were, all +that day, full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated. The manse itself, +where it stood by the water of Dule among some thick trees, with the +Shaw overhanging it on the one side, and on the other many cold, +moorish hilltops rising towards the sky, had begun, at a very early +period of Mr. Soulis’s ministry, to be avoided in the dusk hours by all +who valued themselves upon their prudence; and guidmen sitting at the +clachan alehouse shook their heads together at the thought of passing +late by that uncanny neighbourhood. There was one spot, to be more +particular, which was regarded with especial awe. The manse stood +between the high road and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; its +back was towards the kirk-town of Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in +front of it, a bare garden, hedged with thorn, occupied the land +between the river and the road. The house was two stories high, with +two large rooms on each. It opened not directly on the garden, but on a +causewayed path, or passage, giving on the road on the one hand, and +closed on the other by the tall willows and elders that bordered on the +stream. And it was this strip of causeway that enjoyed among the young +parishioners of Balweary so infamous a reputation. The minister walked +there often after dark, sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his +unspoken prayers; and when he was from home, and the manse door was +locked, the more daring schoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to +“follow my leader” across that legendary spot. + +This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of +spotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and +subject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance or +business into that unknown, outlying country. But many even of the +people of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which had +marked the first year of Mr. Soulis’s ministrations; and among those +who were better informed, some were naturally reticent, and others shy +of that particular topic. Now and again, only, one of the older folk +would warm into courage over his third tumbler, and recount the cause +of the minister’s strange looks and solitary life. + + +Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam first into Ba’weary, he was still +a young man—a callant, the folk said—fu’ o’ book learnin’ and grand at +the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi’ nae leevin’ +experience in religion. The younger sort were greatly taken wi’ his +gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men and women were +moved even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a +self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be sae ill-supplied. It +was before the days o’ the moderates—weary fa’ them; but ill things are +like guid—they baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and there +were folk even then that said the Lord had left the college professors +to their ain devices, an’ the lads that went to study wi’ them wad hae +done mair and better sittin’ in a peat-bog, like their forbears of the +persecution, wi’ a Bible under their oxter and a speerit o’ prayer in +their heart. There was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been +ower lang at the college. He was careful and troubled for mony things +besides the ae thing needful. He had a feck o’ books wi’ him—mair than +had ever been seen before in a’ that presbytery; and a sair wark the +carrier had wi’ them, for they were a’ like to have smoored in the +Deil’s Hag between this and Kilmackerlie. They were books o’ divinity, +to be sure, or so they ca’d them; but the serious were o’ opinion there +was little service for sae mony, when the hail o’ God’s Word would gang +in the neuk of a plaid. Then he wad sit half the day and half the nicht +forbye, which was scant decent—writin’, nae less; and first, they were +feared he wad read his sermons; and syne it proved he was writin’ a +book himsel’, which was surely no fittin’ for ane of his years an’ sma’ +experience. + +Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse for +him an’ see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auld +limmer—Janet M’Clour, they ca’d her—and sae far left to himsel’ as to +be ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to the contrar, for Janet +was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba’weary. Lang or that, she +had had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit[140] for maybe +thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin’ to hersel’ up on Key’s +Loan in the gloamin’, whilk was an unco time an’ place for a +God-fearin’ woman. Howsoever, it was the laird himsel’ that had first +tauld the minister o’ Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a far +gate to pleesure the laird. When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to +the deil, it was a’ superstition by his way of it; an’ when they cast +up the Bible to him an’ the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their +thrapples that thir days were a’ gane by, and the deil was mercifully +restrained. + +Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M’Clour was to be +servant at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi’ her an’ him thegether; +and some o’ the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door +cheeks and chairge her wi’ a’ that was ken’t again her, frae the +sodger’s bairn to John Tamson’s twa kye. She was nae great speaker; +folk usually let her gang her ain gate, an’ she let them gang theirs, +wi’, neither Fair-guid-een nor Fair-guid-day; but when she buckled to, +she had a tongue to deave the miller. Up she got, an’ there wasnae an +auld story in Ba’weary but she gart somebody lowp for it that day; they +couldnae say ae thing but she could say twa to it; till, at the hinder +end, the guidwives up and claught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff +her back, and pu’d her doun the clachan to the water o’ Dule, to see if +she were a witch or no, soum or droun. The carline skirled till ye +could hear her at the Hangin’ Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was +mony a guidwife bure the mark of her neist day an’ mony a lang day +after; and just in the hettest o’ the collieshangie, wha suld come up +(for his sins) but the new minister. + +“Women,” said he (and he had a grand voice), “I charge you in the +Lord’s name to let her go.” + +Janet ran to him—she was fair wud wi’ terror—an’ clang to him, an’ +prayed him, for Christ’s sake, save her frae the cummers; an’ they, for +their pairt, tauld him a’ that was ken’t, and maybe mair. + +“Woman,” says he to Janet, “is this true?” + +“As the Lord sees me,” says she, “as the Lord made me, no a word o’t. +Forbye the bairn,” says she, “I’ve been a decent woman a’ my days.” + +“Will you,” says Mr. Soulis, “in the name of God, and before me, His +unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?” + +Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that +fairly frichtit them that saw her, an’ they could hear her teeth play +dirl thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae +way or the ither; an’ Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil +before them a’. + +“And now,” says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, “home with ye, one and +all, and pray to God for His forgiveness.” + +And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, and +took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land; an’ +her scrieghin’ and laughin’ as was a scandal to be heard. + +There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but when +the morn cam’ there was sic a fear fell upon a’ Ba’weary that the +bairns hid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their +doors. For there was Janet comin’ doun the clachan—her or her likeness, +nane could tell—wi’ her neck thrawn, and her heid on ae side, like a +body that has been hangit, and a girn on her face like an unstreakit +corp. By an’ by they got used wi’ it, and even speered at her to ken +what was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak like a +Christian woman, but slavered and played click wi’ her teeth like a +pair o’ shears; and frae that day forth the name o’ God cam never on +her lips. Whiles she wad try to say it, but it michtnae be. Them that +kenned best said least; but they never gied that Thing the name o’ +Janet M’Clour; for the auld Janet, by their way o’t, was in muckle hell +that day. But the minister was neither to haud nor to bind; he preached +about naething but the folk’s cruelty that had gi’en her a stroke of +the palsy; he skelpt the bairns that meddled her; and he had her up to +the manse that same nicht, and dwalled there a’ his lane wi’ her under +the Hangin’ Shaw. + +Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtly +o’ that black business. The minister was weel thocht o’; he was aye +late at the writing, folk wad see his can’le doon by the Dule water +after twal’ at e’en; and he seemed pleased wi’ himsel’ and upsitten as +at first, though a’ body could see that he was dwining. As for Janet +she cam an’ she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason +she should speak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an +eldritch thing to see, an’ nane wad hae mistrysted wi’ her for Ba’weary +glebe. + +About the end o’ July there cam’ a spell o’ weather, the like o’t never +was in that country side; it was lown an’ het an’ heartless; the herds +couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower weariet to play; +an’ yet it was gousty too, wi’ claps o’ het wund that rumm’led in the +glens, and bits o’ shouers that slockened naething. We aye thocht it +but to thun’er on the morn; but the morn cam, an’ the morn’s morning, +and it was aye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and bestial. Of +a’ that were the waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; he could neither +sleep nor eat, he tauld his elders; an’ when he wasnae writin’ at his +weary book, he wad be stravaguin’ ower a’ the countryside like a man +possessed, when a’ body else was blythe to keep caller ben the house. + +Abune Hangin’ Shaw, in the bield o’ the Black Hill, there’s a bit +enclosed grund wi’ an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, that +was the kirkyaird o’ Ba’weary, and consecrated by the Papists before +the blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff o’ Mr. +Soulis’s, onyway; there he would sit an’ consider his sermons; and +indeed it’s a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam ower the wast end o’ the +Black Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an syne fower, an’ syne seeven +corbie craws fleein’ round an’ round abune the auld kirkyaird. They +flew laigh and heavy, an’ squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was +clear to Mr. Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar. He +wasnae easy fleyed, an’ gaed straucht up to the wa’s; an’ what suld he +find there but a man, or the appearance of a man, sittin’ in the inside +upon a grave. He was of a great stature, an’ black as hell, and his +e’en were singular to see.[144] Mr. Soulis had heard tell o’ black men, +mony’s the time; but there was something unco about this black man that +daunted him. Het as he was, he took a kind o’ cauld grue in the marrow +o’ his banes; but up he spak for a’ that; an’ says he: “My friend, are +you a stranger in this place?” The black man answered never a word; he +got upon his feet, an’ begude to hirsle to the wa’ on the far side; but +he aye lookit at the minister; an’ the minister stood an’ lookit back; +till a’ in a meenute the black man was ower the wa’ an’ rinnin’ for the +bield o’ the trees. Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him; +but he was sair forjaskit wi’ his walk an’ the het, unhalesome weather; +and rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o’ the black man +amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o’ the hill-side, an’ +there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an’ lowp, ower Dule water +to the manse. + +Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak’ sae +free wi’ Ba’weary manse; an’ he ran the harder, an’, wet shoon, ower +the burn, an’ up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see. +He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a’ +ower the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, and a bit +feared as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and +there was Janet M’Clour before his een, wi’ her thrawn craig, and nane +sae pleased to see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set +his een upon her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue. + +“Janet,” says he, “have you seen a black man?” + +“A black man?” quo’ she. “Save us a’! Ye’re no wise, minister. There’s +nae black man in a Ba’weary.” + +But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like +a powney wi’ the bit in its moo. + +“Weel,” says he, “Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken with +the Accuser of the Brethren.” + +And he sat down like ane wi’ a fever, an’ his teeth chittered in his +heid. + +“Hoots,” says she, “think shame to yoursel’, minister;” an’ gied him a +drap brandy that she keept aye by her. + +Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a’ his books. It’s a lang, +laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin’ cauld in winter, an’ no very dry even in +the tap o’ the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun he +sat, and thocht of a’ that had come an’ gane since he was in Ba’weary, +an’ his hame, an’ the days when he was a bairn an’ ran daffin’ on the +braes; and that black man aye ran in his heid like the ower-come of a +sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o’ the black man. He +tried the prayer, an’ the words wouldnae come to him; an’ he tried, +they say, to write at his book, but he could nae mak’ nae mair o’ that. +There was whiles he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an’ the swat +stood upon him cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he +cam to himsel’ like a christened bairn and minded naething. + +The upshot was that he gaed to the window an’ stood glowrin’ at Dule +water. The trees are unco thick, an’ the water lies deep an’ black +under the manse; an’ there was Janct washin’ the cla’es wi’ her coats +kilted. She had her back to the minister, an’ he, for his pairt, hardly +kenned what he was lookin’ at. Syne she turned round, an’ shawed her +face; Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an’ +it was borne in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, +an’ this was a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and +he scanned her narrowly. She was tramp-trampin’ in the cla’es, croonin’ +to hersel’; and eh! Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles +she sang louder, but there was nae man born o’ woman that could tell +the words o’ her sang; an’ whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there +was naething there for her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the +flesh upon his banes; and that was Heeven’s advertisement. But Mr. +Soulis just blamed himsel’, he said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld +afflicted wife that hadnae a freend forbye himsel’; an’ he put up a bit +prayer for him and her, an’ drank a little caller water—for his heart +rose again the meat—an’ gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming. + +That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba’weary, the nicht +o’ the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun’er’ an twal’. It had been +het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever. The +sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin’ clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no +a star, no a breath o’ wund; ye couldnae see your han’ afore your face, +and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin’ +for their breath. Wi’ a’ that he had upon his mind, it was gey and +unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an’ he tummled; the +gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles he +slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the time o’ nicht, and +whiles a tyke yowlin’ up the muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he +thocht he heard bogles claverin’ in his lug, an’ whiles he saw spunkies +in the room. He behoved, he judged, to be sick; an’ sick he was—little +he jaloosed the sickness. + +At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark +on the bed-side, and fell thinkin’ ance mair o’ the black man an’ +Janet. He couldnae weel tell how—maybe it was the cauld to his feet—but +it cam’ in upon him wi’ a spate that there was some connection between +thir twa, an’ that either or baith o’ them were bogles. And just at +that moment, in Janet’s room, which was neist to his, there cam’ a +stramp o’ feet as if men were wars’lin’, an’ then a loud bang; an’ then +a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters of the house; an’ then +a’ was aince mair as seelent as the grave. + +Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil. He got his +tinder-box, an’ lit a can’le, an’ made three steps o’t ower to Janet’s +door. It was on the hasp, an’ he pushed it open, an’ keeked bauldly in. +It was a big room, as big as the minister’s ain, an’ plenished wi’ +grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething else. There was a +fower-posted bed wi’ auld tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was +fu’ o’ the minister’s divinity books, an’ put there to be out o’ the +gate; an’ a wheen duds o’ Janet’s lying here and there about the floor. +But nae Janet could Mr. Soulis see; nor ony sign of a contention. In he +gaed (an’ there’s few that wad ha’e followed him) an’ lookit a’ round, +an’ listened. But there was naethin’ to be heard, neither inside the +manse nor in a’ Ba’weary parish, an’ naethin’ to be seen but the muckle +shadows turnin’ round the can’le. An’ then a’ at aince, the minister’s +heart played dunt an’ stood stock-still; an’ a cauld wund blew amang +the hairs o’ his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man’s +een! For there was Janat hangin’ frae a nail beside the auld aik +cabinet: her heid aye lay on her shoother, her een were steeked, the +tongue projekit frae her mouth, and her heels were twa feet clear abune +the floor. + +“God forgive us all!” thocht Mr. Soulis; “poor Janet’s dead.” + +He cam’ a step nearer to the corp; an’ then his heart fair whammled in +his inside. For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge, she +was hingin’ frae a single nail an’ by a single wursted thread for +darnin’ hose. + +It’s an awfu’ thing to be your lane at nicht wi’ siccan prodigies o’ +darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an’ gaed his +ways oot o’ that room, and lockit the door ahint him; and step by step, +doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can’le on the table +at the stairfoot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin’ +wi’ caul’ swat, an’ naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin’ o’ +his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, +he minded sae little; when a’ o’ a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny +steer upstairs; a foot gaed to an’ fro in the cha’mer whaur the corp +was hingin’; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he +had lockit it; an’ syne there was a step upon the landin’, an’ it +seemed to him as if the corp was lookin’ ower the rail and doun upon +him whaur he stood. + +He took up the can’le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and as +saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o’ the manse an’ to the far +end o’ the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o’ the can’le, when +he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; naething +moved, but the Dule water seepin’ and sabbin’ doon the glen, an’ yon +unhaly footstep that cam’ ploddin doun the stairs inside the manse. He +kenned the foot over weel, for it was Janet’s; and at ilka step that +cam’ a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals. He +commanded his soul to Him that made an’ keepit him; “and O Lord,” said +he, “give me strength this night to war against the powers of evil.” + +By this time the foot was comin’ through the passage for the door; he +could hear a hand skirt alang the wa’, as if the fearsome thing was +feelin’ for its way. The saughs tossed an’ maned thegether, a lang sigh +cam’ ower the hills, the flame o’ the can’le was blawn aboot; an’ there +stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi’ her grogram goun an’ her black +mutch, wi’ the heid aye upon the shouther, an’ the girn still upon the +face o’t—leevin’, ye wad hae said—deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned—upon +the threshold o’ the manse. + +It’s a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled into +his perishable body; but the minister saw that, an’ his heart didnae +break. + +She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an’ cam’ slowly +towards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A’ the life o’ his +body, a’ the strength o’ his speerit, were glowerin’ frae his een. It +seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an’ made a sign wi’ the +left hand. There cam’ a clap o’ wund, like a cat’s fuff; oot gaed the +can’le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; an’ Mr. Soulis kenned that, +live or die, this was the end o’t. + +“Witch, beldame, devil!” he cried, “I charge you, by the power of God, +begone—if you be dead, to the grave—if you be damned, to hell.” + +An’ at that moment the Lord’s ain hand out o’ the Heevens struck the +Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o’ the +witch-wife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by deils, +lowed up like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the +thunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back +o’ that; and Mr. Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi’ +skelloch upon skelloch, for the clachan. + +That same mornin’, John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle +Cairn as it was chappin’ six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house +at Knockdow; an’ no lang after, Sandy M’Lellan saw him gaun linkin’ +doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There’s little doubt but it was him +that dwalled sae lang in Janet’s body; but he was awa’ at last; and +sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba’weary. + +But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay +ravin’ in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken +the day. + + + + +OLALLA + + +“Now,” said the doctor, “my part is done, and, I may say, with some +vanity, well done. It remains only to get you out of this cold and +poisonous city, and to give you two months of a pure air and an easy +conscience. The last is your affair. To the first I think I can help +you. It falls indeed rather oddly; it was but the other day the Padre +came in from the country; and as he and I are old friends, although of +contrary professions, he applied to me in a matter of distress among +some of his parishioners. This was a family—but you are ignorant of +Spain, and even the names of our grandees are hardly known to you; +suffice it, then, that they were once great people, and are now fallen +to the brink of destitution. Nothing now belongs to them but the +residencia, and certain leagues of desert mountain, in the greater part +of which not even a goat could support life. But the house is a fine +old place, and stands at a great height among the hills, and most +salubriously; and I had no sooner heard my friend’s tale, than I +remembered you. I told him I had a wounded officer, wounded in the good +cause, who was now able to make a change; and I proposed that his +friends should take you for a lodger. Instantly the Padre’s face grew +dark, as I had maliciously foreseen it would. It was out of the +question, he said. Then let them starve, said I, for I have no sympathy +with tatterdemalion pride. There-upon we separated, not very content +with one another; but yesterday, to my wonder, the Padre returned and +made a submission: the difficulty, he said, he had found upon enquiry +to be less than he had feared; or, in other words, these proud people +had put their pride in their pocket. I closed with the offer; and, +subject to your approval, I have taken rooms for you in the residencia. +The air of these mountains will renew your blood; and the quiet in +which you will there live is worth all the medicines in the world.” + +“Doctor,” said I, “you have been throughout my good angel, and your +advice is a command. But tell me, if you please, something of the +family with which I am to reside.” + +“I am coming to that,” replied my friend; “and, indeed, there is a +difficulty in the way. These beggars are, as I have said, of very high +descent and swollen with the most baseless vanity; they have lived for +some generations in a growing isolation, drawing away, on either hand, +from the rich who had now become too high for them, and from the poor, +whom they still regarded as too low; and even to-day, when poverty +forces them to unfasten their door to a guest, they cannot do so +without a most ungracious stipulation. You are to remain, they say, a +stranger; they will give you attendance, but they refuse from the first +the idea of the smallest intimacy.” + +I will not deny that I was piqued, and perhaps the feeling strengthened +my desire to go, for I was confident that I could break down that +barrier if I desired. “There is nothing offensive in such a +stipulation,” said I; “and I even sympathise with the feeling that +inspired it.” + +“It is true they have never seen you,” returned the doctor politely; +“and if they knew you were the handsomest and the most pleasant man +that ever came from England (where I am told that handsome men are +common, but pleasant ones not so much so), they would doubtless make +you welcome with a better grace. But since you take the thing so well, +it matters not. To me, indeed, it seems discourteous. But you will find +yourself the gainer. The family will not much tempt you. A mother, a +son, and a daughter; an old woman said to be halfwitted, a country +lout, and a country girl, who stands very high with her confessor, and +is, therefore,” chuckled the physician, “most likely plain; there is +not much in that to attract the fancy of a dashing officer.” + +“And yet you say they are high-born,” I objected. + +“Well, as to that, I should distinguish,” returned the doctor. “The +mother is; not so the children. The mother was the last representative +of a princely stock, degenerate both in parts and fortune. Her father +was not only poor, he was mad: and the girl ran wild about the +residencia till his death. Then, much of the fortune having died with +him, and the family being quite extinct, the girl ran wilder than ever, +until at last she married, Heaven knows whom, a muleteer some say, +others a smuggler; while there are some who uphold there was no +marriage at all, and that Felipe and Olalla are bastards. The union, +such as it was, was tragically dissolved some years ago; but they live +in such seclusion, and the country at that time was in so much +disorder, that the precise manner of the man’s end is known only to the +priest—if even to him.” + +“I begin to think I shall have strange experiences,” said I. + +“I would not romance, if I were you,” replied the doctor; “you will +find, I fear, a very grovelling and commonplace reality. Felipe, for +instance, I have seen. And what am I to say? He is very rustic, very +cunning, very loutish, and, I should say, an innocent; the others are +probably to match. No, no, senor commandante, you must seek congenial +society among the great sights of our mountains; and in these at least, +if you are at all a lover of the works of nature, I promise you will +not be disappointed.” + +The next day Felipe came for me in a rough country cart, drawn by a +mule; and a little before the stroke of noon, after I had said farewell +to the doctor, the innkeeper, and different good souls who had +befriended me during my sickness, we set forth out of the city by the +Eastern gate, and began to ascend into the Sierra. I had been so long a +prisoner, since I was left behind for dying after the loss of the +convoy, that the mere smell of the earth set me smiling. The country +through which we went was wild and rocky, partially covered with rough +woods, now of the cork-tree, and now of the great Spanish chestnut, and +frequently intersected by the beds of mountain torrents. The sun shone, +the wind rustled joyously; and we had advanced some miles, and the city +had already shrunk into an inconsiderable knoll upon the plain behind +us, before my attention began to be diverted to the companion of my +drive. To the eye, he seemed but a diminutive, loutish, well-made +country lad, such as the doctor had described, mighty quick and active, +but devoid of any culture; and this first impression was with most +observers final. What began to strike me was his familiar, chattering +talk; so strangely inconsistent with the terms on which I was to be +received; and partly from his imperfect enunciation, partly from the +sprightly incoherence of the matter, so very difficult to follow +clearly without an effort of the mind. It is true I had before talked +with persons of a similar mental constitution; persons who seemed to +live (as he did) by the senses, taken and possessed by the visual +object of the moment and unable to discharge their minds of that +impression. His seemed to me (as I sat, distantly giving ear) a kind of +conversation proper to drivers, who pass much of their time in a great +vacancy of the intellect and threading the sights of a familiar +country. But this was not the case of Felipe; by his own account, he +was a home-keeper; “I wish I was there now,” he said; and then, spying +a tree by the wayside, he broke off to tell me that he had once seen a +crow among its branches. + +“A crow?” I repeated, struck by the ineptitude of the remark, and +thinking I had heard imperfectly. + +But by this time he was already filled with a new idea; hearkening with +a rapt intentness, his head on one side, his face puckered; and he +struck me rudely, to make me hold my peace. Then he smiled and shook +his head. + +“What did you hear?” I asked. + +“O, it is all right,” he said; and began encouraging his mule with +cries that echoed unhumanly up the mountain walls. + +I looked at him more closely. He was superlatively well-built, light, +and lithe and strong; he was well-featured; his yellow eyes were very +large, though, perhaps, not very expressive; take him altogether, he +was a pleasant-looking lad, and I had no fault to find with him, beyond +that he was of a dusky hue, and inclined to hairyness; two +characteristics that I disliked. It was his mind that puzzled, and yet +attracted me. The doctor’s phrase—an innocent—came back to me; and I +was wondering if that were, after all, the true description, when the +road began to go down into the narrow and naked chasm of a torrent. The +waters thundered tumultuously in the bottom; and the ravine was filled +full of the sound, the thin spray, and the claps of wind, that +accompanied their descent. The scene was certainly impressive; but the +road was in that part very securely walled in; the mule went steadily +forward; and I was astonished to perceive the paleness of terror in the +face of my companion. The voice of that wild river was inconstant, now +sinking lower as if in weariness, now doubling its hoarse tones; +momentary freshets seemed to swell its volume, sweeping down the gorge, +raving and booming against the barrier walls; and I observed it was at +each of these accessions to the clamour, that my driver more +particularly winced and blanched. Some thoughts of Scottish +superstition and the river Kelpie, passed across my mind; I wondered if +perchance the like were prevalent in that part of Spain; and turning to +Felipe, sought to draw him out. + +“What is the matter?” I asked. + +“O, I am afraid,” he replied. + +“Of what are you afraid?” I returned. “This seems one of the safest +places on this very dangerous road.” + +“It makes a noise,” he said, with a simplicity of awe that set my +doubts at rest. + +The lad was but a child in intellect; his mind was like his body, +active and swift, but stunted in development; and I began from that +time forth to regard him with a measure of pity, and to listen at first +with indulgence, and at last even with pleasure, to his disjointed +babble. + +By about four in the afternoon we had crossed the summit of the +mountain line, said farewell to the western sunshine, and began to go +down upon the other side, skirting the edge of many ravines and moving +through the shadow of dusky woods. There rose upon all sides the voice +of falling water, not condensed and formidable as in the gorge of the +river, but scattered and sounding gaily and musically from glen to +glen. Here, too, the spirits of my driver mended, and he began to sing +aloud in a falsetto voice, and with a singular bluntness of musical +perception, never true either to melody or key, but wandering at will, +and yet somehow with an effect that was natural and pleasing, like that +of the of birds. As the dusk increased, I fell more and more under the +spell of this artless warbling, listening and waiting for some +articulate air, and still disappointed; and when at last I asked him +what it was he sang—“O,” cried he, “I am just singing!” Above all, I +was taken with a trick he had of unweariedly repeating the same note at +little intervals; it was not so monotonous as you would think, or, at +least, not disagreeable; and it seemed to breathe a wonderful +contentment with what is, such as we love to fancy in the attitude of +trees, or the quiescence of a pool. + +Night had fallen dark before we came out upon a plateau, and drew up a +little after, before a certain lump of superior blackness which I could +only conjecture to be the residencia. Here, my guide, getting down from +the cart, hooted and whistled for a long time in vain; until at last an +old peasant man came towards us from somewhere in the surrounding dark, +carrying a candle in his hand. By the light of this I was able to +perceive a great arched doorway of a Moorish character: it was closed +by iron-studded gates, in one of the leaves of which Felipe opened a +wicket. The peasant carried off the cart to some out-building; but my +guide and I passed through the wicket, which was closed again behind +us; and by the glimmer of the candle, passed through a court, up a +stone stair, along a section of an open gallery, and up more stairs +again, until we came at last to the door of a great and somewhat bare +apartment. This room, which I understood was to be mine, was pierced by +three windows, lined with some lustrous wood disposed in panels, and +carpeted with the skins of many savage animals. A bright fire burned in +the chimney, and shed abroad a changeful flicker; close up to the blaze +there was drawn a table, laid for supper; and in the far end a bed +stood ready. I was pleased by these preparations, and said so to +Felipe; and he, with the same simplicity of disposition that I held +already remarked in him, warmly re-echoed my praises. “A fine room,” he +said; “a very fine room. And fire, too; fire is good; it melts out the +pleasure in your bones. And the bed,” he continued, carrying over the +candle in that direction—“see what fine sheets—how soft, how smooth, +smooth;” and he passed his hand again and again over their texture, and +then laid down his head and rubbed his cheeks among them with a +grossness of content that somehow offended me. I took the candle from +his hand (for I feared he would set the bed on fire) and walked back to +the supper-table, where, perceiving a measure of wine, I poured out a +cup and called to him to come and drink of it. He started to his feet +at once and ran to me with a strong expression of hope; but when he saw +the wine, he visibly shuddered. + +“Oh, no,” he said, “not that; that is for you. I hate it.” + +“Very well, Senor,” said I; “then I will drink to your good health, and +to the prosperity of your house and family. Speaking of which,” I +added, after I had drunk, “shall I not have the pleasure of laying my +salutations in person at the feet of the Senora, your mother?” + +But at these words all the childishness passed out of his face, and was +succeeded by a look of indescribable cunning and secrecy. He backed +away from me at the same time, as though I were an animal about to leap +or some dangerous fellow with a weapon, and when he had got near the +door, glowered at me sullenly with contracted pupils. “No,” he said at +last, and the next moment was gone noiselessly out of the room; and I +heard his footing die away downstairs as light as rainfall, and silence +closed over the house. + +After I had supped I drew up the table nearer to the bed and began to +prepare for rest; but in the new position of the light, I was struck by +a picture on the wall. It represented a woman, still young. To judge by +her costume and the mellow unity which reigned over the canvas, she had +long been dead; to judge by the vivacity of the attitude, the eyes and +the features, I might have been beholding in a mirror the image of +life. Her figure was very slim and strong, and of a just proportion; +red tresses lay like a crown over her brow; her eyes, of a very golden +brown, held mine with a look; and her face, which was perfectly shaped, +was yet marred by a cruel, sullen, and sensual expression. Something in +both face and figure, something exquisitely intangible, like the echo +of an echo, suggested the features and bearing of my guide; and I stood +awhile, unpleasantly attracted and wondering at the oddity of the +resemblance. The common, carnal stock of that race, which had been +originally designed for such high dames as the one now looking on me +from the canvas, had fallen to baser uses, wearing country clothes, +sitting on the shaft and holding the reins of a mule cart, to bring +home a lodger. Perhaps an actual link subsisted; perhaps some scruple +of the delicate flesh that was once clothed upon with the satin and +brocade of the dead lady, now winced at the rude contact of Felipe’s +frieze. + +The first light of the morning shone full upon the portrait, and, as I +lay awake, my eyes continued to dwell upon it with growing complacency; +its beauty crept about my heart insidiously, silencing my scruples one +after another; and while I knew that to love such a woman were to sign +and seal one’s own sentence of degeneration, I still knew that, if she +were alive, I should love her. Day after day the double knowledge of +her wickedness and of my weakness grew clearer. She came to be the +heroine of many day-dreams, in which her eyes led on to, and +sufficiently rewarded, crimes. She cast a dark shadow on my fancy; and +when I was out in the free air of heaven, taking vigorous exercise and +healthily renewing the current of my blood, it was often a glad thought +to me that my enchantress was safe in the grave, her wand of beauty +broken, her lips closed in silence, her philtre spilt. And yet I had a +half-lingering terror that she might not be dead after all, but +re-arisen in the body of some descendant. + +Felipe served my meals in my own apartment; and his resemblance to the +portrait haunted me. At times it was not; at times, upon some change of +attitude or flash of expression, it would leap out upon me like a +ghost. It was above all in his ill tempers that the likeness triumphed. +He certainly liked me; he was proud of my notice, which he sought to +engage by many simple and childlike devices; he loved to sit close +before my fire, talking his broken talk or singing his odd, endless, +wordless songs, and sometimes drawing his hand over my clothes with an +affectionate manner of caressing that never failed to cause in me an +embarrassment of which I was ashamed. But for all that, he was capable +of flashes of causeless anger and fits of sturdy sullenness. At a word +of reproof, I have seen him upset the dish of which I was about to eat, +and this not surreptitiously, but with defiance; and similarly at a +hint of inquisition. I was not unnaturally curious, being in a strange +place and surrounded by staring people; but at the shadow of a +question, he shrank back, lowering and dangerous. Then it was that, for +a fraction of a second, this rough lad might have been the brother of +the lady in the frame. But these humours were swift to pass; and the +resemblance died along with them. + +In these first days I saw nothing of any one but Felipe, unless the +portrait is to be counted; and since the lad was plainly of weak mind, +and had moments of passion, it may be wondered that I bore his +dangerous neighbourhood with equanimity. As a matter of fact, it was +for some time irksome; but it happened before long that I obtained over +him so complete a mastery as set my disquietude at rest. + +It fell in this way. He was by nature slothful, and much of a vagabond, +and yet he kept by the house, and not only waited upon my wants, but +laboured every day in the garden or small farm to the south of the +residencia. Here he would be joined by the peasant whom I had seen on +the night of my arrival, and who dwelt at the far end of the enclosure, +about half a mile away, in a rude out-house; but it was plain to me +that, of these two, it was Felipe who did most; and though I would +sometimes see him throw down his spade and go to sleep among the very +plants he had been digging, his constancy and energy were admirable in +themselves, and still more so since I was well assured they were +foreign to his disposition and the fruit of an ungrateful effort. But +while I admired, I wondered what had called forth in a lad so +shuttle-witted this enduring sense of duty. How was it sustained? I +asked myself, and to what length did it prevail over his instincts? The +priest was possibly his inspirer; but the priest came one day to the +residencia. I saw him both come and go after an interval of close upon +an hour, from a knoll where I was sketching, and all that time Felipe +continued to labour undisturbed in the garden. + +At last, in a very unworthy spirit, I determined to debauch the lad +from his good resolutions, and, way-laying him at the gate, easily +pursuaded him to join me in a ramble. It was a fine day, and the woods +to which I led him were green and pleasant and sweet-smelling and alive +with the hum of insects. Here he discovered himself in a fresh +character, mounting up to heights of gaiety that abashed me, and +displaying an energy and grace of movement that delighted the eye. He +leaped, he ran round me in mere glee; he would stop, and look and +listen, and seem to drink in the world like a cordial; and then he +would suddenly spring into a tree with one bound, and hang and gambol +there like one at home. Little as he said to me, and that of not much +import, I have rarely enjoyed more stirring company; the sight of his +delight was a continual feast; the speed and accuracy of his movements +pleased me to the heart; and I might have been so thoughtlessly unkind +as to make a habit of these wants, had not chance prepared a very rude +conclusion to my pleasure. By some swiftness or dexterity the lad +captured a squirrel in a tree top. He was then some way ahead of me, +but I saw him drop to the ground and crouch there, crying aloud for +pleasure like a child. The sound stirred my sympathies, it was so fresh +and innocent; but as I bettered my pace to draw near, the cry of the +squirrel knocked upon my heart. I have heard and seen much of the +cruelty of lads, and above all of peasants; but what I now beheld +struck me into a passion of anger. I thrust the fellow aside, plucked +the poor brute out of his hands, and with swift mercy killed it. Then I +turned upon the torturer, spoke to him long out of the heat of my +indignation, calling him names at which he seemed to wither; and at +length, pointing toward the residencia, bade him begone and leave me, +for I chose to walk with men, not with vermin. He fell upon his knees, +and, the words coming to him with more cleanness than usual, poured out +a stream of the most touching supplications, begging me in mercy to +forgive him, to forget what he had done, to look to the future. “O, I +try so hard,” he said. “O, commandante, bear with Felipe this once; he +will never be a brute again!” Thereupon, much more affected than I +cared to show, I suffered myself to be persuaded, and at last shook +hands with him and made it up. But the squirrel, by way of penance, I +made him bury; speaking of the poor thing’s beauty, telling him what +pains it had suffered, and how base a thing was the abuse of strength. +“See, Felipe,” said I, “you are strong indeed; but in my hands you are +as helpless as that poor thing of the trees. Give me your hand in mine. +You cannot remove it. Now suppose that I were cruel like you, and took +a pleasure in pain. I only tighten my hold, and see how you suffer.” He +screamed aloud, his face stricken ashy and dotted with needle points of +sweat; and when I set him free, he fell to the earth and nursed his +hand and moaned over it like a baby. But he took the lesson in good +part; and whether from that, or from what I had said to him, or the +higher notion he now had of my bodily strength, his original affection +was changed into a dog-like, adoring fidelity. + +Meanwhile I gained rapidly in health. The residencia stood on the crown +of a stony plateau; on every side the mountains hemmed it about; only +from the roof, where was a bartizan, there might be seen between two +peaks, a small segment of plain, blue with extreme distance. The air in +these altitudes moved freely and largely; great clouds congregated +there, and were broken up by the wind and left in tatters on the +hilltops; a hoarse, and yet faint rumbling of torrents rose from all +round; and one could there study all the ruder and more ancient +characters of nature in something of their pristine force. I delighted +from the first in the vigorous scenery and changeful weather; nor less +in the antique and dilapidated mansion where I dwelt. This was a large +oblong, flanked at two opposite corners by bastion-like projections, +one of which commanded the door, while both were loopholed for +musketry. The lower storey was, besides, naked of windows, so that the +building, if garrisoned, could not be carried without artillery. It +enclosed an open court planted with pomegranate trees. From this a +broad flight of marble stairs ascended to an open gallery, running all +round and resting, towards the court, on slender pillars. Thence again, +several enclosed stairs led to the upper storeys of the house, which +were thus broken up into distinct divisions. The windows, both within +and without, were closely shuttered; some of the stone-work in the +upper parts had fallen; the roof, in one place, had been wrecked in one +of the flurries of wind which were common in these mountains; and the +whole house, in the strong, beating sunlight, and standing out above a +grove of stunted cork-trees, thickly laden and discoloured with dust, +looked like the sleeping palace of the legend. The court, in +particular, seemed the very home of slumber. A hoarse cooing of doves +haunted about the eaves; the winds were excluded, but when they blew +outside, the mountain dust fell here as thick as rain, and veiled the +red bloom of the pomegranates; shuttered windows and the closed doors +of numerous cellars, and the vacant arches of the gallery, enclosed it; +and all day long the sun made broken profiles on the four sides, and +paraded the shadow of the pillars on the gallery floor. At the ground +level there was, however, a certain pillared recess, which bore the +marks of human habitation. Though it was open in front upon the court, +it was yet provided with a chimney, where a wood fire would he always +prettily blazing; and the tile floor was littered with the skins of +animals. + +It was in this place that I first saw my hostess. She had drawn one of +the skins forward and sat in the sun, leaning against a pillar. It was +her dress that struck me first of all, for it was rich and brightly +coloured, and shone out in that dusty courtyard with something of the +same relief as the flowers of the pomegranates. At a second look it was +her beauty of person that took hold of me. As she sat back—watching me, +I thought, though with invisible eyes—and wearing at the same time an +expression of almost imbecile good-humour and contentment, she showed a +perfectness of feature and a quiet nobility of attitude that were +beyond a statue’s. I took off my hat to her in passing, and her face +puckered with suspicion as swiftly and lightly as a pool ruffles in the +breeze; but she paid no heed to my courtesy. I went forth on my +customary walk a trifle daunted, her idol-like impassivity haunting me; +and when I returned, although she was still in much the same posture, I +was half surprised to see that she had moved as far as the next pillar, +following the sunshine. This time, however, she addressed me with some +trivial salutation, civilly enough conceived, and uttered in the same +deep-chested, and yet indistinct and lisping tones, that had already +baffled the utmost niceness of my hearing from her son. I answered +rather at a venture; for not only did I fail to take her meaning with +precision, but the sudden disclosure of her eyes disturbed me. They +were unusually large, the iris golden like Felipe’s, but the pupil at +that moment so distended that they seemed almost black; and what +affected me was not so much their size as (what was perhaps its +consequence) the singular insignificance of their regard. A look more +blankly stupid I have never met. My eyes dropped before it even as I +spoke, and I went on my way upstairs to my own room, at once baffled +and embarrassed. Yet, when I came there and saw the face of the +portrait, I was again reminded of the miracle of family descent. My +hostess was, indeed, both older and fuller in person; her eyes were of +a different colour; her face, besides, was not only free from the +ill-significance that offended and attracted me in the painting; it was +devoid of either good or bad—a moral blank expressing literally naught. +And yet there was a likeness, not so much speaking as immanent, not so +much in any particular feature as upon the whole. It should seem, I +thought, as if when the master set his signature to that grave canvas, +he had not only caught the image of one smiling and false-eyed woman, +but stamped the essential quality of a race. + +From that day forth, whether I came or went, I was sure to find the +Senora seated in the sun against a pillar, or stretched on a rug before +the fire; only at times she would shift her station to the top round of +the stone staircase, where she lay with the same nonchalance right +across my path. In all these days, I never knew her to display the +least spark of energy beyond what she expended in brushing and +re-brushing her copious copper-coloured hair, or in lisping out, in the +rich and broken hoarseness of her voice, her customary idle salutations +to myself. These, I think, were her two chief pleasures, beyond that of +mere quiescence. She seemed always proud of her remarks, as though they +had been witticisms: and, indeed, though they were empty enough, like +the conversation of many respectable persons, and turned on a very +narrow range of subjects, they were never meaningless or incoherent; +nay, they had a certain beauty of their own, breathing, as they did, of +her entire contentment. Now she would speak of the warmth, in which +(like her son) she greatly delighted; now of the flowers of the +pomegranate trees, and now of the white doves and long-winged swallows +that fanned the air of the court. The birds excited her. As they raked +the eaves in their swift flight, or skimmed sidelong past her with a +rush of wind, she would sometimes stir, and sit a little up, and seem +to awaken from her doze of satisfaction. But for the rest of her days +she lay luxuriously folded on herself and sunk in sloth and pleasure. +Her invincible content at first annoyed me, but I came gradually to +find repose in the spectacle, until at last it grew to be my habit to +sit down beside her four times in the day, both coming and going, and +to talk with her sleepily, I scarce knew of what. I had come to like +her dull, almost animal neighbourhood; her beauty and her stupidity +soothed and amused me. I began to find a kind of transcendental good +sense in her remarks, and her unfathomable good nature moved me to +admiration and envy. The liking was returned; she enjoyed my presence +half-unconsciously, as a man in deep meditation may enjoy the babbling +of a brook. I can scarce say she brightened when I came, for +satisfaction was written on her face eternally, as on some foolish +statue’s; but I was made conscious of her pleasure by some more +intimate communication than the sight. And one day, as I set within +reach of her on the marble step, she suddenly shot forth one of her +hands and patted mine. The thing was done, and she was back in her +accustomed attitude, before my mind had received intelligence of the +caress; and when I turned to look her in the face I could perceive no +answerable sentiment. It was plain she attached no moment to the act, +and I blamed myself for my own more uneasy consciousness. + +The sight and (if I may so call it) the acquaintance of the mother +confirmed the view I had already taken of the son. The family blood had +been impoverished, perhaps by long inbreeding, which I knew to be a +common error among the proud and the exclusive. No decline, indeed, was +to be traced in the body, which had been handed down unimpaired in +shapeliness and strength; and the faces of to-day were struck as +sharply from the mint, as the face of two centuries ago that smiled +upon me from the portrait. But the intelligence (that more precious +heirloom) was degenerate; the treasure of ancestral memory ran low; and +it had required the potent, plebeian crossing of a muleteer or mountain +contrabandista to raise, what approached hebetude in the mother, into +the active oddity of the son. Yet of the two, it was the mother I +preferred. Of Felipe, vengeful and placable, full of starts and +shyings, inconstant as a hare, I could even conceive as a creature +possibly noxious. Of the mother I had no thoughts but those of +kindness. And indeed, as spectators are apt ignorantly to take sides, I +grew something of a partisan in the enmity which I perceived to +smoulder between them. True, it seemed mostly on the mother’s part. She +would sometimes draw in her breath as he came near, and the pupils of +her vacant eyes would contract as if with horror or fear. Her emotions, +such as they were, were much upon the surface and readily shared; and +this latent repulsion occupied my mind, and kept me wondering on what +grounds it rested, and whether the son was certainly in fault. + +I had been about ten days in the residencia, when there sprang up a +high and harsh wind, carrying clouds of dust. It came out of malarious +lowlands, and over several snowy sierras. The nerves of those on whom +it blew were strung and jangled; their eyes smarted with the dust; +their legs ached under the burthen of their body; and the touch of one +hand upon another grew to be odious. The wind, besides, came down the +gullies of the hills and stormed about the house with a great, hollow +buzzing and whistling that was wearisome to the ear and dismally +depressing to the mind. It did not so much blow in gusts as with the +steady sweep of a waterfall, so that there was no remission of +discomfort while it blew. But higher upon the mountain, it was probably +of a more variable strength, with accesses of fury; for there came down +at times a far-off wailing, infinitely grievous to hear; and at times, +on one of the high shelves or terraces, there would start up, and then +disperse, a tower of dust, like the smoke of an explosion. + +I no sooner awoke in bed than I was conscious of the nervous tension +and depression of the weather, and the effect grew stronger as the day +proceeded. It was in vain that I resisted; in vain that I set forth +upon my customary morning’s walk; the irrational, unchanging fury of +the storm had soon beat down my strength and wrecked my temper; and I +returned to the residencia, glowing with dry heat, and foul and gritty +with dust. The court had a forlorn appearance; now and then a glimmer +of sun fled over it; now and then the wind swooped down upon the +pomegranates, and scattered the blossoms, and set the window shutters +clapping on the wall. In the recess the Senora was pacing to and fro +with a flushed countenance and bright eyes; I thought, too, she was +speaking to herself, like one in anger. But when I addressed her with +my customary salutation, she only replied by a sharp gesture and +continued her walk. The weather had distempered even this impassive +creature; and as I went on upstairs I was the less ashamed of my own +discomposure. + +All day the wind continued; and I sat in my room and made a feint of +reading, or walked up and down, and listened to the riot overhead. +Night fell, and I had not so much as a candle. I began to long for some +society, and stole down to the court. It was now plunged in the blue of +the first darkness; but the recess was redly lighted by the fire. The +wood had been piled high, and was crowned by a shock of flames, which +the draught of the chimney brandished to and fro. In this strong and +shaken brightness the Senora continued pacing from wall to wall with +disconnected gestures, clasping her hands, stretching forth her arms, +throwing back her head as in appeal to heaven. In these disordered +movements the beauty and grace of the woman showed more clearly; but +there was a light in her eye that struck on me unpleasantly; and when I +had looked on awhile in silence, and seemingly unobserved, I turned +tail as I had come, and groped my way back again to my own chamber. + +By the time Felipe brought my supper and lights, my nerve was utterly +gone; and, had the lad been such as I was used to seeing him, I should +have kept him (even by force had that been necessary) to take off the +edge from my distasteful solitude. But on Felipe, also, the wind had +exercised its influence. He had been feverish all day; now that the +night had come he was fallen into a low and tremulous humour that +reacted on my own. The sight of his scared face, his starts and pallors +and sudden harkenings, unstrung me; and when he dropped and broke a +dish, I fairly leaped out of my seat. + +“I think we are all mad to-day,” said I, affecting to laugh. + +“It is the black wind,” he replied dolefully. “You feel as if you must +do something, and you don’t know what it is.” + +I noted the aptness of the description; but, indeed, Felipe had +sometimes a strange felicity in rendering into words the sensations of +the body. “And your mother, too,” said I; “she seems to feel this +weather much. Do you not fear she may be unwell?” + +He stared at me a little, and then said, “No,” almost defiantly; and +the next moment, carrying his hand to his brow, cried out lamentably on +the wind and the noise that made his head go round like a millwheel. +“Who can be well?” he cried; and, indeed, I could only echo his +question, for I was disturbed enough myself. + +I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restlessness, but the +poisonous nature of the wind, and its ungodly and unintermittent +uproar, would not suffer me to sleep. I lay there and tossed, my nerves +and senses on the stretch. At times I would doze, dream horribly, and +wake again; and these snatches of oblivion confused me as to time. But +it must have been late on in the night, when I was suddenly startled by +an outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries. I leaped from my bed, +supposing I had dreamed; but the cries still continued to fill the +house, cries of pain, I thought, but certainly of rage also, and so +savage and discordant that they shocked the heart. It was no illusion; +some living thing, some lunatic or some wild animal, was being foully +tortured. The thought of Felipe and the squirrel flashed into my mind, +and I ran to the door, but it had been locked from the outside; and I +might shake it as I pleased, I was a fast prisoner. Still the cries +continued. Now they would dwindle down into a moaning that seemed to be +articulate, and at these times I made sure they must be human; and +again they would break forth and fill the house with ravings worthy of +hell. I stood at the door and gave ear to them, till at, last they died +away. Long after that, I still lingered and still continued to hear +them mingle in fancy with the storming of the wind; and when at last I +crept to my bed, it was with a deadly sickness and a blackness of +horror on my heart. + +It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I been locked in? What +had passed? Who was the author of these indescribable and shocking +cries? A human being? It was inconceivable. A beast? The cries were +scarce quite bestial; and what animal, short of a lion or a tiger, +could thus shake the solid walls of the residencia? And while I was +thus turning over the elements of the mystery, it came into my mind +that I had not yet set eyes upon the daughter of the house. What was +more probable than that the daughter of the Senora, and the sister of +Felipe, should be herself insane? Or, what more likely than that these +ignorant and half-witted people should seek to manage an afflicted +kinswoman by violence? Here was a solution; and yet when I called to +mind the cries (which I never did without a shuddering chill) it seemed +altogether insufficient: not even cruelty could wring such cries from +madness. But of one thing I was sure: I could not live in a house where +such a thing was half conceivable, and not probe the matter home and, +if necessary, interfere. + +The next day came, the wind had blown itself out, and there was nothing +to remind me of the business of the night. Felipe came to my bedside +with obvious cheerfulness; as I passed through the court, the Senora +was sunning herself with her accustomed immobility; and when I issued +from the gateway, I found the whole face of nature austerely smiling, +the heavens of a cold blue, and sown with great cloud islands, and the +mountain-sides mapped forth into provinces of light and shadow. A short +walk restored me to myself, and renewed within me the resolve to plumb +this mystery; and when, from the vantage of my knoll, I had seen Felipe +pass forth to his labours in the garden, I returned at once to the +residencia to put my design in practice. The Senora appeared plunged in +slumber; I stood awhile and marked her, but she did not stir; even if +my design were indiscreet, I had little to fear from such a guardian; +and turning away, I mounted to the gallery and began my exploration of +the house. + +All morning I went from one door to another, and entered spacious and +faded chambers, some rudely shuttered, some receiving their full charge +of daylight, all empty and unhomely. It was a rich house, on which Time +had breathed his tarnish and dust had scattered disillusion. The spider +swung there; the bloated tarantula scampered on the cornices; ants had +their crowded highways on the floor of halls of audience; the big and +foul fly, that lives on carrion and is often the messenger of death, +had set up his nest in the rotten woodwork, and buzzed heavily about +the rooms. Here and there a stool or two, a couch, a bed, or a great +carved chair remained behind, like islets on the bare floors, to +testify of man’s bygone habitation; and everywhere the walls were set +with the portraits of the dead. I could judge, by these decaying +effigies, in the house of what a great and what a handsome race I was +then wandering. Many of the men wore orders on their breasts and had +the port of noble offices; the women were all richly attired; the +canvases most of them by famous hands. But it was not so much these +evidences of greatness that took hold upon my mind, even contrasted, as +they were, with the present depopulation and decay of that great house. +It was rather the parable of family life that I read in this succession +of fair faces and shapely bodies. Never before had I so realised the +miracle of the continued race, the creation and recreation, the weaving +and changing and handing down of fleshly elements. That a child should +be born of its mother, that it should grow and clothe itself (we know +not how) with humanity, and put on inherited looks, and turn its head +with the manner of one ascendant, and offer its hand with the gesture +of another, are wonders dulled for us by repetition. But in the +singular unity of look, in the common features and common bearing, of +all these painted generations on the walls of the residencia, the +miracle started out and looked me in the face. And an ancient mirror +falling opportunely in my way, I stood and read my own features a long +while, tracing out on either hand the filaments of descent and the +bonds that knit me with my family. + +At last, in the course of these investigations, I opened the door of a +chamber that bore the marks of habitation. It was of large proportions +and faced to the north, where the mountains were most wildly figured. +The embers of a fire smouldered and smoked upon the hearth, to which a +chair had been drawn close. And yet the aspect of the chamber was +ascetic to the degree of sternness; the chair was uncushioned; the +floor and walls were naked; and beyond the books which lay here and +there in some confusion, there was no instrument of either work or +pleasure. The sight of books in the house of such a family exceedingly +amazed me; and I began with a great hurry, and in momentary fear of +interruption, to go from one to another and hastily inspect their +character. They were of all sorts, devotional, historical, and +scientific, but mostly of a great age and in the Latin tongue. Some I +could see to bear the marks of constant study; others had been torn +across and tossed aside as if in petulance or disapproval. Lastly, as I +cruised about that empty chamber, I espied some papers written upon +with pencil on a table near the window. An unthinking curiosity led me +to take one up. It bore a copy of verses, very roughly metred in the +original Spanish, and which I may render somewhat thus— + +Pleasure approached with pain and shame, +Grief with a wreath of lilies came. +Pleasure showed the lovely sun; +Jesu dear, how sweet it shone! +Grief with her worn hand pointed on, + Jesu dear, to thee! + + +Shame and confusion at once fell on me; and, laying down the paper, I +beat an immediate retreat from the apartment. Neither Felipe nor his +mother could have read the books nor written these rough but feeling +verses. It was plain I had stumbled with sacrilegious feet into the +room of the daughter of the house. God knows, my own heart most sharply +punished me for my indiscretion. The thought that I had thus secretly +pushed my way into the confidence of a girl so strangely situated, and +the fear that she might somehow come to hear of it, oppressed me like +guilt. I blamed myself besides for my suspicions of the night before; +wondered that I should ever have attributed those shocking cries to one +of whom I now conceived as of a saint, spectral of mien, wasted with +maceration, bound up in the practices of a mechanical devotion, and +dwelling in a great isolation of soul with her incongruous relatives; +and as I leaned on the balustrade of the gallery and looked down into +the bright close of pomegranates and at the gaily dressed and somnolent +woman, who just then stretched herself and delicately licked her lips +as in the very sensuality of sloth, my mind swiftly compared the scene +with the cold chamber looking northward on the mountains, where the +daughter dwelt. + +That same afternoon, as I sat upon my knoll, I saw the Padre enter the +gates of the residencia. The revelation of the daughter’s character had +struck home to my fancy, and almost blotted out the horrors of the +night before; but at sight of this worthy man the memory revived. I +descended, then, from the knoll, and making a circuit among the woods, +posted myself by the wayside to await his passage. As soon as he +appeared I stepped forth and introduced myself as the lodger of the +residencia. He had a very strong, honest countenance, on which it was +easy to read the mingled emotions with which he regarded me, as a +foreigner, a heretic, and yet one who had been wounded for the good +cause. Of the family at the residencia he spoke with reserve, and yet +with respect. I mentioned that I had not yet seen the daughter, +whereupon he remarked that that was as it should be, and looked at me a +little askance. Lastly, I plucked up courage to refer to the cries that +had disturbed me in the night. He heard me out in silence, and then +stopped and partly turned about, as though to mark beyond doubt that he +was dismissing me. + +“Do you take tobacco powder?” said he, offering his snuff-box; and +then, when I had refused, “I am an old man,” he added, “and I may be +allowed to remind you that you are a guest.” + +“I have, then, your authority,” I returned, firmly enough, although I +flushed at the implied reproof, “to let things take their course, and +not to interfere?” + +He said “yes,” and with a somewhat uneasy salute turned and left me +where I was. But he had done two things: he had set my conscience at +rest, and he had awakened my delicacy. I made a great effort, once more +dismissed the recollections of the night, and fell once more to +brooding on my saintly poetess. At the same time, I could not quite +forget that I had been locked in, and that night when Felipe brought me +my supper I attacked him warily on both points of interest. + +“I never see your sister,” said I casually. + +“Oh, no,” said he; “she is a good, good girl,” and his mind instantly +veered to something else. + +“Your sister is pious, I suppose?” I asked in the next pause. + +“Oh!” he cried, joining his hands with extreme fervour, “a saint; it is +she that keeps me up.” + +“You are very fortunate,” said I, “for the most of us, I am afraid, and +myself among the number, are better at going down.” + +“Senor,” said Felipe earnestly, “I would not say that. You should not +tempt your angel. If one goes down, where is he to stop?” + +“Why, Felipe,” said I, “I had no guess you were a preacher, and I may +say a good one; but I suppose that is your sister’s doing?” + +He nodded at me with round eyes. + +“Well, then,” I continued, “she has doubtless reproved you for your sin +of cruelty?” + +“Twelve times!” he cried; for this was the phrase by which the odd +creature expressed the sense of frequency. “And I told her you had done +so—I remembered that,” he added proudly—“and she was pleased.” + +“Then, Felipe,” said I, “what were those cries that I heard last night? +for surely they were cries of some creature in suffering.” + +“The wind,” returned Felipe, looking in the fire. + +I took his hand in mine, at which, thinking it to be a caress, he +smiled with a brightness of pleasure that came near disarming my +resolve. But I trod the weakness down. “The wind,” I repeated; “and yet +I think it was this hand,” holding it up, “that had first locked me +in.” The lad shook visibly, but answered never a word. “Well,” said I, +“I am a stranger and a guest. It is not my part either to meddle or to +judge in your affairs; in these you shall take your sister’s counsel, +which I cannot doubt to be excellent. But in so far as concerns my own +I will be no man’s prisoner, and I demand that key.” Half an hour later +my door was suddenly thrown open, and the key tossed ringing on the +floor. + +A day or two after I came in from a walk a little before the point of +noon. The Senora was lying lapped in slumber on the threshold of the +recess; the pigeons dozed below the eaves like snowdrifts; the house +was under a deep spell of noontide quiet; and only a wandering and +gentle wind from the mountain stole round the galleries, rustled among +the pomegranates, and pleasantly stirred the shadows. Something in the +stillness moved me to imitation, and I went very lightly across the +court and up the marble staircase. My foot was on the topmost round, +when a door opened, and I found myself face to face with Olalla. +Surprise transfixed me; her loveliness struck to my heart; she glowed +in the deep shadow of the gallery, a gem of colour; her eyes took hold +upon mine and clung there, and bound us together like the joining of +hands; and the moments we thus stood face to face, drinking each other +in, were sacramental and the wedding of souls. I know not how long it +was before I awoke out of a deep trance, and, hastily bowing, passed on +into the upper stair. She did not move, but followed me with her great, +thirsting eyes; and as I passed out of sight it seemed to me as if she +paled and faded. + +In my own room, I opened the window and looked out, and could not think +what change had come upon that austere field of mountains that it +should thus sing and shine under the lofty heaven. I had seen +her—Olalla! And the stone crags answered, Olalla! and the dumb, +unfathomable azure answered, Olalla! The pale saint of my dreams had +vanished for ever; and in her place I beheld this maiden on whom God +had lavished the richest colours and the most exuberant energies of +life, whom he had made active as a deer, slender as a reed, and in +whose great eyes he had lighted the torches of the soul. The thrill of +her young life, strung like a wild animal’s, had entered into me; the +force of soul that had looked out from her eyes and conquered mine, +mantled about my heart and sprang to my lips in singing. She passed +through my veins: she was one with me. + +I will not say that this enthusiasm declined; rather my soul held out +in its ecstasy as in a strong castle, and was there besieged by cold +and sorrowful considerations. I could not doubt but that I loved her at +first sight, and already with a quivering ardour that was strange to my +experience. What then was to follow? She was the child of an afflicted +house, the Senora’s daughter, the sister of Felipe; she bore it even in +her beauty. She had the lightness and swiftness of the one, swift as an +arrow, light as dew; like the other, she shone on the pale background +of the world with the brilliancy of flowers. I could not call by the +name of brother that half-witted lad, nor by the name of mother that +immovable and lovely thing of flesh, whose silly eyes and perpetual +simper now recurred to my mind like something hateful. And if I could +not marry, what then? She was helplessly unprotected; her eyes, in that +single and long glance which had been all our intercourse, had +confessed a weakness equal to my own; but in my heart I knew her for +the student of the cold northern chamber, and the writer of the +sorrowful lines; and this was a knowledge to disarm a brute. To flee +was more than I could find courage for; but I registered a vow of +unsleeping circumspection. + +As I turned from the window, my eyes alighted on the portrait. It had +fallen dead, like a candle after sunrise; it followed me with eyes of +paint. I knew it to be like, and marvelled at the tenacity of type in +that declining race; but the likeness was swallowed up in difference. I +remembered how it had seemed to me a thing unapproachable in the life, +a creature rather of the painter’s craft than of the modesty of nature, +and I marvelled at the thought, and exulted in the image of Olalla. +Beauty I had seen before, and not been charmed, and I had been often +drawn to women, who were not beautiful except to me; but in Olalla all +that I desired and had not dared to imagine was united. + +I did not see her the next day, and my heart ached and my eyes longed +for her, as men long for morning. But the day after, when I returned, +about my usual hour, she was once more on the gallery, and our looks +once more met and embraced. I would have spoken, I would have drawn +near to her; but strongly as she plucked at my heart, drawing me like a +magnet, something yet more imperious withheld me; and I could only bow +and pass by; and she, leaving my salutation unanswered, only followed +me with her noble eyes. + +I had now her image by rote, and as I conned the traits in memory it +seemed as if I read her very heart. She was dressed with something of +her mother’s coquetry, and love of positive colour. Her robe, which I +know she must have made with her own hands, clung about her with a +cunning grace. After the fashion of that country, besides, her bodice +stood open in the middle, in a long slit, and here, in spite of the +poverty of the house, a gold coin, hanging by a ribbon, lay on her +brown bosom. These were proofs, had any been needed, of her inborn +delight in life and her own loveliness. On the other hand, in her eyes +that hung upon mine, I could read depth beyond depth of passion and +sadness, lights of poetry and hope, blacknesses of despair, and +thoughts that were above the earth. It was a lovely body, but the +inmate, the soul, was more than worthy of that lodging. Should I leave +this incomparable flower to wither unseen on these rough mountains? +Should I despise the great gift offered me in the eloquent silence of +her eyes? Here was a soul immured; should I not burst its prison? All +side considerations fell off from me; were she the child of Herod I +swore I should make her mine; and that very evening I set myself, with +a mingled sense of treachery and disgrace, to captivate the brother. +Perhaps I read him with more favourable eyes, perhaps the thought of +his sister always summoned up the better qualities of that imperfect +soul; but he had never seemed to me so amiable, and his very likeness +to Olalla, while it annoyed, yet softened me. + +A third day passed in vain—an empty desert of hours. I would not lose a +chance, and loitered all afternoon in the court where (to give myself a +countenance) I spoke more than usual with the Senora. God knows it was +with a most tender and sincere interest that I now studied her; and +even as for Felipe, so now for the mother, I was conscious of a growing +warmth of toleration. And yet I wondered. Even while I spoke with her, +she would doze off into a little sleep, and presently awake again +without embarrassment; and this composure staggered me. And again, as I +marked her make infinitesimal changes in her posture, savouring and +lingering on the bodily pleasure of the movement, I was driven to +wonder at this depth of passive sensuality. She lived in her body; and +her consciousness was all sunk into and disseminated through her +members, where it luxuriously dwelt. Lastly, I could not grow +accustomed to her eyes. Each time she turned on me these great +beautiful and meaningless orbs, wide open to the day, but closed +against human inquiry—each time I had occasion to observe the lively +changes of her pupils which expanded and contracted in a breath—I know +not what it was came over me, I can find no name for the mingled +feeling of disappointment, annoyance, and distaste that jarred along my +nerves. I tried her on a variety of subjects, equally in vain; and at +last led the talk to her daughter. But even there she proved +indifferent; said she was pretty, which (as with children) was her +highest word of commendation, but was plainly incapable of any higher +thought; and when I remarked that Olalla seemed silent, merely yawned +in my face and replied that speech was of no great use when you had +nothing to say. “People speak much, very much,” she added, looking at +me with expanded pupils; and then again yawned and again showed me a +mouth that was as dainty as a toy. This time I took the hint, and, +leaving her to her repose, went up into my own chamber to sit by the +open window, looking on the hills and not beholding them, sunk in +lustrous and deep dreams, and hearkening in fancy to the note of a +voice that I had never heard. + +I awoke on the fifth morning with a brightness of anticipation that +seemed to challenge fate. I was sure of myself, light of heart and +foot, and resolved to put my love incontinently to the touch of +knowledge. It should lie no longer under the bonds of silence, a dumb +thing, living by the eye only, like the love of beasts; but should now +put on the spirit, and enter upon the joys of the complete human +intimacy. I thought of it with wild hopes, like a voyager to El Dorado; +into that unknown and lovely country of her soul, I no longer trembled +to adventure. Yet when I did indeed encounter her, the same force of +passion descended on me and at once submerged my mind; speech seemed to +drop away from me like a childish habit; and I but drew near to her as +the giddy man draws near to the margin of a gulf. She drew back from me +a little as I came; but her eyes did not waver from mine, and these +lured me forward. At last, when I was already within reach of her, I +stopped. Words were denied me; if I advanced I could but clasp her to +my heart in silence; and all that was sane in me, all that was still +unconquered, revolted against the thought of such an accost. So we +stood for a second, all our life in our eyes, exchanging salvos of +attraction and yet each resisting; and then, with a great effort of the +will, and conscious at the same time of a sudden bitterness of +disappointment, I turned and went away in the same silence. + +What power lay upon me that I could not speak? And she, why was she +also silent? Why did she draw away before me dumbly, with fascinated +eyes? Was this love? or was it a mere brute attraction, mindless and +inevitable, like that of the magnet for the steel? We had never spoken, +we were wholly strangers: and yet an influence, strong as the grasp of +a giant, swept us silently together. On my side, it filled me with +impatience; and yet I was sure that she was worthy; I had seen her +books, read her verses, and thus, in a sense, divined the soul of my +mistress. But on her side, it struck me almost cold. Of me, she knew +nothing but my bodily favour; she was drawn to me as stones fall to the +earth; the laws that rule the earth conducted her, unconsenting, to my +arms; and I drew back at the thought of such a bridal, and began to be +jealous for myself. It was not thus that I desired to be loved. And +then I began to fall into a great pity for the girl herself. I thought +how sharp must be her mortification, that she, the student, the +recluse, Felipe’s saintly monitress, should have thus confessed an +overweening weakness for a man with whom she had never exchanged a +word. And at the coming of pity, all other thoughts were swallowed up; +and I longed only to find and console and reassure her; to tell her how +wholly her love was returned on my side, and how her choice, even if +blindly made, was not unworthy. + +The next day it was glorious weather; depth upon depth of blue +over-canopied the mountains; the sun shone wide; and the wind in the +trees and the many falling torrents in the mountains filled the air +with delicate and haunting music. Yet I was prostrated with sadness. My +heart wept for the sight of Olalla, as a child weeps for its mother. I +sat down on a boulder on the verge of the low cliffs that bound the +plateau to the north. Thence I looked down into the wooded valley of a +stream, where no foot came. In the mood I was in, it was even touching +to behold the place untenanted; it lacked Olalla; and I thought of the +delight and glory of a life passed wholly with her in that strong air, +and among these rugged and lovely surroundings, at first with a +whimpering sentiment, and then again with such a fiery joy that I +seemed to grow in strength and stature, like a Samson. + +And then suddenly I was aware of Olalla drawing near. She appeared out +of a grove of cork-trees, and came straight towards me; and I stood up +and waited. She seemed in her walking a creature of such life and fire +and lightness as amazed me; yet she came quietly and slowly. Her energy +was in the slowness; but for inimitable strength, I felt she would have +run, she would have flown to me. Still, as she approached, she kept her +eyes lowered to the ground; and when she had drawn quite near, it was +without one glance that she addressed me. At the first note of her +voice I started. It was for this I had been waiting; this was the last +test of my love. And lo, her enunciation was precise and clear, not +lisping and incomplete like that of her family; and the voice, though +deeper than usual with women, was still both youthful and womanly. She +spoke in a rich chord; golden contralto strains mingled with +hoarseness, as the red threads were mingled with the brown among her +tresses. It was not only a voice that spoke to my heart directly; but +it spoke to me of her. And yet her words immediately plunged me back +upon despair. + +“You will go away,” she said, “to-day.” + +Her example broke the bonds of my speech; I felt as lightened of a +weight, or as if a spell had been dissolved. I know not in what words I +answered; but, standing before her on the cliffs, I poured out the +whole ardour of my love, telling her that I lived upon the thought of +her, slept only to dream of her loveliness, and would gladly forswear +my country, my language, and my friends, to live for ever by her side. +And then, strongly commanding myself, I changed the note; I reassured, +I comforted her; I told her I had divined in her a pious and heroic +spirit, with which I was worthy to sympathise, and which I longed to +share and lighten. “Nature,” I told her, “was the voice of God, which +men disobey at peril; and if we were thus humbly drawn together, ay, +even as by a miracle of love, it must imply a divine fitness in our +souls; we must be made,” I said—“made for one another. We should be mad +rebels,” I cried out—“mad rebels against God, not to obey this +instinct.” + +She shook her head. “You will go to-day,” she repeated, and then with a +gesture, and in a sudden, sharp note—“no, not to-day,” she cried, +“to-morrow!” + +But at this sign of relenting, power came in upon me in a tide. I +stretched out my arms and called upon her name; and she leaped to me +and clung to me. The hills rocked about us, the earth quailed; a shock +as of a blow went through me and left me blind and dizzy. And the next +moment she had thrust me back, broken rudely from my arms, and fled +with the speed of a deer among the cork-trees. + +I stood and shouted to the mountains; I turned and went back towards +the residencia, waltzing upon air. She sent me away, and yet I had but +to call upon her name and she came to me. These were but the weaknesses +of girls, from which even she, the strangest of her sex, was not +exempted. Go? Not I, Olalla—O, not I, Olalla, my Olalla! A bird sang +near by; and in that season, birds were rare. It bade me be of good +cheer. And once more the whole countenance of nature, from the +ponderous and stable mountains down to the lightest leaf and the +smallest darting fly in the shadow of the groves, began to stir before +me and to put on the lineaments of life and wear a face of awful joy. +The sunshine struck upon the hills, strong as a hammer on the anvil, +and the hills shook; the earth, under that vigorous insulation, yielded +up heady scents; the woods smouldered in the blaze. I felt the thrill +of travail and delight run through the earth. Something elemental, +something rude, violent, and savage, in the love that sang in my heart, +was like a key to nature’s secrets; and the very stones that rattled +under my feet appeared alive and friendly. Olalla! Her touch had +quickened, and renewed, and strung me up to the old pitch of concert +with the rugged earth, to a swelling of the soul that men learn to +forget in their polite assemblies. Love burned in me like rage; +tenderness waxed fierce; I hated, I adored, I pitied, I revered her +with ecstasy. She seemed the link that bound me in with dead things on +the one hand, and with our pure and pitying God upon the other: a thing +brutal and divine, and akin at once to the innocence and to the +unbridled forces of the earth. + +My head thus reeling, I came into the courtyard of the residencia, and +the sight of the mother struck me like a revelation. She sat there, all +sloth and contentment, blinking under the strong sunshine, branded with +a passive enjoyment, a creature set quite apart, before whom my ardour +fell away like a thing ashamed. I stopped a moment, and, commanding +such shaken tones as I was able, said a word or two. She looked at me +with her unfathomable kindness; her voice in reply sounded vaguely out +of the realm of peace in which she slumbered, and there fell on my +mind, for the first time, a sense of respect for one so uniformly +innocent and happy, and I passed on in a kind of wonder at myself, that +I should be so much disquieted. + +On my table there lay a piece of the same yellow paper I had seen in +the north room; it was written on with pencil in the same hand, +Olalla’s hand, and I picked it up with a sudden sinking of alarm, and +read, “If you have any kindness for Olalla, if you have any chivalry +for a creature sorely wrought, go from here to-day; in pity, in honour, +for the sake of Him who died, I supplicate that you shall go.” I looked +at this awhile in mere stupidity, then I began to awaken to a weariness +and horror of life; the sunshine darkened outside on the bare hills, +and I began to shake like a man in terror. The vacancy thus suddenly +opened in my life unmanned me like a physical void. It was not my +heart, it was not my happiness, it was life itself that was involved. I +could not lose her. I said so, and stood repeating it. And then, like +one in a dream, I moved to the window, put forth my hand to open the +casement, and thrust it through the pane. The blood spurted from my +wrist; and with an instantaneous quietude and command of myself, I +pressed my thumb on the little leaping fountain, and reflected what to +do. In that empty room there was nothing to my purpose; I felt, +besides, that I required assistance. There shot into my mind a hope +that Olalla herself might be my helper, and I turned and went down +stairs, still keeping my thumb upon the wound. + +There was no sign of either Olalla or Felipe, and I addressed myself to +the recess, whither the Senora had now drawn quite back and sat dozing +close before the fire, for no degree of heat appeared too much for her. + +“Pardon me,” said I, “if I disturb you, but I must apply to you for +help.” + +She looked up sleepily and asked me what it was, and with the very +words I thought she drew in her breath with a widening of the nostrils +and seemed to come suddenly and fully alive. + +“I have cut myself,” I said, “and rather badly. See!” And I held out my +two hands from which the blood was oozing and dripping. + +Her great eyes opened wide, the pupils shrank into points; a veil +seemed to fall from her face, and leave it sharply expressive and yet +inscrutable. And as I still stood, marvelling a little at her +disturbance, she came swiftly up to me, and stooped and caught me by +the hand; and the next moment my hand was at her mouth, and she had +bitten me to the bone. The pang of the bite, the sudden spurting of +blood, and the monstrous horror of the act, flashed through me all in +one, and I beat her back; and she sprang at me again and again, with +bestial cries, cries that I recognised, such cries as had awakened me +on the night of the high wind. Her strength was like that of madness; +mine was rapidly ebbing with the loss of blood; my mind besides was +whirling with the abhorrent strangeness of the onslaught, and I was +already forced against the wall, when Olalla ran betwixt us, and +Felipe, following at a bound, pinned down his mother on the floor. + +A trance-like weakness fell upon me; I saw, heard, and felt, but I was +incapable of movement. I heard the struggle roll to and fro upon the +floor, the yells of that catamount ringing up to Heaven as she strove +to reach me. I felt Olalla clasp me in her arms, her hair falling on my +face, and, with the strength of a man, raise and half drag, half carry +me upstairs into my own room, where she cast me down upon the bed. Then +I saw her hasten to the door and lock it, and stand an instant +listening to the savage cries that shook the residencia. And then, +swift and light as a thought, she was again beside me, binding up my +hand, laying it in her bosom, moaning and mourning over it with +dove-like sounds. They were not words that came to her, they were +sounds more beautiful than speech, infinitely touching, infinitely +tender; and yet as I lay there, a thought stung to my heart, a thought +wounded me like a sword, a thought, like a worm in a flower, profaned +the holiness of my love. Yes, they were beautiful sounds, and they were +inspired by human tenderness; but was their beauty human? + +All day I lay there. For a long time the cries of that nameless female +thing, as she struggled with her half-witted whelp, resounded through +the house, and pierced me with despairing sorrow and disgust. They were +the death-cry of my love; my love was murdered; was not only dead, but +an offence to me; and yet, think as I pleased, feel as I must, it still +swelled within me like a storm of sweetness, and my heart melted at her +looks and touch. This horror that had sprung out, this doubt upon +Olalla, this savage and bestial strain that ran not only through the +whole behaviour of her family, but found a place in the very +foundations and story of our love—though it appalled, though it shocked +and sickened me, was yet not of power to break the knot of my +infatuation. + +When the cries had ceased, there came a scraping at the door, by which +I knew Felipe was without; and Olalla went and spoke to him—I know not +what. With that exception, she stayed close beside me, now kneeling by +my bed and fervently praying, now sitting with her eyes upon mine. So +then, for these six hours I drank in her beauty, and silently perused +the story in her face. I saw the golden coin hover on her breaths; I +saw her eyes darken and brighter, and still speak no language but that +of an unfathomable kindness; I saw the faultless face, and, through the +robe, the lines of the faultless body. Night came at last, and in the +growing darkness of the chamber, the sight of her slowly melted; but +even then the touch of her smooth hand lingered in mine and talked with +me. To lie thus in deadly weakness and drink in the traits of the +beloved, is to reawake to love from whatever shock of disillusion. I +reasoned with myself; and I shut my eyes on horrors, and again I was +very bold to accept the worst. What mattered it, if that imperious +sentiment survived; if her eyes still beckoned and attached me; if now, +even as before, every fibre of my dull body yearned and turned to her? +Late on in the night some strength revived in me, and I spoke:— + +“Olalla,” I said, “nothing matters; I ask nothing; I am content; I love +you.” + +She knelt down awhile and prayed, and I devoutly respected her +devotions. The moon had begun to shine in upon one side of each of the +three windows, and make a misty clearness in the room, by which I saw +her indistinctly. When she rearose she made the sign of the cross. + +“It is for me to speak,” she said, “and for you to listen. I know; you +can but guess. I prayed, how I prayed for you to leave this place. I +begged it of you, and I know you would have granted me even this; or if +not, O let me think so!” + +“I love you,” I said. + +“And yet you have lived in the world,” she said; after a pause, “you +are a man and wise; and I am but a child. Forgive me, if I seem to +teach, who am as ignorant as the trees of the mountain; but those who +learn much do but skim the face of knowledge; they seize the laws, they +conceive the dignity of the design—the horror of the living fact fades +from their memory. It is we who sit at home with evil who remember, I +think, and are warned and pity. Go, rather, go now, and keep me in +mind. So I shall have a life in the cherished places of your memory: a +life as much my own, as that which I lead in this body.” + +“I love you,” I said once more; and reaching out my weak hand, took +hers, and carried it to my lips, and kissed it. Nor did she resist, but +winced a little; and I could see her look upon me with a frown that was +not unkindly, only sad and baffled. And then it seemed she made a call +upon her resolution; plucked my hand towards her, herself at the same +time leaning somewhat forward, and laid it on the beating of her heart. +“There,” she cried, “you feel the very footfall of my life. It only +moves for you; it is yours. But is it even mine? It is mine indeed to +offer you, as I might take the coin from my neck, as I might break a +live branch from a tree, and give it you. And yet not mine! I dwell, or +I think I dwell (if I exist at all), somewhere apart, an impotent +prisoner, and carried about and deafened by a mob that I disown. This +capsule, such as throbs against the sides of animals, knows you at a +touch for its master; ay, it loves you! But my soul, does my soul? I +think not; I know not, fearing to ask. Yet when you spoke to me your +words were of the soul; it is of the soul that you ask—it is only from +the soul that you would take me.” + +“Olalla,” I said, “the soul and the body are one, and mostly so in +love. What the body chooses, the soul loves; where the body clings, the +soul cleaves; body for body, soul to soul, they come together at God’s +signal; and the lower part (if we can call aught low) is only the +footstool and foundation of the highest.” + +“Have you,” she said, “seen the portraits in the house of my fathers? +Have you looked at my mother or at Felipe? Have your eyes never rested +on that picture that hangs by your bed? She who sat for it died ages +ago; and she did evil in her life. But, look again: there is my hand to +the least line, there are my eyes and my hair. What is mine, then, and +what am I? If not a curve in this poor body of mine (which you love, +and for the sake of which you dotingly dream that you love me) not a +gesture that I can frame, not a tone of my voice, not any look from my +eyes, no, not even now when I speak to him I love, but has belonged to +others? Others, ages dead, have wooed other men with my eyes; other men +have heard the pleading of the same voice that now sounds in your ears. +The hands of the dead are in my bosom; they move me, they pluck me, +they guide me; I am a puppet at their command; and I but reinform +features and attributes that have long been laid aside from evil in the +quiet of the grave. Is it me you love, friend? or the race that made +me? The girl who does not know and cannot answer for the least portion +of herself? or the stream of which she is a transitory eddy, the tree +of which she is the passing fruit? The race exists; it is old, it is +ever young, it carries its eternal destiny in its bosom; upon it, like +waves upon the sea, individual succeeds to individual, mocked with a +semblance of self-control, but they are nothing. We speak of the soul, +but the soul is in the race.” + +“You fret against the common law,” I said. “You rebel against the voice +of God, which he has made so winning to convince, so imperious to +command. Hear it, and how it speaks between us! Your hand clings to +mine, your heart leaps at my touch, the unknown elements of which we +are compounded awake and run together at a look; the clay of the earth +remembers its independent life and yearns to join us; we are drawn +together as the stars are turned about in space, or as the tides ebb +and flow, by things older and greater than we ourselves.” + +“Alas!” she said, “what can I say to you? My fathers, eight hundred +years ago, ruled all this province: they were wise, great, cunning, and +cruel; they were a picked race of the Spanish; their flags led in war; +the king called them his cousin; the people, when the rope was slung +for them or when they returned and found their hovels smoking, +blasphemed their name. Presently a change began. Man has risen; if he +has sprung from the brutes, he can descend again to the same level. The +breath of weariness blew on their humanity and the cords relaxed; they +began to go down; their minds fell on sleep, their passions awoke in +gusts, heady and senseless like the wind in the gutters of the +mountains; beauty was still handed down, but no longer the guiding wit +nor the human heart; the seed passed on, it was wrapped in flesh, the +flesh covered the bones, but they were the bones and the flesh of +brutes, and their mind was as the mind of flies. I speak to you as I +dare; but you have seen for yourself how the wheel has gone backward +with my doomed race. I stand, as it were, upon a little rising ground +in this desperate descent, and see both before and behind, both what we +have lost and to what we are condemned to go farther downward. And +shall I—I that dwell apart in the house of the dead, my body, loathing +its ways—shall I repeat the spell? Shall I bind another spirit, +reluctant as my own, into this bewitched and tempest-broken tenement +that I now suffer in? Shall I hand down this cursed vessel of humanity, +charge it with fresh life as with fresh poison, and dash it, like a +fire, in the faces of posterity? But my vow has been given; the race +shall cease from off the earth. At this hour my brother is making +ready; his foot will soon be on the stair; and you will go with him and +pass out of my sight for ever. Think of me sometimes as one to whom the +lesson of life was very harshly told, but who heard it with courage; as +one who loved you indeed, but who hated herself so deeply that her love +was hateful to her; as one who sent you away and yet would have longed +to keep you for ever; who had no dearer hope than to forget you, and no +greater fear than to be forgotten.” + +She had drawn towards the door as she spoke, her rich voice sounding +softer and farther away; and with the last word she was gone, and I lay +alone in the moonlit chamber. What I might have done had not I lain +bound by my extreme weakness, I know not; but as it was there fell upon +me a great and blank despair. It was not long before there shone in at +the door the ruddy glimmer of a lantern, and Felipe coming, charged me +without a word upon his shoulders, and carried me down to the great +gate, where the cart was waiting. In the moonlight the hills stood out +sharply, as if they were of cardboard; on the glimmering surface of the +plateau, and from among the low trees which swung together and sparkled +in the wind, the great black cube of the residencia stood out bulkily, +its mass only broken by three dimly lighted windows in the northern +front above the gate. They were Olalla’s windows, and as the cart +jolted onwards I kept my eyes fixed upon them till, where the road +dipped into a valley, they were lost to my view forever. Felipe walked +in silence beside the shafts, but from time to time he would cheek the +mule and seem to look back upon me; and at length drew quite near and +laid his hand upon my head. There was such kindness in the touch, and +such a simplicity, as of the brutes, that tears broke from me like the +bursting of an artery. + +“Felipe,” I said, “take me where they will ask no questions.” + +He said never a word, but he turned his mule about, end for end, +retraced some part of the way we had gone, and, striking into another +path, led me to the mountain village, which was, as we say in Scotland, +the kirkton of that thinly peopled district. Some broken memories dwell +in my mind of the day breaking over the plain, of the cart stopping, of +arms that helped me down, of a bare room into which I was carried, and +of a swoon that fell upon me like sleep. + +The next day and the days following the old priest was often at my side +with his snuff-box and prayer book, and after a while, when I began to +pick up strength, he told me that I was now on a fair way to recovery, +and must as soon as possible hurry my departure; whereupon, without +naming any reason, he took snuff and looked at me sideways. I did not +affect ignorance; I knew he must have seen Olalla. “Sir,” said I, “you +know that I do not ask in wantonness. What of that family?” + +He said they were very unfortunate; that it seemed a declining race, +and that they were very poor and had been much neglected. + +“But she has not,” I said. “Thanks, doubtless, to yourself, she is +instructed and wise beyond the use of women.” + +“Yes,” he said; “the Senorita is well-informed. But the family has been +neglected.” + +“The mother?” I queried. + +“Yes, the mother too,” said the Padre, taking snuff. “But Felipe is a +well-intentioned lad.” + +“The mother is odd?” I asked. + +“Very odd,” replied the priest. + +“I think, sir, we beat about the bush,” said I. “You must know more of +my affairs than you allow. You must know my curiosity to be justified +on many grounds. Will you not be frank with me?” + +“My son,” said the old gentleman, “I will be very frank with you on +matters within my competence; on those of which I know nothing it does +not require much discretion to be silent. I will not fence with you, I +take your meaning perfectly; and what can I say, but that we are all in +God’s hands, and that His ways are not as our ways? I have even advised +with my superiors in the church, but they, too, were dumb. It is a +great mystery.” + +“Is she mad?” I asked. + +“I will answer you according to my belief. She is not,” returned the +Padre, “or she was not. When she was young—God help me, I fear I +neglected that wild lamb—she was surely sane; and yet, although it did +not run to such heights, the same strain was already notable; it had +been so before her in her father, ay, and before him, and this inclined +me, perhaps, to think too lightly of it. But these things go on +growing, not only in the individual but in the race.” + +“When she was young,” I began, and my voice failed me for a moment, and +it was only with a great effort that I was able to add, “was she like +Olalla?” + +“Now God forbid!” exclaimed the Padre. “God forbid that any man should +think so slightingly of my favourite penitent. No, no; the Senorita +(but for her beauty, which I wish most honestly she had less of) has +not a hair’s resemblance to what her mother was at the same age. I +could not bear to have you think so; though, Heaven knows, it were, +perhaps, better that you should.” + +At this, I raised myself in bed, and opened my heart to the old man; +telling him of our love and of her decision, owning my own horrors, my +own passing fancies, but telling him that these were at an end; and +with something more than a purely formal submission, appealing to his +judgment. + +He heard me very patiently and without surprise; and when I had done, +he sat for some time silent. Then he began: “The church,” and instantly +broke off again to apologise. “I had forgotten, my child, that you were +not a Christian,” said he. “And indeed, upon a point so highly unusual, +even the church can scarce be said to have decided. But would you have +my opinion? The Senorita is, in a matter of this kind, the best judge; +I would accept her judgment.” + +On the back of that he went away, nor was he thenceforward so assiduous +in his visits; indeed, even when I began to get about again, he plainly +feared and deprecated my society, not as in distaste but much as a man +might be disposed to flee from the riddling sphynx. The villagers, too, +avoided me; they were unwilling to be my guides upon the mountain. I +thought they looked at me askance, and I made sure that the more +superstitious crossed themselves on my approach. At first I set this +down to my heretical opinions; but it began at length to dawn upon me +that if I was thus redoubted it was because I had stayed at the +residencia. All men despise the savage notions of such peasantry; and +yet I was conscious of a chill shadow that seemed to fall and dwell +upon my love. It did not conquer, but I may not deny that it restrained +my ardour. + +Some miles westward of the village there was a gap in the sierra, from +which the eye plunged direct upon the residencia; and thither it became +my daily habit to repair. A wood crowned the summit; and just where the +pathway issued from its fringes, it was overhung by a considerable +shelf of rock, and that, in its turn, was surmounted by a crucifix of +the size of life and more than usually painful in design. This was my +perch; thence, day after day, I looked down upon the plateau, and the +great old house, and could see Felipe, no bigger than a fly, going to +and fro about the garden. Sometimes mists would draw across the view, +and be broken up again by mountain winds; sometimes the plain slumbered +below me in unbroken sunshine; it would sometimes be all blotted out by +rain. This distant post, these interrupted sights of the place where my +life had been so strangely changed, suited the indecision of my humour. +I passed whole days there, debating with myself the various elements of +our position; now leaning to the suggestions of love, now giving an ear +to prudence, and in the end halting irresolute between the two. + +One day, as I was sitting on my rock, there came by that way a somewhat +gaunt peasant wrapped in a mantle. He was a stranger, and plainly did +not know me even by repute; for, instead of keeping the other side, he +drew near and sat down beside me, and we had soon fallen in talk. Among +other things he told me he had been a muleteer, and in former years had +much frequented these mountains; later on, he had followed the army +with his mules, had realised a competence, and was now living retired +with his family. + +“Do you know that house?” I inquired, at last, pointing to the +residencia, for I readily wearied of any talk that kept me from the +thought of Olalla. + +He looked at me darkly and crossed himself. + +“Too well,” he said, “it was there that one of my comrades sold himself +to Satan; the Virgin shield us from temptations! He has paid the price; +he is now burning in the reddest place in Hell!” + +A fear came upon me; I could answer nothing; and presently the man +resumed, as if to himself: “Yes,” he said, “O yes, I know it. I have +passed its doors. There was snow upon the pass, the wind was driving +it; sure enough there was death that night upon the mountains, but +there was worse beside the hearth. I took him by the arm, Senor, and +dragged him to the gate; I conjured him, by all he loved and respected, +to go forth with me; I went on my knees before him in the snow; and I +could see he was moved by my entreaty. And just then she came out on +the gallery, and called him by his name; and he turned, and there was +she standing with a lamp in her hand and smiling on him to come back. I +cried out aloud to God, and threw my arms about him, but he put me by, +and left me alone. He had made his choice; God help us. I would pray +for him, but to what end? there are sins that not even the Pope can +loose.” + +“And your friend,” I asked, “what became of him?” + +“Nay, God knows,” said the muleteer. “If all be true that we hear, his +end was like his sin, a thing to raise the hair.” + +“Do you mean that he was killed?” I asked. + +“Sure enough, he was killed,” returned the man. “But how? Ay, how? But +these are things that it is sin to speak of.” + +“The people of that house . . . ” I began. + +But he interrupted me with a savage outburst. “The people?” he cried. +“What people? There are neither men nor women in that house of Satan’s! +What? have you lived here so long, and never heard?” And here he put +his mouth to my ear and whispered, as if even the fowls of the mountain +might have over-heard and been stricken with horror. + +What he told me was not true, nor was it even original; being, indeed, +but a new edition, vamped up again by village ignorance and +superstition, of stories nearly as ancient as the race of man. It was +rather the application that appalled me. In the old days, he said, the +church would have burned out that nest of basilisks; but the arm of the +church was now shortened; his friend Miguel had been unpunished by the +hands of men, and left to the more awful judgment of an offended God. +This was wrong; but it should be so no more. The Padre was sunk in age; +he was even bewitched himself; but the eyes of his flock were now awake +to their own danger; and some day—ay, and before long—the smoke of that +house should go up to heaven. + +He left me filled with horror and fear. Which way to turn I knew not; +whether first to warn the Padre, or to carry my ill-news direct to the +threatened inhabitants of the residencia. Fate was to decide for me; +for, while I was still hesitating, I beheld the veiled figure of a +woman drawing near to me up the pathway. No veil could deceive my +penetration; by every line and every movement I recognised Olalla; and +keeping hidden behind a corner of the rock, I suffered her to gain the +summit. Then I came forward. She knew me and paused, but did not speak; +I, too, remained silent; and we continued for some time to gaze upon +each other with a passionate sadness. + +“I thought you had gone,” she said at length. “It is all that you can +do for me—to go. It is all I ever asked of you. And you still stay. But +do you know, that every day heaps up the peril of death, not only on +your head, but on ours? A report has gone about the mountain; it is +thought you love me, and the people will not suffer it.” + +I saw she was already informed of her danger, and I rejoiced at it. +“Olalla,” I said, “I am ready to go this day, this very hour, but not +alone.” + +She stepped aside and knelt down before the crucifix to pray, and I +stood by and looked now at her and now at the object of her adoration, +now at the living figure of the penitent, and now at the ghastly, +daubed countenance, the painted wounds, and the projected ribs of the +image. The silence was only broken by the wailing of some large birds +that circled sidelong, as if in surprise or alarm, about the summit of +the hills. Presently Olalla rose again, turned towards me, raised her +veil, and, still leaning with one hand on the shaft of the crucifix, +looked upon me with a pale and sorrowful countenance. + +“I have laid my hand upon the cross,” she said. “The Padre says you are +no Christian; but look up for a moment with my eyes, and behold the +face of the Man of Sorrows. We are all such as He was—the inheritors of +sin; we must all bear and expiate a past which was not ours; there is +in all of us—ay, even in me—a sparkle of the divine. Like Him, we must +endure for a little while, until morning returns bringing peace. Suffer +me to pass on upon my way alone; it is thus that I shall be least +lonely, counting for my friend Him who is the friend of all the +distressed; it is thus that I shall be the most happy, having taken my +farewell of earthly happiness, and willingly accepted sorrow for my +portion.” + +I looked at the face of the crucifix, and, though I was no friend to +images, and despised that imitative and grimacing art of which it was a +rude example, some sense of what the thing implied was carried home to +my intelligence. The face looked down upon me with a painful and deadly +contraction; but the rays of a glory encircled it, and reminded me that +the sacrifice was voluntary. It stood there, crowning the rock, as it +still stands on so many highway sides, vainly preaching to passers-by, +an emblem of sad and noble truths; that pleasure is not an end, but an +accident; that pain is the choice of the magnanimous; that it is best +to suffer all things and do well. I turned and went down the mountain +in silence; and when I looked back for the last time before the wood +closed about my path, I saw Olalla still leaning on the crucifix. + + + + +THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD. + + + + +CHAPTER I. +BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK. + + +They had sent for the doctor from Bourron before six. About eight some +villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters +stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real +people, and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon +was gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street for Doctor Desprez. + +The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the little +dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in another, when the +messenger arrived. + +“Sapristi!” said the Doctor, “you should have sent for me before. It +was a case for hurry.” And he followed the messenger as he was, in his +slippers and skull-cap. + +The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop +there; he went in at one door and out by another into the court, and +then led the way by a flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft +where the mountebank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live a +thousand years, he would never forget his arrival in that room; for not +only was the scene picturesque, but the moment made a date in his +existence. We reckon our lives, I hardly know why, from the date of our +first sorry appearance in society, as if from a first humiliation; for +no actor can come upon the stage with a worse grace. Not to go further +back, which would be judged too curious, there are subsequently many +moving and decisive accidents in the lives of all, which would make as +logical a period as this of birth. And here, for instance, Doctor +Desprez, a man past forty, who had made what is called a failure in +life, and was moreover married, found himself at a new point of +departure when he opened the door of the loft above Tentaillon’s +stable. + +It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set upon the +floor. The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man, with +a Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over +him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a +chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet +dangling. These three were the only occupants, except the shadows. But +the shadows were a company in themselves; the extent of the room +exaggerated them to a gigantic size, and from the low position of the +candle the light struck upwards and produced deformed foreshortenings. +The mountebank’s profile was enlarged upon the wall in caricature, and +it was strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was +blown about by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no +more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of +head. The chair legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy +set perched atop of them, like a cloud, in the corner of the roof. + +It was the boy who took the Doctor’s fancy. He had a great arched +skull, the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting +eyes. It was not merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the +softest ruddy brown. There was a look in them, besides, which thrilled +the Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He was sure he had seen such a +look before, and yet he could not remember how or where. It was as if +this boy, who was quite a stranger to him, had the eyes of an old +friend or an old enemy. And the boy would give him no peace; he seemed +profoundly indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from +it in a superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet against +the bars of the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But, +for all that, his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room with a +thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether he was +fascinating the boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He busied himself +over the sick man: he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested, he +grew a little hot and swore: and still, whenever he looked round, there +were the brown eyes waiting for his with the same inquiring, melancholy +gaze. + +At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered the +look now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a dart, had +the eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not at all +deformed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at you from +below his brows. The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so much relieved +to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to explain away his +interest. + +For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, still +kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked +the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but +looked placidly back at the Doctor. + +“Is this your father?” asked Desprez. + +“Oh, no,” returned the boy; “my master.” + +“Are you fond of him?” continued the Doctor. + +“No, sir,” said the boy. + +Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances. + +“That is bad, my man,” resumed the latter, with a shade of sternness. +“Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their sentiments; +and your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while +stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappointment when he flies +away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and +vanish. How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so +richly endowed with faculties! When I think that, in a few hours, the +speech will be silenced, the breath extinct, and even the shadow +vanished from the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew him +only as a guest, are touched with some affection.” + +The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting. + +“You did not know him,” he replied at last, “he was a bad man.” + +“He is a little pagan,” said the landlady. “For that matter, they are +all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what not. They +have no interior.” + +But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his eyebrows +knotted and uplifted. + +“What is your name?” he asked. + +“Jean-Marie,” said the lad. + +Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of excitement, +and felt his head all over from an ethnological point of view. + +“Celtic, Celtic!” he said. + +“Celtic!” cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word +with hydrocephalous. “Poor lad! is it dangerous?” + +“That depends,” returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more +addressing the boy: “And what do you do for your living, Jean-Marie?” +he inquired. + +“I tumble,” was the answer. + +“So! Tumble?” repeated Desprez. “Probably healthful. I hazard the +guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And +have you never done anything else but tumble?” + +“Before I learned that, I used to steal,” answered Jean-Marie gravely. + +“Upon my word!” cried the doctor. “You are a nice little man for your +age. Madame, when my _confrère_ comes from Bourron, you will +communicate my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his hands; but +of course, on any alarming symptom, above all if there should be a sign +of rally, do not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I +thank God; but I have been one. Good night, madame. Good sleep to you, +Jean-Marie.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. +MORNING TALK + + +Doctor Desprez always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before the +first cart rattled over the bridge to the day’s labour in the fields, +he was to be found wandering in his garden. Now he would pick a bunch +of grapes; now he would eat a big pear under the trellice; now he would +draw all sorts of fancies on the path with the end of his cane; now he +would go down and watch the river running endlessly past the timber +landing-place at which he moored his boat. There was no time, he used +to say, for making theories like the early morning. “I rise earlier +than any one else in the village,” he once boasted. “It is a fair +consequence that I know more and wish to do less with my knowledge.” + +The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a good theatrical +effect to usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by which he could +predict the weather. Indeed, most things served him to that end: the +sound of the bells from all the neighbouring villages, the smell of the +forest, the visits and the behaviour of both birds and fishes, the look +of the plants in his garden, the disposition of cloud, the colour of +the light, and last, although not least, the arsenal of meteorological +instruments in a louvre-boarded hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had +settled at Gretz, he had been growing more and more into the local +meteorologist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He thought at +first there was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the end +of the second year, he protested there was none so wholesome in the +whole department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had +been prepared to challenge all France and the better part of Europe for +a rival to his chosen spot. + +“Doctor,” he would say—“doctor is a foul word. It should not be used to +ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our civilisation, +that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now I, for my part, have +washed my hands of it; I have renounced my laureation; I am no doctor; +I am only a worshipper of the true goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe me, it +is she who has the cestus! And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she +placed her shrine: here she dwells and lavishes her gifts; here I walk +with her in the early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made +the peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow +up tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the river become +clean and agile at her presence.—Rheumatism!” he would cry, on some +malapert interruption, “O, yes, I believe we do have a little +rheumatism. That could hardly be avoided, you know, on a river. And of +course the place stands a little low; and the meadows are marshy, +there’s no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at Bourron! Bourron stands +high. Bourron is close to the forest; plenty of ozone there, you would +say. Well, compared with Gretz, Bourron is a perfect shambles.” + +The morning after he had been summoned to the dying mountebank, the +Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long look +at the running water. This he called prayer; but whether his adorations +were addressed to the goddess Hygieia or some more orthodox deity, +never plainly appeared. For he had uttered doubtful oracles, sometimes +declaring that a river was the type of bodily health, sometimes +extolling it as the great moral preacher, continually preaching peace, +continuity, and diligence to man’s tormented spirits. After he had +watched a mile or so of the clear water running by before his eyes, +seen a fish or two come to the surface with a gleam of silver, and +sufficiently admired the long shadows of the trees falling half across +the river from the opposite bank, with patches of moving sunlight in +between, he strolled once more up the garden and through his house into +the street, feeling cool and renovated. + +The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the business of the day; +for the village was still sound asleep. The church tower looked very +airy in the sunlight; a few birds that turned about it, seemed to swim +in an atmosphere of more than usual rarity; and the Doctor, walking in +long transparent shadows, filled his lungs amply, and proclaimed +himself well contented with the morning. + +On one of the posts before Tentaillon’s carriage entry he espied a +little dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, and immediately +recognised Jean-Marie. + +“Aha!” he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand on either +knee. “So we rise early in the morning, do we? It appears to me that we +have all the vices of a philosopher.” + +The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation. + +“And how is our patient?” asked Desprez. + +It appeared the patient was about the same. + +“And why do you rise early in the morning?” he pursued. + +Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly knew. + +“You hardly know?” repeated Desprez. “We hardly know anything, my man, +until we try to learn. Interrogate your consciousness. Come, push me +this inquiry home. Do you like it?” + +“Yes,” said the boy slowly; “yes, I like it.” + +“And why do you like it?” continued the Doctor. “(We are now pursuing +the Socratic method.) Why do you like it?” + +“It is quiet,” answered Jean-Marie; “and I have nothing to do; and then +I feel as if I were good.” + +Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite side. He was +beginning to take an interest in the talk, for the boy plainly thought +before he spoke, and tried to answer truly. “It appears you have a +taste for feeling good,” said the Doctor. “Now, there you puzzle me +extremely; for I thought you said you were a thief; and the two are +incompatible.” + +“Is it very bad to steal?” asked Jean-Marie. + +“Such is the general opinion, little boy,” replied the Doctor. + +“No; but I mean as I stole,” explained the other. “For I had no choice. +I think it is surely right to have bread; it must be right to have +bread, there comes so plain a want of it. And then they beat me cruelly +if I returned with nothing,” he added. “I was not ignorant of right and +wrong; for before that I had been well taught by a priest, who was very +kind to me.” (The Doctor made a horrible grimace at the word “priest.”) +“But it seemed to me, when one had nothing to eat and was beaten, it +was a different affair. I would not have stolen for tartlets, I +believe; but any one would steal for baker’s bread.” + +“And so I suppose,” said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, “you prayed +God to forgive you, and explained the case to Him at length.” + +“Why, sir?” asked Jean-Marie. “I do not see.” + +“Your priest would see, however,” retorted Desprez. + +“Would he?” asked the boy, troubled for the first time. “I should have +thought God would have known.” + +“Eh?” snarled the Doctor. + +“I should have thought God would have understood me,” replied the +other. “You do not, I see; but then it was God that made me think so, +was it not?” + +“Little boy, little boy,” said Dr. Desprez, “I told you already you had +the vices of philosophy; if you display the virtues also, I must go. I +am a student of the blessed laws of health, an observer of plain and +temperate nature in her common walks; and I cannot preserve my +equanimity in presence of a monster. Do you understand?” + +“No, sir,” said the boy. + +“I will make my meaning clear to you,” replied the doctor. “Look there +at the sky—behind the belfry first, where it is so light, and then up +and up, turning your chin back, right to the top of the dome, where it +is already as blue as at noon. Is not that a beautiful colour? Does it +not please the heart? We have seen it all our lives, until it has grown +in with our familiar thoughts. Now,” changing his tone, “suppose that +sky to become suddenly of a live and fiery amber, like the colour of +clear coals, and growing scarlet towards the top—I do not say it would +be any the less beautiful; but would you like it as well?” + +“I suppose not,” answered Jean-Marie. + +“Neither do I like you,” returned the Doctor, roughly. “I hate all odd +people, and you are the most curious little boy in all the world.” + +Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then he raised his head +again and looked over at the Doctor with an air of candid inquiry. “But +are not you a very curious gentleman?” he asked. + +The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the boy, clasped him to his +bosom, and kissed him on both cheeks. “Admirable, admirable imp!” he +cried. “What a morning, what an hour for a theorist of forty-two! No,” +he continued, apostrophising heaven, “I did not know such boys existed; +I was ignorant they made them so; I had doubted of my race; and now! It +is like,” he added, picking up his stick, “like a lovers’ meeting. I +have bruised my favourite staff in that moment of enthusiasm. The +injury, however, is not grave.” He caught the boy looking at him in +obvious wonder, embarrassment, and alarm. “Hullo!” said he, “why do you +look at me like that? Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do you +despise me, boy?” + +“O, no,” replied Jean-Marie, seriously; “only I do not understand.” + +“You must excuse me, sir,” returned the Doctor, with gravity; “I am +still so young. O, hang him!” he added to himself. And he took his seat +again and observed the boy sardonically. “He has spoiled the quiet of +my morning,” thought he. “I shall be nervous all day, and have a +febricule when I digest. Let me compose myself.” And so he dismissed +his pre-occupations by an effort of the will which he had long +practised, and let his soul roam abroad in the contemplation of the +morning. He inhaled the air, tasting it critically as a connoisseur +tastes a vintage, and prolonging the expiration with hygienic gusto. He +counted the little flecks of cloud along the sky. He followed the +movements of the birds round the church tower—making long sweeps, +hanging poised, or turning airy somersaults in fancy, and beating the +wind with imaginary pinions. And in this way he regained peace of mind +and animal composure, conscious of his limbs, conscious of the sight of +his eyes, conscious that the air had a cool taste, like a fruit, at the +top of his throat; and at last, in complete abstraction, he began to +sing. The Doctor had but one air—, “Malbrouck s’en va-t-en guerre;” +even with that he was on terms of mere politeness; and his musical +exploits were always reserved for moments when he was alone and +entirely happy. + +He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on the boy’s +face. “What do you think of my singing?” he inquired, stopping in the +middle of a note; and then, after he had waited some little while and +received no answer, “What do you think of my singing?” he repeated, +imperiously. + +“I do not like it,” faltered Jean-Marie. + +“Oh, come!” cried the Doctor. “Possibly you are a performer yourself?” + +“I sing better than that,” replied the boy. + +The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction. He was aware that +he was angry, and blushed for himself in consequence, which made him +angrier. “If this is how you address your master!” he said at last, +with a shrug and a flourish of his arms. + +“I do not speak to him at all,” returned the boy. “I do not like him.” + +“Then you like me?” snapped Doctor Desprez, with unusual eagerness. + +“I do not know,” answered Jean-Marie. + +The Doctor rose. “I shall wish you a good morning,” he said. “You are +too much for me. Perhaps you have blood in your veins, perhaps +celestial ichor, or perhaps you circulate nothing more gross than +respirable air; but of one thing I am inexpugnably assured:—that you +are no human being. No, boy”—shaking his stick at him—“you are not a +human being. Write, write it in your memory—‘I am not a human being—I +have no pretension to be a human being—I am a dive, a dream, an angel, +an acrostic, an illusion—what you please, but not a human being.’ And +so accept my humble salutations and farewell!” + +And with that the Doctor made off along the street in some emotion, and +the boy stood, mentally gaping, where he left him. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +THE ADOPTION. + + +Madame Desprez, who answered to the Christian name of Anastasie, +presented an agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly wholesome to look +upon, a stout _brune_, with cool smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, and +hands that neither art nor nature could improve. She was the sort of +person over whom adversity passes like a summer cloud; she might, in +the worst of conjunctions, knit her brows into one vertical furrow for +a moment, but the next it would be gone. She had much of the placidity +of a contented nun; with little of her piety, however; for Anastasie +was of a very mundane nature, fond of oysters and old wine, and +somewhat bold pleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her own sake +rather than for his. She was imperturbably good-natured, but had no +idea of self-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a +green garden behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and +drink of the best, to gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, +never to wear stays or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau +shopping, to be kept in a continual supply of racy novels, and to be +married to Doctor Desprez and have no ground of jealousy, filled the +cup of her nature to the brim. Those who had known the Doctor in +bachelor days, when he had aired quite as many theories, but of a +different order, attributed his present philosophy to the study of +Anastasie. It was her brute enjoyment that he rationalised and perhaps +vainly imitated. + +Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a +nicety. She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected the +Doctor; everything was in its place; everything capable of polish shone +gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her empire. Aline, their +single servant, had no other business in the world but to scour and +burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted calf, +warmed and cosseted to his heart’s content. + +The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from the +river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a +dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a +bottle _plus_ one glass, the wife half a bottle _minus_ the same +quantity, which was a marital privilege, of an excellent Côte-Rôtie, +seven years old. Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse +for madame, for the Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; and +then Aline left the wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and +digestion. + +“It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,” observed the +Doctor—“this coffee is adorable—a very fortunate circumstance upon the +whole—Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for to-day; only +one day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation.” + +“What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?” inquired Anastasie, +not heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence. + +“That we have no children, my beautiful,” replied the Doctor. “I think +of it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more +gratitude towards the Power that dispenses such afflictions. Your +health, my darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, +how they would all have suffered, how they would all have been +sacrificed! And for what? Children are the last word of human +imperfection. Health flees before their face. They cry, my dear; they +put vexatious questions; they demand to be fed, to be washed, to be +educated, to have their noses blown; and then, when the time comes, +they break our hearts, as I break this piece of sugar. A pair of +professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid offspring, like an +infidelity.” + +“Indeed!” said she; and she laughed. “Now, that is like you—to take +credit for the thing you could not help.” + +“My dear,” returned the Doctor, solemnly, “we might have adopted.” + +“Never!” cried madame. “Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the child +were my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take another +person’s indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have too much +sense.” + +“Precisely,” replied the Doctor. “We both had. And I am all the better +pleased with our wisdom, because—because—” He looked at her sharply. + +“Because what?” she asked, with a faint premonition of danger. + +“Because I have found the right person,” said the Doctor firmly, “and +shall adopt him this afternoon.” + +Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. “You have lost your reason,” she +said; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed to threaten +trouble. + +“Not so, my dear,” he replied; “I retain its complete exercise. To the +proof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I have, by way +of preparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will there, I +think, recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to call you wife. +The fact is, I have been reckoning all this while without an accident. +I never thought to find a son of my own. Now, last night, I found one. +Do not unnecessarily alarm yourself, my dear; he is not a drop of blood +to me that I know. It is his mind, darling, his mind that calls me +father.” + +“His mind!” she repeated with a titter between scorn and hysterics. +“His mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are you +mad? His mind! And what of my mind?” + +“Truly,” replied the Doctor with a shrug, “you have your finger on the +hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautiful +Anastasie. She will never understand him; he will never understand her. +You married the animal side of my nature, dear and it is on the +spiritual side that I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much so, +that, to be perfectly frank, I stand in some awe of him myself. You +will easily perceive that I am announcing a calamity for you. Do not,” +he broke out in tones of real solicitude—“do not give way to tears +after a meal, Anastasie. You will certainly give yourself a false +digestion.” + +Anastasie controlled herself. “You know how willing I am to humour +you,” she said, “in all reasonable matters. But on this point—” + +“My dear love,” interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal, +“who wished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the opera, +and the boulevard, and my social relations, and all that was my life +before I knew you? Have I been faithful? Have I been obedient? Have I +not borne my doom with cheerfulness? In all honesty, Anastasie, have I +not a right to a stipulation on my side? I have, and you know it. I +stipulate my son.” + +Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly. “You +will break my heart,” she sighed. + +“Not in the least,” said he. “You will feel a trifling inconvenience +for a month, just as I did when I was first brought to this vile +hamlet; then your admirable sense and temper will prevail, and I see +you already as content as ever, and making your husband the happiest of +men.” + +“You know I can refuse you nothing,” she said, with a last flicker of +resistance; “nothing that will make you truly happier. But will this? +Are you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found him! He may be +the worst of humbugs.” + +“I think not,” replied the Doctor. “But do not suppose me so unwary as +to adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a finished man of the +world; I have had all possibilities in view; my plan is contrived to +meet them all. I take the lad as stable boy. If he pilfer, if he +grumble, if he desire to change, I shall see I was mistaken; I shall +recognise him for no son of mine, and send him tramping.” + +“You will never do so when the time comes,” said his wife; “I know your +good heart.” + +She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as he +took it and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with +greater ease than he had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth time +he had proved the efficacy of his trusty argument, his Excalibur, the +hint of a return to Paris. Six months in the capital, for a man of the +Doctor’s antecedents and relations, implied no less a calamity than +total ruin. Anastasie had saved the remainder of his fortune by keeping +him strictly in the country. The very name of Paris put her in a blue +fear; and she would have allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the +back garden, let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather than permit the +question of return to be discussed. + +About four of the afternoon, the mountebank rendered up his ghost; he +had never been conscious since his seizure. Doctor Desprez was present +at his last passage, and declared the farce over. Then he took +Jean-Marie by the shoulder and led him out into the inn garden where +there was a convenient bench beside the river. Here he sat him down and +made the boy place himself on his left. + +“Jean-Marie,” he said very gravely, “this world is exceedingly vast; +and even France, which is only a small corner of it, is a great place +for a little lad like you. Unfortunately it is full of eager, +shouldering people moving on; and there are very few bakers’ shops for +so many eaters. Your master is dead; you are not fit to gain a living +by yourself; you do not wish to steal? No. Your situation then is +undesirable; it is, for the moment, critical. On the other hand, you +behold in me a man not old, though elderly, still enjoying the youth of +the heart and the intelligence; a man of instruction; easily situated +in this world’s affairs; keeping a good table:—a man, neither as friend +nor host, to be despised. I offer you your food and clothes, and to +teach you lessons in the evening, which will be infinitely more to the +purpose for a lad of your stamp than those of all the priests in +Europe. I propose no wages, but if ever you take a thought to leave me, +the door shall be open, and I will give you a hundred francs to start +the world upon. In return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you +would very speedily learn to clean and keep in order. Do not hurry +yourself to answer, and take it or leave it as you judge aright. Only +remember this, that I am no sentimentalist or charitable person, but a +man who lives rigorously to himself; and that if I make the proposal, +it is for my own ends—it is because I perceive clearly an advantage to +myself. And now, reflect.” + +“I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can do. I thank you, +sir, most kindly, and I will try to be useful,” said the boy. + +“Thank you,” said the Doctor warmly, rising at the same time and wiping +his brow, for he had suffered agonies while the thing hung in the wind. +A refusal, after the scene at noon, would have placed him in a +ridiculous light before Anastasie. “How hot and heavy is the evening, +to be sure! I have always had a fancy to be a fish in summer, +Jean-Marie, here in the Loing beside Gretz. I should lie under a +water-lily and listen to the bells, which must sound most delicately +down below. That would be a life—do you not think so too?” + +“Yes,” said Jean-Marie. + +“Thank God you have imagination!” cried the Doctor, embracing the boy +with his usual effusive warmth, though it was a proceeding that seemed +to disconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had been an English +schoolboy of the same age. “And now,” he added, “I will take you to my +wife.” + +Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool wrapper. All the blinds +were down, and the tile floor had been recently sprinkled with water; +her eyes were half shut, but she affected to be reading a novel as the +they entered. Though she was a bustling woman, she enjoyed repose +between whiles and had a remarkable appetite for sleep. + +The Doctor went through a solemn form of introduction, adding, for the +benefit of both parties, “You must try to like each other for my sake.” + +“He is very pretty,” said Anastasie. “Will you kiss me, my pretty +little fellow?” + +The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the passage. “Are you a +fool, Anastasie?” he said. “What is all this I hear about the tact of +women? Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my experience. You +address my little philosopher as if he were an infant. He must be +spoken to with more respect, I tell you; he must not be kissed and +Georgy-porgy’d like an ordinary child.” + +“I only did it to please you, I am sure,” replied Anastasie; “but I +will try to do better.” + +The Doctor apologised for his warmth. “But I do wish him,” he +continued, “to feel at home among us. And really your conduct was so +idiotic, my cherished one, and so utterly and distantly out of place, +that a saint might have been pardoned a little vehemence in +disapproval. Do, do try—if it is possible for a woman to understand +young people—but of course it is not, and I waste my breath. Hold your +tongue as much as possible at least, and observe my conduct narrowly; +it will serve you for a model.” + +Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered the Doctor’s behaviour. +She observed that he embraced the boy three times in the course of the +evening, and managed generally to confound and abash the little fellow +out of speech and appetite. But she had the true womanly heroism in +little affairs. Not only did she refrain from the cheap revenge of +exposing the Doctor’s errors to himself, but she did her best to remove +their ill-effect on Jean-Marie. When Desprez went out for his last +breath of air before retiring for the night, she came over to the boy’s +side and took his hand. + +“You must not be surprised nor frightened by my husband’s manners,” she +said. “He is the kindest of men, but so clever that he is sometimes +difficult to understand. You will soon grow used to him, and then you +will love him, for that nobody can help. As for me, you may be sure, I +shall try to make you happy, and will not bother you at all. I think we +should be excellent friends, you and I. I am not clever, but I am very +good-natured. Will you give me a kiss?” + +He held up his face, and she took him in her arms and then began to +cry. The woman had spoken in complaisance; but she had warmed to her +own words, and tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering, found them +enlaced: he concluded that his wife was in fault; and he was just +beginning, in an awful voice, “Anastasie—,” when she looked up at him, +smiling, with an upraised finger; and he held his peace, wondering, +while she led the boy to his attic. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER. + + +The installation of the adopted stable-boy was thus happily effected, +and the wheels of life continued to run smoothly in the Doctor’s house. +Jean-Marie did his horse and carriage duty in the morning; sometimes +helped in the housework; sometimes walked abroad with the Doctor, to +drink wisdom from the fountain-head; and was introduced at night to the +sciences and the dead tongues. He retained his singular placidity of +mind and manner; he was rarely in fault; but he made only a very +partial progress in his studies, and remained much of a stranger in the +family. + +The Doctor was a pattern of regularity. All forenoon he worked on his +great book, the “Comparative Pharmacopoeia, or Historical Dictionary of +all Medicines,” which as yet consisted principally of slips of paper +and pins. When finished, it was to fill many personable volumes, and to +combine antiquarian interest with professional utility. But the Doctor +was studious of literary graces and the picturesque; an anecdote, a +touch of manners, a moral qualification, or a sounding epithet was sure +to be preferred before a piece of science; a little more, and he would +have written the “Comparative Pharmacopoeia’ in verse! The article +“Mummia,” for instance, was already complete, though the remainder of +the work had not progressed beyond the letter A. It was exceedingly +copious and entertaining, written with quaintness and colour, exact, +erudite, a literary article; but it would hardly have afforded guidance +to a practising physician of to-day. The feminine good sense of his +wife had led her to point this out with uncompromising sincerity; for +the Dictionary was duly read aloud to her, betwixt sleep and waning, as +it proceeded towards an infinitely distant completion; and the Doctor +was a little sore on the subject of mummies, and sometimes resented an +allusion with asperity. + +After the midday meal and a proper period of digestion, he walked, +sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Jean-Marie; for madame would +have preferred any hardship rather than walk. + +She was, as I have said, a very busy person, continually occupied about +material comforts, and ready to drop asleep over a novel the instant +she was disengaged. This was the less objectionable, as she never +snored or grew distempered in complexion when she slept. On the +contrary, she looked the very picture of luxurious and appetising ease, +and woke without a start to the perfect possession of her faculties. I +am afraid she was greatly an animal, but she was a very nice animal to +have about. In this way, she had little to do with Jean-Marie; but the +sympathy which had been established between them on the first night +remained unbroken; they held occasional conversations, mostly on +household matters; to the extreme disappointment of the Doctor, they +occasionally sallied off together to that temple of debasing +superstition, the village church; madame and he, both in their Sunday’s +best, drove twice a month to Fontainebleau and returned laden with +purchases; and in short, although the Doctor still continued to regard +them as irreconcilably anti-pathetic, their relation was as intimate, +friendly, and confidential as their natures suffered. + +I fear, however, that in her heart of hearts, madame kindly despised +and pitied the boy. She had no admiration for his class of virtues; she +liked a smart, polite, forward, roguish sort of boy, cap in hand, light +of foot, meeting the eye; she liked volubility, charm, a little +vice—the promise of a second Doctor Desprez. And it was her +indefeasible belief that Jean-Marie was dull. “Poor dear boy,” she had +said once, “how sad it is that he should be so stupid!” She had never +repeated that remark, for the Doctor had raged like a wild bull, +denouncing the brutal bluntness of her mind, bemoaning his own fate to +be so unequally mated with an ass, and, what touched Anastasie more +nearly, menacing the table china by the fury of his gesticulations. But +she adhered silently to her opinion; and when Jean-Marie was sitting, +stolid, blank, but not unhappy, over his unfinished tasks, she would +snatch her opportunity in the Doctor’s absence, go over to him, put her +arms about his neck, lay her cheek to his, and communicate her sympathy +with his distress. “Do not mind,” she would say; “I, too, am not at all +clever, and I can assure you that it makes no difference in life.” + +The Doctor’s view was naturally different. That gentleman never wearied +of the sound of his own voice, which was, to say the truth, agreeable +enough to hear. He now had a listener, who was not so cynically +indifferent as Anastasie, and who sometimes put him on his mettle by +the most relevant objections. Besides, was he not educating the boy? +And education, philosophers are agreed, is the most philosophical of +duties. What can be more heavenly to poor mankind than to have one’s +hobby grow into a duty to the State? Then, indeed, do the ways of life +become ways of pleasantness. Never had the Doctor seen reason to be +more content with his endowments. Philosophy flowed smoothly from his +lips. He was so agile a dialectician that he could trace his nonsense, +when challenged, back to some root in sense, and prove it to be a sort +of flower upon his system. He slipped out of antinomies like a fish, +and left his disciple marvelling at the rabbi’s depth. + +Moreover, deep down in his heart the Doctor was disappointed with the +ill-success of his more formal education. A boy, chosen by so acute an +observer for his aptitude, and guided along the path of learning by so +philosophic an instructor, was bound, by the nature of the universe, to +make a more obvious and lasting advance. Now Jean-Marie was slow in all +things, impenetrable in others; and his power of forgetting was fully +on a level with his power to learn. Therefore the Doctor cherished his +peripatetic lectures, to which the boy attended, which he generally +appeared to enjoy, and by which he often profited. + +Many and many were the talks they had together; and health and +moderation proved the subject of the Doctor’s divagations. To these he +lovingly returned. + +“I lead you,” he would say, “by the green pastures. My system, my +beliefs, my medicines, are resumed in one phrase—to avoid excess. +Blessed nature, healthy, temperate nature, abhors and exterminates +excess. Human law, in this matter, imitates at a great distance her +provisions; and we must strive to supplement the efforts of the law. +Yes, boy, we must be a law to ourselves and for ourselves and for our +neighbours—lex armata—armed, emphatic, tyrannous law. If you see a +crapulous human ruin snuffing, dash from him his box! The judge, though +in a way an admission of disease, is less offensive to me than either +the doctor or the priest. Above all the doctor—the doctor and the +purulent trash and garbage of his pharmacopoeia! Pure air—from the +neighbourhood of a pinetum for the sake of the turpentine—unadulterated +wine, and the reflections of an unsophisticated spirit in the presence +of the works of nature—these, my boy, are the best medical appliances +and the best religious comforts. Devote yourself to these. Hark! there +are the bells of Bourron (the wind is in the north, it will be fair). +How clear and airy is the sound! The nerves are harmonised and quieted; +the mind attuned to silence; and observe how easily and regularly beats +the heart! Your unenlightened doctor would see nothing in these +sensations; and yet you yourself perceive they are a part of +health.—Did you remember your cinchona this morning? Good. Cinchona +also is a work of nature; it is, after all, only the bark of a tree +which we might gather for ourselves if we lived in the locality.—What a +world is this! Though a professed atheist, I delight to bear my +testimony to the world. Look at the gratuitous remedies and pleasures +that surround our path! The river runs by the garden end, our bath, our +fishpond, our natural system of drainage. There is a well in the court +which sends up sparkling water from the earth’s very heart, clean, +cool, and, with a little wine, most wholesome. The district is +notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is the only prevalent +complaint, and I myself have never had a touch of it. I tell you—and my +opinion is based upon the coldest, clearest processes of reason—if I, +if you, desired to leave this home of pleasures, it would be the duty, +it would be the privilege, of our best friend to prevent us with a +pistol bullet.” + +One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside the village. The +river, as blue as heaven, shone here and there among the foliage. The +indefatigable birds turned and flickered about Gretz church tower. A +healthy wind blew from over the forest, and the sound of innumerable +thousands of tree-tops and innumerable millions on millions of green +leaves was abroad in the air, and filled the ear with something between +whispered speech and singing. It seemed as if every blade of grass must +hide a cigale; and the fields rang merrily with their music, jingling +far and near as with the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. From their +station on the slope the eye embraced a large space of poplar’d plain +upon the one hand, the waving hill-tops of the forest on the other, and +Gretz itself in the middle, a handful of roofs. Under the bestriding +arch of the blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It seemed +incredible that people dwelt, and could find room to turn or air to +breathe, in such a corner of the world. The thought came home to the +boy, perhaps for the first time, and he gave it words. + +“How small it looks!” he sighed. + +“Ay,” replied the Doctor, “small enough now. Yet it was once a walled +city; thriving, full of furred burgesses and men in armour, humming +with affairs;—with tall spires, for aught that I know, and portly +towers along the battlements. A thousand chimneys ceased smoking at the +curfew bell. There were gibbets at the gate as thick as scarecrows. In +time of war, the assault swarmed against it with ladders, the arrows +fell like leaves, the defenders sallied hotly over the drawbridge, each +side uttered its cry as they plied their weapons. Do you know that the +walls extended as far as the Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas, +what a long way off is all this confusion—nothing left of it but my +quiet words spoken in your ear—and the town itself shrunk to the hamlet +underneath us! By-and-by came the English wars—you shall hear more of +the English, a stupid people, who sometimes blundered into good—and +Gretz was taken, sacked, and burned. It is the history of many towns; +but Gretz never rose again; it was never rebuilt; its ruins were a +quarry to serve the growth of rivals; and the stones of Gretz are now +erect along the streets of Nemours. It gratifies me that our old house +was the first to rise after the calamity; when the town had come to an +end, it inaugurated the hamlet.” + +“I, too, am glad of that,” said Jean-Marie. + +“It should be the temple of the humbler virtues,” responded the Doctor +with a savoury gusto. “Perhaps one of the reasons why I love my little +hamlet as I do, is that we have a similar history, she and I. Have I +told you that I was once rich?” + +“I do not think so,” answered Jean-Marie. “I do not think I should have +forgotten. I am sorry you should have lost your fortune.” + +“Sorry?” cried the Doctor. “Why, I find I have scarce begun your +education after all. Listen to me! Would you rather live in the old +Gretz or in the new, free from the alarms of war, with the green +country at the door, without noise, passports, the exactions of the +soldiery, or the jangle of the curfew-bell to send us off to bed by +sundown?” + +“I suppose I should prefer the new,” replied the boy. + +“Precisely,” returned the Doctor; “so do I. And, in the same way, I +prefer my present moderate fortune to my former wealth. Golden +mediocrity! cried the adorable ancients; and I subscribe to their +enthusiasm. Have I not good wine, good food, good air, the fields and +the forest for my walk, a house, an admirable wife, a boy whom I +protest I cherish like a son? Now, if I were still rich, I should +indubitably make my residence in Paris—you know Paris—Paris and +Paradise are not convertible terms. This pleasant noise of the wind +streaming among leaves changed into the grinding Babel of the street, +the stupid glare of plaster substituted for this quiet pattern of +greens and greys, the nerves shattered, the digestion falsified—picture +the fall! Already you perceive the consequences; the mind is +stimulated, the heart steps to a different measure, and the man is +himself no longer. I have passionately studied myself—the true business +of philosophy. I know my character as the musician knows the ventages +of his flute. Should I return to Paris, I should ruin myself gambling; +nay, I go further—I should break the heart of my Anastasie with +infidelities.” + +This was too much for Jean-Marie. That a place should so transform the +most excellent of men transcended his belief. Paris, he protested, was +even an agreeable place of residence. “Nor when I lived in that city +did I feel much difference,” he pleaded. + +“What!” cried the Doctor. “Did you not steal when you were there?” + +But the boy could never be brought to see that he had done anything +wrong when he stole. Nor, indeed, did the Doctor think he had; but that +gentleman was never very scrupulous when in want of a retort. + +“And now,” he concluded, “do you begin to understand? My only friends +were those who ruined me. Gretz has been my academy, my sanatorium, my +heaven of innocent pleasures. If millions are offered me, I wave them +back: _Retro_, _Sathanas_!—Evil one, begone! Fix your mind on my +example; despise riches, avoid the debasing influence of cities. +Hygiene—hygiene and mediocrity of fortune—these be your watchwords +during life!” + +The Doctor’s system of hygiene strikingly coincided with his tastes; +and his picture of the perfect life was a faithful description of the +one he was leading at the time. But it is easy to convince a boy, whom +you supply with all the facts for the discussion. And besides, there +was one thing admirable in the philosophy, and that was the enthusiasm +of the philosopher. There was never any one more vigorously determined +to be pleased; and if he was not a great logician, and so had no right +to convince the intellect, he was certainly something of a poet, and +had a fascination to seduce the heart. What he could not achieve in his +customary humour of a radiant admiration of himself and his +circumstances, he sometimes effected in his fits of gloom. + +“Boy,” he would say, “avoid me to-day. If I were superstitious, I +should even beg for an interest in your prayers. I am in the black fit; +the evil spirit of King Saul, the hag of the merchant Abudah, the +personal devil of the mediæval monk, is with me—is in me,” tapping on +his breast. “The vices of my nature are now uppermost; innocent +pleasures woo me in vain; I long for Paris, for my wallowing in the +mire. See,” he would continue, producing a handful of silver, “I denude +myself, I am not to be trusted with the price of a fare. Take it, keep +it for me, squander it on deleterious candy, throw it in the deepest of +the river—I will homologate your action. Save me from that part of +myself which I disown. If you see me falter, do not hesitate; if +necessary, wreck the train! I speak, of course, by a parable. Any +extremity were better than for me to reach Paris alive.” + +Doubtless the Doctor enjoyed these little scenes, as a variation in his +part; they represented the Byronic element in the somewhat artificial +poetry of his existence; but to the boy, though he was dimly aware of +their theatricality, they represented more. The Doctor made perhaps too +little, the boy possibly too much, of the reality and gravity of these +temptations. + +One day a great light shone for Jean-Marie. “Could not riches be used +well?” he asked. + +“In theory, yes,” replied the Doctor. “But it is found in experience +that no one does so. All the world imagine they will be exceptional +when they grow wealthy; but possession is debasing, new desires spring +up; and the silly taste for ostentation eats out the heart of +pleasure.” + +“Then you might be better if you had less,” said the boy. + +“Certainly not,” replied the Doctor; but his voice quavered as he +spoke. + +“Why?” demanded pitiless innocence. + +Doctor Desprez saw all the colours of the rainbow in a moment; the +stable universe appeared to be about capsizing with him. “Because,” +said he—affecting deliberation after an obvious pause—“because I have +formed my life for my present income. It is not good for men of my +years to be violently dissevered from their habits.” + +That was a sharp brush. The Doctor breathed hard, and fell into +taciturnity for the afternoon. As for the boy, he was delighted with +the resolution of his doubts; even wondered that he had not foreseen +the obvious and conclusive answer. His faith in the Doctor was a stout +piece of goods. Desprez was inclined to be a sheet in the wind’s eye +after dinner, especially after Rhone wine, his favourite weakness. He +would then remark on the warmth of his feeling for Anastasie, and with +inflamed cheeks and a loose, flustered smile, debate upon all sorts of +topics, and be feebly and indiscreetly witty. But the adopted +stable-boy would not permit himself to entertain a doubt that savoured +of ingratitude. It is quite true that a man may be a second father to +you, and yet take too much to drink; but the best natures are ever slow +to accept such truths. + +The Doctor thoroughly possessed his heart, but perhaps he exaggerated +his influence over his mind. Certainly Jean-Marie adopted some of his +master’s opinions, but I have yet to learn that he ever surrendered one +of his own. Convictions existed in him by divine right; they were +virgin, unwrought, the brute metal of decision. He could add others +indeed, but he could not put away; neither did he care if they were +perfectly agreed among themselves; and his spiritual pleasures had +nothing to do with turning them over or justifying them in words. Words +were with him a mere accomplishment, like dancing. When he was by +himself, his pleasures were almost vegetable. He would slip into the +woods towards Acheres, and sit in the mouth of a cave among grey +birches. His soul stared straight out of his eyes; he did not move or +think; sunlight, thin shadows moving in the wind, the edge of firs +against the sky, occupied and bound his faculties. He was pure unity, a +spirit wholly abstracted. A single mood filled him, to which all the +objects of sense contributed, as the colours of the spectrum merge and +disappear in white light. + +So while the Doctor made himself drunk with words, the adopted +stable-boy bemused himself with silence. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +TREASURE TROVE. + + +The Doctor’s carriage was a two-wheeled gig with a hood; a kind of +vehicle in much favour among country doctors. On how many roads has one +not seen it, a great way off between the poplars!—in how many village +streets, tied to a gate-post! This sort of chariot is +affected—particularly at the trot—by a kind of pitching movement to and +fro across the axle, which well entitles it to the style of a Noddy. +The hood describes a considerable arc against the landscape, with a +solemnly absurd effect on the contemplative pedestrian. To ride in such +a carriage cannot be numbered among the things that appertain to glory; +but I have no doubt it may be useful in liver complaint. Thence, +perhaps, its wide popularity among physicians. + +One morning early, Jean-Marie led forth the Doctor’s noddy, opened the +gate, and mounted to the driving-seat. The Doctor followed, arrayed +from top to toe in spotless linen, armed with an immense flesh-coloured +umbrella, and girt with a botanical case on a baldric; and the equipage +drove off smartly in a breeze of its own provocation. They were bound +for Franchard, to collect plants, with an eye to the “Comparative +Pharmacopoeia.” + +A little rattling on the open roads, and they came to the borders of +the forest and struck into an unfrequented track; the noddy yawed +softly over the sand, with an accompaniment of snapping twigs. There +was a great, green, softly murmuring cloud of congregated foliage +overhead. In the arcades of the forest the air retained the freshness +of the night. The athletic bearing of the trees, each carrying its +leafy mountain, pleased the mind like so many statues; and the lines of +the trunk led the eye admiringly upward to where the extreme leaves +sparkled in a patch of azure. Squirrels leaped in mid air. It was a +proper spot for a devotee of the goddess Hygieia. + +“Have you been to Franchard, Jean-Marie?” inquired the Doctor. “I fancy +not.” + +“Never,” replied the boy. + +“It is ruin in a gorge,” continued Desprez, adopting his expository +voice; “the ruin of a hermitage and chapel. History tells us much of +Franchard; how the recluse was often slain by robbers; how he lived on +a most insufficient diet; how he was expected to pass his days in +prayer. A letter is preserved, addressed to one of these solitaries by +the superior of his order, full of admirable hygienic advice; bidding +him go from his book to praying, and so back again, for variety’s sake, +and when he was weary of both to stroll about his garden and observe +the honey bees. It is to this day my own system. You must often have +remarked me leaving the ‘Pharmacopoeia’—often even in the middle of a +phrase—to come forth into the sun and air. I admire the writer of that +letter from my heart; he was a man of thought on the most important +subjects. But, indeed, had I lived in the Middle Ages (I am heartily +glad that I did not) I should have been an eremite myself—if I had not +been a professed buffoon, that is. These were the only philosophical +lives yet open: laughter or prayer; sneers, we might say, and tears. +Until the sun of the Positive arose, the wise man had to make his +choice between these two.” + +“I have been a buffoon, of course,” observed Jean-Marie. + +“I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your profession,” said the +Doctor, admiring the boy’s gravity. “Do you ever laugh?” + +“Oh, yes,” replied the other. “I laugh often. I am very fond of jokes.” + +“Singular being!” said Desprez. “But I divagate (I perceive in a +thousand ways that I grow old). Franchard was at length destroyed in +the English wars, the same that levelled Gretz. But—here is the +point—the hermits (for there were already more than one) had foreseen +the danger and carefully concealed the sacrificial vessels. These +vessels were of monstrous value, Jean-Marie—monstrous value—priceless, +we may say; exquisitely worked, of exquisite material. And now, mark +me, they have never been found. In the reign of Louis Quatorze some +fellows were digging hard by the ruins. Suddenly—tock!—the spade hit +upon an obstacle. Imagine the men fooling one to another; imagine how +their hearts bounded, how their colour came and went. It was a coffer, +and in Franchard the place of buried treasure! They tore it open like +famished beasts. Alas! it was not the treasure; only some priestly +robes, which, at the touch of the eating air, fell upon themselves and +instantly wasted into dust. The perspiration of these good fellows +turned cold upon them, Jean-Marie. I will pledge my reputation, if +there was anything like a cutting wind, one or other had a pneumonia +for his trouble.” + +“I should like to have seen them turning into dust,” said Jean-Marie. +“Otherwise, I should not have cared so greatly.” + +“You have no imagination,” cried the Doctor. “Picture to yourself the +scene. Dwell on the idea—a great treasure lying in the earth for +centuries: the material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence not +employed; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen; the swiftest galloping +horses not stirring a hoof, arrested by a spell; women with the +beautiful faculty of smiles, not smiling; cards, dice, opera singing, +orchestras, castles, beautiful parks and gardens, big ships with a +tower of sailcloth, all lying unborn in a coffin—and the stupid trees +growing overhead in the sunlight, year after year. The thought drives +one frantic.” + +“It is only money,” replied Jean-Marie. “It would do harm.” + +“O, come!” cried Desprez, “that is philosophy; it is all very fine, but +not to the point just now. And besides, it is not ‘only money,’ as you +call it; there are works of art in the question; the vessels were +carved. You speak like a child. You weary me exceedingly, quoting my +words out of all logical connection, like a parroquet.” + +“And at any rate, we have nothing to do with it,” returned the boy +submissively. + +They struck the Route Ronde at that moment; and the sudden change to +the rattling causeway combined, with the Doctor’s irritation, to keep +him silent. The noddy jigged along; the trees went by, looking on +silently, as if they had something on their minds. The Quadrilateral +was passed; then came Franchard. They put up the horse at the little +solitary inn, and went forth strolling. The gorge was dyed deeply with +heather; the rocks and birches standing luminous in the sun. A great +humming of bees about the flowers disposed Jean-Marie to sleep, and he +sat down against a clump of heather, while the Doctor went briskly to +and fro, with quick turns, culling his simples. + +The boy’s head had fallen a little forward, his eyes were closed, his +fingers had fallen lax about his knees, when a sudden cry called him to +his feet. It was a strange sound, thin and brief; it fell dead, and +silence returned as though it had never been interrupted. He had not +recognised the Doctor’s voice; but, as there was no one else in all the +valley, it was plainly the Doctor who had given utterance to the sound. +He looked right and left, and there was Desprez, standing in a niche +between two boulders, and looking round on his adopted son with a +countenance as white as paper. + +“A viper!” cried Jean-Marie, running towards him. “A viper! You are +bitten!” + +The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and, advanced in silence +to meet the boy, whom he took roughly by the shoulder. + +“I have found it,” he said, with a gasp. + +“A plant?” asked Jean-Marie. + +Desprez had a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the rocks took up and +mimicked. “A plant!” he repeated scornfully. “Well—yes—a plant. And +here,” he added suddenly, showing his right hand, which he had hitherto +concealed behind his back—“here is one of the bulbs.” + +Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth. + +“That?” said he. “It is a plate!” + +“It is a coach and horses,” cried the Doctor. “Boy,” he continued, +growing warmer, “I plucked away a great pad of moss from between these +boulders, and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what do you +suppose I saw? I saw a house in Paris with a court and garden, I saw my +wife shining with diamonds, I saw myself a deputy, I saw you—well, I—I +saw your future,” he concluded, rather feebly. “I have just discovered +America,” he added. + +“But what is it?” asked the boy. + +“The Treasure of Franchard,” cried the Doctor; and, throwing his brown +straw hat upon the ground, he whooped like an Indian and sprang upon +Jean-Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and bedewed with tears. +Then he flung himself down among the heather and once more laughed +until the valley rang. + +But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy’s interest. No sooner +was he released from the Doctor’s accolade than he ran to the boulders, +sprang into the niche, and, thrusting his hand into the crevice, drew +forth one after another, encrusted with the earth of ages, the flagons, +candlesticks, and patens of the hermitage of Franchard. A casket came +last, tightly shut and very heavy. + +“O what fun!” he cried. + +But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had followed close behind +and was silently observing, the words died from his lips. Desprez was +once more the colour of ashes; his lip worked and trembled; a sort of +bestial greed possessed him. + +“This is childish,” he said. “We lose precious time. Back to the inn, +harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your life, and +remember—not one whisper. I stay here to watch.” + +Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The noddy +was brought round to the spot indicated; and the two gradually +transported the treasure from its place of concealment to the boot +below the driving seat. Once it was all stored the Doctor recovered his +gaiety. + +“I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,” he said. “O, for +a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in the vein for +sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at +Franchard. English pale ale is to be had—not classical, indeed, but +excellent. Boy, we shall drink ale.” + +“But I thought it was so unwholesome,” said Jean-Marie, “and very dear +besides.” + +“Fiddle-de-dee!” exclaimed the Doctor gaily. “To the inn!” + +And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head, with an elastic, +youthful air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew up +beside the palings of the inn garden. + +“Here,” said Desprez—“here, near the table, so that we may keep an eye +upon things.” + +They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, now in +fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from his chest. +He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter with +witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at length produced, far +more charged with gas than the most delirious champagne, he filled out +a long glassful of froth and pushed it over to Jean-Marie. “Drink,” he +said; “drink deep.” + +“I would rather not,” faltered the boy, true to his training. + +“What?” thundered Desprez. + +“I am afraid of it,” said Jean-Marie: “my stomach—” + +“Take it or leave it,” interrupted Desprez fiercely; “but understand it +once for all—there is nothing so contemptible as a precisian.” + +Here was a new lesson! The boy sat bemused, looking at the glass but +not tasting it, while the Doctor emptied and refilled his own, at first +with clouded brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the heady, +prickling beverage, and his own predisposition to be happy. + +“Once in a way,” he said at last, by way of a concession to the boy’s +more rigorous attitude, “once in a way, and at so critical a moment, +this ale is a nectar for the gods. The habit, indeed, is debasing; +wine, the juice of the grape, is the true drink of the Frenchman, as I +have often had occasion to point out; and I do not know that I can +blame you for refusing this outlandish stimulant. You can have some +wine and cakes. Is the bottle empty? Well, we will not be proud; we +will have pity on your glass.” + +The beer being done, the Doctor chafed bitterly while Jean-Marie +finished his cakes. “I burn to be gone,” he said, looking at his watch. +“Good God, how slow you eat!” And yet to eat slowly was his own +particular prescription, the main secret of longevity! + +His martyrdom, however, reached an end at last; the pair resumed their +places in the buggy, and Desprez, leaning luxuriously back, announced +his intention of proceeding to Fontainebleau. + +“To Fontainebleau?” repeated Jean-Marie. + +“My words are always measured,” said the Doctor. “On!” + +The Doctor was driven through the glades of paradise; the air, the +light, the shining leaves, the very movements of the vehicle, seemed to +fall in tune with his golden meditations; with his head thrown back, he +dreamed a series of sunny visions, ale and pleasure dancing in his +veins. At last he spoke. + +“I shall telegraph for Casimir,” he said. “Good Casimir! a fellow of +the lower order of intelligence, Jean-Marie, distinctly not creative, +not poetic; and yet he will repay your study; his fortune is vast, and +is entirely due to his own exertions. He is the very fellow to help us +to dispose of our trinkets, find us a suitable house in Paris, and +manage the details of our installation. Admirable Casimir, one of my +oldest comrades! It was on his advice, I may add, that I invested my +little fortune in Turkish bonds; when we have added these spoils of the +mediæval church to our stake in the Mahometan empire, little boy, we +shall positively roll among doubloons, positively roll! Beautiful +forest,” he cried, “farewell! Though called to other scenes, I will not +forget thee. Thy name is graven in my heart. Under the influence of +prosperity I become dithyrambic, Jean-Marie. Such is the impulse of the +natural soul; such was the constitution of primæval man. And I—well, I +will not refuse the credit—I have preserved my youth like a virginity; +another, who should have led the same snoozing, countryfied existence +for these years, another had become rusted, become stereotype; but I, I +praise my happy constitution, retain the spring unbroken. Fresh +opulence and a new sphere of duties find me unabated in ardour and only +more mature by knowledge. For this prospective change, Jean-Marie—it +may probably have shocked you. Tell me now, did it not strike you as an +inconsistency? Confess—it is useless to dissemble—it pained you?” + +“Yes,” said the boy. + +“You see,” returned the Doctor, with sublime fatuity, “I read your +thoughts! Nor am I surprised—your education is not yet complete; the +higher duties of men have not been yet presented to you fully. A +hint—till we have leisure—must suffice. Now that I am once more in +possession of a modest competence; now that I have so long prepared +myself in silent meditation, it becomes my superior duty to proceed to +Paris. My scientific training, my undoubted command of language, mark +me out for the service of my country. Modesty in such a case would be a +snare. If sin were a philosophical expression, I should call it sinful. +A man must not deny his manifest abilities, for that is to evade his +obligations. I must be up and doing; I must be no skulker in life’s +battle.” + +So he rattled on, copiously greasing the joint of his inconsistency +with words; while the boy listened silently, his eyes fixed on the +horse, his mind seething. It was all lost eloquence; no array of words +could unsettle a belief of Jean-Marie’s; and he drove into +Fontainebleau filled with pity, horror, indignation, and despair. + +In the town Jean-Marie was kept a fixture on the driving-seat, to guard +the treasure; while the Doctor, with a singular, slightly tipsy +airiness of manner, fluttered in and out of cafés, where he shook hands +with garrison officers, and mixed an absinthe with the nicety of old +experience; in and out of shops, from which he returned laden with +costly fruits, real turtle, a magnificent piece of silk for his wife, a +preposterous cane for himself, and a kepi of the newest fashion for the +boy; in and out of the telegraph office, whence he despatched his +telegram, and where three hours later he received an answer promising a +visit on the morrow; and generally pervaded Fontainebleau with the +first fine aroma of his divine good humour. + +The sun was very low when they set forth again; the shadows of the +forest trees extended across the broad white road that led them home; +the penetrating odour of the evening wood had already arisen, like a +cloud of incense, from that broad field of tree-tops; and even in the +streets of the town, where the air had been baked all day between white +walls, it came in whiffs and pulses, like a distant music. Half-way +home, the last gold flicker vanished from a great oak upon the left; +and when they came forth beyond the borders of the wood, the plain was +already sunken in pearly greyness, and a great, pale moon came swinging +skyward through the filmy poplars. + +The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor talked. He spoke of +the woods, and the wars, and the deposition of dew; he brightened and +babbled of Paris; he soared into cloudy bombast on the glories of the +political arena. All was to be changed; as the day departed, it took +with it the vestiges of an outworn existence, and to-morrow’s sun was +to inaugurate the new. “Enough,” he cried, “of this life of +maceration!” His wife (still beautiful, or he was sadly partial) was to +be no longer buried; she should now shine before society. Jean-Marie +would find the world at his feet; the roads open to success, wealth, +honour, and post-humous renown. “And O, by the way,” said he, “for +God’s sake keep your tongue quiet! You are, of course, a very silent +fellow; it is a quality I gladly recognise in you—silence, golden +silence! But this is a matter of gravity. No word must get abroad; none +but the good Casimir is to be trusted; we shall probably dispose of the +vessels in England.” + +“But are they not even ours?” the boy said, almost with a sob—it was +the only time he had spoken. + +“Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else’s,” replied the Doctor. +“But the State would have some claim. If they were stolen, for +instance, we should be unable to demand their restitution; we should +have no title; we should be unable even to communicate with the police. +Such is the monstrous condition of the law.[263] It is a mere instance +of what remains to be done, of the injustices that may yet be righted +by an ardent, active, and philosophical deputy.” + +Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and as they drove forward +down the road from Bourron, between the rustling poplars, he prayed in +his teeth, and whipped up the horse to an unusual speed. Surely, as +soon as they arrived, madame would assert her character, and bring this +waking nightmare to an end. + +Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and accompanied by a most +furious barking; all the dogs in the village seemed to smell the +treasure in the noddy. But there was no one in the street, save three +lounging landscape painters at Tentaillon’s door. Jean-Marie opened the +green gate and led in the horse and carriage; and almost at the same +moment Madame Desprez came to the kitchen threshold with a lighted +lantern; for the moon was not yet high enough to clear the garden +walls. + +“Close the gates, Jean-Marie!” cried the Doctor, somewhat unsteadily +alighting. “Anastasie, where is Aline?” + +“She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,” said madame. + +“All is for the best!” exclaimed the Doctor fervently. “Here, quick, +come near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud,” he continued. +“Darling, we are wealthy!” + +“Wealthy!” repeated the wife. + +“I have found the treasure of Franchard,” replied her husband. “See, +here are the first fruits; a pineapple, a dress for my +ever-beautiful—it will suit her—trust a husband’s, trust a lover’s, +taste! Embrace me, darling! This grimy episode is over; the butterfly +unfolds its painted wings. To-morrow Casimir will come; in a week we +may be in Paris—happy at last! You shall have diamonds. Jean-Marie, +take it out of the boot, with religious care, and bring it piece by +piece into the dining-room. We shall have plate at table! Darling, +hasten and prepare this turtle; it will be a whet—it will be an +addition to our meagre ordinary. I myself will proceed to the cellar. +We shall have a bottle of that little Beaujolais you like, and finish +with the Hermitage; there are still three bottles left. Worthy wine for +a worthy occasion.” + +“But, my husband; you put me in a whirl,” she cried. “I do not +comprehend.” + +“The turtle, my adored, the turtle!” cried the doctor; and he pushed +her towards the kitchen, lantern and all. + +Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured to himself a different +scene—a more immediate protest, and his hope began to dwindle on the +spot. + +The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps, and +now and then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long since +he had tasted absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that the +absinthe had been a misconception. Not that he regretted excess on such +a glorious day, but he made a mental memorandum to beware; he must not, +a second time, become the victim of a deleterious habit. He had his +wine out of the cellar in a twinkling; he arranged the sacrificial +vessels, some on the white table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still +crusted with historic earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, plying +Anastasie with vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, +estimating their new wealth at ever larger figures; and before they sat +down to supper, the lady’s virtue had melted in the fire of his +enthusiasm, her timidity had disappeared; she, too, had begun to speak +disparagingly of the life at Gretz; and as she took her place and +helped the soup, her eyes shone with the glitter of prospective +diamonds. + +All through the meal, she and the Doctor made and unmade fairy plans. +They bobbed and bowed and pledged each other. Their faces ran over with +smiles; their eyes scattered sparkles, as they projected the Doctor’s +political honours and the lady’s drawing-room ovations. + +“But you will not be a Red!” cried Anastasie. + +“I am Left Centre to the core,” replied the Doctor. + +“Madame Gastein will present us—we shall find ourselves forgotten,” +said the lady. + +“Never,” protested the Doctor. “Beauty and talent leave a mark.” + +“I have positively forgotten how to dress,” she sighed. + +“Darling, you make me blush,” cried he. “Yours has been a tragic +marriage!” + +“But your success—to see you appreciated, honoured, your name in all +the papers, that will be more than pleasure—it will be heaven!” she +cried. + +“And once a week,” said the Doctor, archly scanning the syllables, +“once a week—one good little game of baccarat?” + +“Only once a week?” she questioned, threatening him with a finger. + +“I swear it by my political honour,” cried he. + +“I spoil you,” she said, and gave him her hand. + +He covered it with kisses. + +Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon swung high over Gretz. He +went down to the garden end and sat on the jetty. The river ran by with +eddies of oily silver, and a low, monotonous song. Faint veils of mist +moved among the poplars on the farther side. The reeds were quietly +nodding. A hundred times already had the boy sat, on such a night, and +watched the streaming river with untroubled fancy. And this perhaps was +to be the last. He was to leave this familiar hamlet, this green, +rustling country, this bright and quiet stream; he was to pass into the +great city; his dear lady mistress was to move bedizened in saloons; +his good, garrulous, kind-hearted master to become a brawling deputy; +and both be lost for ever to Jean-Marie and their better selves. He +knew his own defects; he knew he must sink into less and less +consideration in the turmoil of a city life, sink more and more from +the child into the servant. And he began dimly to believe the Doctor’s +prophecies of evil. He could see a change in both. His generous +incredulity failed him for this once; a child must have perceived that +the Hermitage had completed what the absinthe had begun. If this were +the first day, what would be the last? “If necessary, wreck the train,” +thought he, remembering the Doctor’s parable. He looked round on the +delightful scene; he drank deep of the charmed night air, laden with +the scent of hay. “If necessary, wreck the train,” he repeated. And he +rose and returned to the house. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS. + + +The next morning there was a most unusual outcry, in the Doctor’s +house. The last thing before going to bed, the Doctor had locked up +some valuables in the dining-room cupboard; and behold, when he rose +again, as he did about four o’clock, the cupboard had been broken open, +and the valuables in question had disappeared. Madame and Jean-Marie +were summoned from their rooms, and appeared in hasty toilets; they +found the Doctor raving, calling the heavens to witness and avenge his +injury, pacing the room bare-footed, with the tails of his night-shirt +flirting as he turned. + +“Gone!” he said; “the things are gone, the fortune gone! We are paupers +once more. Boy! what do you know of this? Speak up, sir, speak up. Do +you know of it? Where are they?” He had him by the arm, shaking him +like a bag, and the boy’s words, if he had any, were jolted forth in +inarticulate murmurs. The Doctor, with a revulsion from his own +violence, set him down again. He observed Anastasie in tears. +“Anastasie,” he said, in quite an altered voice, “compose yourself, +command your feelings. I would not have you give way to passion like +the vulgar. This—this trifling accident must be lived down. Jean-Marie, +bring me my smaller medicine chest. A gentle laxative is indicated.” + +And he dosed the family all round, leading the way himself with a +double quantity. The wretched Anastasie, who had never been ill in the +whole course of her existence, and whose soul recoiled from remedies, +wept floods of tears as she sipped, and shuddered, and protested, and +then was bullied and shouted at until she sipped again. As for +Jean-Marie, he took his portion down with stoicism. + +“I have given him a less amount,” observed the Doctor, “his youth +protecting him against emotion. And now that we have thus parried any +morbid consequences, let us reason.” + +“I am so cold,” wailed Anastasie. + +“Cold!” cried the Doctor. “I give thanks to God that I am made of +fierier material. Why, madam, a blow like this would set a frog into a +transpiration. If you are cold, you can retire; and, by the way, you +might throw me down my trousers. It is chilly for the legs.” + +“Oh, no!” protested Anastasie; “I will stay with you.” + +“Nay, madam, you shall not suffer for your devotion,” said the Doctor. +“I will myself fetch you a shawl.” And he went upstairs and returned +more fully clad and with an armful of wraps for the shivering +Anastasie. “And now,” he resumed, “to investigate this crime. Let us +proceed by induction. Anastasie, do you know anything that can help +us?” Anastasie knew nothing. “Or you, Jean-Marie?” + +“Not I,” replied the boy steadily. + +“Good,” returned the Doctor. “We shall now turn our attention to the +material evidences. (I was born to be a detective; I have the eye and +the systematic spirit.) First, violence has been employed. The door was +broken open; and it may be observed, in passing, that the lock was dear +indeed at what I paid for it: a crow to pluck with Master Goguelat. +Second, here is the instrument employed, one of our own table-knives, +one of our best, my dear; which seems to indicate no preparation on the +part of the gang—if gang it was. Thirdly, I observe that nothing has +been removed except the Franchard dishes and the casket; our own silver +has been minutely respected. This is wily; it shows intelligence, a +knowledge of the code, a desire to avoid legal consequences. I argue +from this fact that the gang numbers persons of respectability—outward, +of course, and merely outward, as the robbery proves. But I argue, +second, that we must have been observed at Franchard itself by some +occult observer, and dogged throughout the day with a skill and +patience that I venture to qualify as consummate. No ordinary man, no +occasional criminal, would have shown himself capable of this +combination. We have in our neighbourhood, it is far from improbable, a +retired bandit of the highest order of intelligence.” + +“Good heaven!” cried the horrified Anastasie. “Henri, how can you?” + +“My cherished one, this is a process of induction,” said the Doctor. +“If any of my steps are unsound, correct me. You are silent? Then do +not, I beseech you, be so vulgarly illogical as to revolt from my +conclusion. We have now arrived,” he resumed, “at some idea of the +composition of the gang—for I incline to the hypothesis of more than +one—and we now leave this room, which can disclose no more, and turn +our attention to the court and garden. (Jean-Marie, I trust you are +observantly following my various steps; this is an excellent piece of +education for you.) Come with me to the door. No steps on the court; it +is unfortunate our court should be paved. On what small matters hang +the destiny of these delicate investigations! Hey! What have we here? I +have led on to the very spot,” he said, standing grandly backward and +indicating the green gate. “An escalade, as you can now see for +yourselves, has taken place.” + +Sure enough, the green paint was in several places scratched and +broken; and one of the panels preserved the print of a nailed shoe. The +foot had slipped, however, and it was difficult to estimate the size of +the shoe, and impossible to distinguish the pattern of the nails. + +“The whole robbery,” concluded the Doctor, “step by step, has been +reconstituted. Inductive science can no further go.” + +“It is wonderful,” said his wife. “You should indeed have been a +detective, Henri. I had no idea of your talents.” + +“My dear,” replied Desprez, condescendingly, “a man of scientific +imagination combines the lesser faculties; he is a detective just as he +is a publicist or a general; these are but local applications of his +special talent. But now,” he continued, “would you have me go further? +Would you have me lay my finger on the culprits—or rather, for I cannot +promise quite so much, point out to you the very house where they +consort? It may be a satisfaction, at least it is all we are likely to +get, since we are denied the remedy of law. I reach the further stage +in this way. In order to fill my outline of the robbery, I require a +man likely to be in the forest idling, I require a man of education, I +require a man superior to considerations of morality. The three +requisites all centre in Tentaillon’s boarders. They are painters, +therefore they are continually lounging in the forest. They are +painters, therefore they are not unlikely to have some smattering of +education. Lastly, because they are painters, they are probably +immoral. And this I prove in two ways. First, painting is an art which +merely addresses the eye; it does not in any particular exercise the +moral sense. And second, painting, in common with all the other arts, +implies the dangerous quality of imagination. A man of imagination is +never moral; he outsoars literal demarcations and reviews life under +too many shifting lights to rest content with the invidious +distinctions of the law!” + +“But you always say—at least, so I understood you”—said madame, “that +these lads display no imagination whatever.” + +“My dear, they displayed imagination, and of a very fantastic order, +too,” returned the Doctor, “when they embraced their beggarly +profession. Besides—and this is an argument exactly suited to your +intellectual level—many of them are English and American. Where else +should we expect to find a thief?—And now you had better get your +coffee. Because we have lost a treasure, there is no reason for +starving. For my part, I shall break my fast with white wine. I feel +unaccountably heated and thirsty to-day. I can only attribute it to the +shock of the discovery. And yet, you will bear me out, I supported the +emotion nobly.” + +The Doctor had now talked himself back into an admirable humour; and as +he sat in the arbour and slowly imbibed a large allowance of white wine +and picked a little bread and cheese with no very impetuous appetite, +if a third of his meditations ran upon the missing treasure, the other +two-thirds were more pleasingly busied in the retrospect of his +detective skill. + +About eleven Casimir arrived; he had caught an early train to +Fontainebleau, and driven over to save time; and now his cab was +stabled at Tentaillon’s, and he remarked, studying his watch, that he +could spare an hour and a half. He was much the man of business, +decisively spoken, given to frowning in an intellectual manner. +Anastasie’s born brother, he did not waste much sentiment on the lady, +gave her an English family kiss, and demanded a meal without delay. + +“You can tell me your story while we eat,” he observed. “Anything good +to-day, Stasie?” + +He was promised something good. The trio sat down to table in the +arbour, Jean-Marie waiting as well as eating, and the Doctor recounted +what had happened in his richest narrative manner. Casimir heard it +with explosions of laughter. + +“What a streak of luck for you, my good brother,” he observed, when the +tale was over. “If you had gone to Paris, you would have played +dick-duck-drake with the whole consignment in three months. Your own +would have followed; and you would have come to me in a procession like +the last time. But I give you warning—Stasie may weep and Henri +ratiocinate—it will not serve you twice. Your next collapse will be +fatal. I thought I had told you so, Stasie? Hey? No sense?” + +The Doctor winced and looked furtively at Jean-Marie; but the boy +seemed apathetic. + +“And then again,” broke out Casimir, “what children you are—vicious +children, my faith! How could you tell the value of this trash? It +might have been worth nothing, or next door.” + +“Pardon me,” said the Doctor. “You have your usual flow of spirits, I +perceive, but even less than your usual deliberation. I am not entirely +ignorant of these matters.” + +“Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard of,” interrupted +Casimir, bowing, and raising his glass with a sort of pert politeness. + +“At least,” resumed the Doctor, “I gave my mind to the subject—that you +may be willing to believe—and I estimated that our capital would be +doubled.” And he described the nature of the find. + +“My word of honour!” said Casimir, “I half believe you! But much would +depend on the quality of the gold.” + +“The quality, my dear Casimir, was—” And the Doctor, in default of +language, kissed his finger-tips. + +“I would not take your word for it, my good friend,” retorted the man +of business. “You are a man of very rosy views. But this robbery,” he +continued—“this robbery is an odd thing. Of course I pass over your +nonsense about gangs and landscape-painters. For me, that is a dream. +Who was in the house last night?” + +“None but ourselves,” replied the Doctor. + +“And this young gentleman?” asked Casimir, jerking a nod in the +direction of Jean-Marie. + +“He too’—the Doctor bowed. + +“Well; and if it is a fair question, who is he?” pursued the +brother-in-law. + +“Jean-Marie,” answered the Doctor, “combines the functions of a son and +stable-boy. He began as the latter, but he rose rapidly to the more +honourable rank in our affections. He is, I may say, the greatest +comfort in our lives.” + +“Ha!” said Casimir. “And previous to becoming one of you?” + +“Jean-Marie has lived a remarkable existence; his experience his been +eminently formative,” replied Desprez. “If I had had to choose an +education for my son, I should have chosen such another. Beginning life +with mountebanks and thieves, passing onward to the society and +friendship of philosophers, he may be said to have skimmed the volume +of human life.” + +“Thieves?” repeated the brother-in-law, with a meditative air. + +The Doctor could have bitten his tongue out. He foresaw what was +coming, and prepared his mind for a vigorous defence. + +“Did you ever steal yourself?” asked Casimir, turning suddenly on +Jean-Marie, and for the first time employing a single eyeglass which +hung round his neck. + +“Yes, sir,” replied the boy, with a deep blush. + +Casimir turned to the others with pursed lips, and nodded to them +meaningly. “Hey?” said he; “how is that?” + +“Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth,” returned the Doctor, throwing +out his bust. + +“He has never told a lie,” added madame. “He is the best of boys.” + +“Never told a lie, has he not?” reflected Casimir. “Strange, very +strange. Give me your attention, my young friend,” he continued. “You +knew about this treasure?” + +“He helped to bring it home,” interposed the Doctor. + +“Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your tongue,” returned Casimir. +“I mean to question this stable-boy of yours; and if you are so certain +of his innocence, you can afford to let him answer for himself. Now, +sir,” he resumed, pointing his eyeglass straight at Jean-Marie. “You +knew it could be stolen with impunity? You knew you could not be +prosecuted? Come! Did you, or did you not?” + +“I did,” answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable whisper. He sat there +changing colour like a revolving pharos, twisting his fingers +hysterically, swallowing air, the picture of guilt. + +“You knew where it was put?” resumed the inquisitor. + +“Yes,” from Jean-Marie. + +“You say you have been a thief before,” continued Casimir. “Now how am +I to know that you are not one still? I suppose you could climb the +green gate?” + +“Yes,” still lower, from the culprit. + +“Well, then, it was you who stole these things. You know it, and you +dare not deny it. Look me in the face! Raise your sneak’s eyes, and +answer!” + +But in place of anything of that sort Jean-Marie broke into a dismal +howl and fled from the arbour. Anastasie, as she pursued to capture and +reassure the victim, found time to send one Parthian arrow—“Casimir, +you are a brute!” + +“My brother,” said Desprez, with the greatest dignity, “you take upon +yourself a licence—” + +“Desprez,” interrupted Casimir, “for Heaven’s sake be a man of the +world. You telegraph me to leave my business and come down here on +yours. I come, I ask the business, you say ‘Find me this thief!’ Well, +I find him; I say ‘There he is!’ You need not like it, but you have no +manner of right to take offence.” + +“Well,” returned the Doctor, “I grant that; I will even thank you for +your mistaken zeal. But your hypothesis was so extravagantly +monstrous—” + +“Look here,” interrupted Casimir; “was it you or Stasie?” + +“Certainly not,” answered the Doctor. + +“Very well; then it was the boy. Say no more about it,” said the +brother-in-law, and he produced his cigar-case. + +“I will say this much more,” returned Desprez: “if that boy came and +told me so himself, I should not believe him; and if I did believe him, +so implicit is my trust, I should conclude that he had acted for the +best.” + +“Well, well,” said Casimir, indulgently. “Have you a light? I must be +going. And by the way, I wish you would let me sell your Turks for you. +I always told you, it meant smash. I tell you so again. Indeed, it was +partly that that brought me down. You never acknowledge my letters—a +most unpardonable habit.” + +“My good brother,” replied the Doctor blandly, “I have never denied +your ability in business; but I can perceive your limitations.” + +“Egad, my friend, I can return the compliment,” observed the man of +business. “Your limitation is to be downright irrational.” + +“Observe the relative position,” returned the Doctor with a smile. “It +is your attitude to believe through thick and thin in one man’s +judgment—your own. I follow the same opinion, but critically and with +open eyes. Which is the more irrational?—I leave it to yourself.” + +“O, my dear fellow!” cried Casimir, “stick to your Turks, stick to your +stable-boy, go to the devil in general in your own way and be done with +it. But don’t ratiocinate with me—I cannot bear it. And so, ta-ta. I +might as well have stayed away for any good I’ve done. Say good-bye +from me to Stasie, and to the sullen hang-dog of a stable-boy, if you +insist on it; I’m off.” + +And Casimir departed. The Doctor, that night, dissected his character +before Anastasie. “One thing, my beautiful,” he said, “he has learned +one thing from his lifelong acquaintance with your husband: the word +_ratiocinate_. It shines in his vocabulary, like a jewel in a +muck-heap. And, even so, he continually misapplies it. For you must +have observed he uses it as a sort of taunt, in the sense of to +_ergotise_, implying, as it were—the poor, dear fellow!—a vein of +sophistry. As for his cruelty to Jean-Marie, it must be forgiven him—it +is not his nature, it is the nature of his life. A man who deals with +money, my dear, is a man lost.” + +With Jean-Marie the process of reconciliation had been somewhat slow. +At first he was inconsolable, insisted on leaving the family, went from +paroxysm to paroxysm of tears; and it was only after Anastasie had been +closeted for an hour with him, alone, that she came forth, sought out +the Doctor, and, with tears in her eyes, acquainted that gentleman with +what had passed. + +“At first, my husband, he would hear of nothing,” she said. “Imagine! +if he had left us! what would the treasure be to that? Horrible +treasure, it has brought all this about! At last, after he has sobbed +his very heart out, he agrees to stay on a condition—we are not to +mention this matter, this infamous suspicion, not even to mention the +robbery. On that agreement only, the poor, cruel boy will consent to +remain among his friends.” + +“But this inhibition,” said the Doctor, “this embargo—it cannot +possibly apply to me?” + +“To all of us,” Anastasie assured him. + +“My cherished one,” Desprez protested, “you must have misunderstood. It +cannot apply to me. He would naturally come to me.” + +“Henri,” she said, “it does; I swear to you it does.” + +“This is a painful, a very painful circumstance,” the Doctor said, +looking a little black. “I cannot affect, Anastasie, to be anything but +justly wounded. I feel this, I feel it, my wife, acutely.” + +“I knew you would,” she said. “But if you had seen his distress! We +must make allowances, we must sacrifice our feelings.” + +“I trust, my dear, you have never found me averse to sacrifices,” +returned the Doctor very stiffly. + +“And you will let me go and tell him that you have agreed? It will be +like your noble nature,” she cried. + +So it would, he perceived—it would be like his noble nature! Up jumped +his spirits, triumphant at the thought. “Go, darling,” he said nobly, +“reassure him. The subject is buried; more—I make an effort, I have +accustomed my will to these exertions—and it is forgotten.” + +A little after, but still with swollen eyes and looking mortally +sheepish, Jean-Marie reappeared and went ostentatiously about his +business. He was the only unhappy member of the party that sat down +that night to supper. As for the Doctor, he was radiant. He thus sang +the requiem of the treasure:— + +“This has been, on the whole, a most amusing episode,” he said. “We are +not a penny the worse—nay, we are immensely gainers. Our philosophy has +been exercised; some of the turtle is still left—the most wholesome of +delicacies; I have my staff, Anastasie has her new dress, Jean-Marie is +the proud possessor of a fashionable kepi. Besides, we had a glass of +Hermitage last night; the glow still suffuses my memory. I was growing +positively niggardly with that Hermitage, positively niggardly. Let me +take the hint: we had one bottle to celebrate the appearance of our +visionary fortune; let us have a second to console us for its +occultation. The third I hereby dedicate to Jean-Marie’s wedding +breakfast.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ. + + +The Doctor’s house has not yet received the compliment of a +description, and it is now high time that the omission were supplied, +for the house is itself an actor in the story, and one whose part is +nearly at an end. Two stories in height, walls of a warm yellow, tiles +of an ancient ruddy brown diversified with moss and lichen, it stood +with one wall to the street in the angle of the Doctor’s property. It +was roomy, draughty, and inconvenient. The large rafters were here and +there engraven with rude marks and patterns; the handrail of the stair +was carved in countrified arabesque; a stout timber pillar, which did +duty to support the dining-room roof, bore mysterious characters on its +darker side, runes, according to the Doctor; nor did he fail, when he +ran over the legendary history of the house and its possessors, to +dwell upon the Scandinavian scholar who had left them. Floors, doors, +and rafters made a great variety of angles; every room had a particular +inclination; the gable had tilted towards the garden, after the manner +of a leaning tower, and one of the former proprietors had buttressed +the building from that side with a great strut of wood, like the +derrick of a crane. Altogether, it had many marks of ruin; it was a +house for the rats to desert; and nothing but its excellent +brightness—the window-glass polished and shining, the paint well +scoured, the brasses radiant, the very prop all wreathed about with +climbing flowers—nothing but its air of a well-tended, smiling veteran, +sitting, crutch and all, in the sunny corner of a garden, marked it as +a house for comfortable people to inhabit. In poor or idle management +it would soon have hurried into the blackguard stages of decay. As it +was, the whole family loved it, and the Doctor was never better +inspired than when he narrated its imaginary story and drew the +character of its successive masters, from the Hebrew merchant who had +re-edified its walls after the sack of the town, and past the +mysterious engraver of the runes, down to the long-headed, dirty-handed +boor from whom he had himself acquired it at a ruinous expense. As for +any alarm about its security, the idea had never presented itself. What +had stood four centuries might well endure a little longer. + +Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding and losing of the +treasure, the Desprez’ had an anxiety of a very different order, and +one which lay nearer their hearts. Jean-Marie was plainly not himself. +He had fits of hectic activity, when he made unusual exertions to +please, spoke more and faster, and redoubled in attention to his +lessons. But these were interrupted by spells of melancholia and +brooding silence, when the boy was little better than unbearable. + +“Silence,” the Doctor moralised—“you see, Anastasie, what comes of +silence. Had the boy properly unbosomed himself, the little +disappointment about the treasure, the little annoyance about Casimir’s +incivility, would long ago have been forgotten. As it is, they prey +upon him like a disease. He loses flesh, his appetite is variable and, +on the whole, impaired. I keep him on the strictest regimen, I exhibit +the most powerful tonics; both in vain.” + +“Don’t you think you drug him too much?” asked madame, with an +irrepressible shudder. + +“Drug?” cried the Doctor; “I drug? Anastasie, you are mad!” + +Time went on, and the boy’s health still slowly declined. The Doctor +blamed the weather, which was cold and boisterous. He called in his +_confrère_ from Bourron, took a fancy for him, magnified his capacity, +and was pretty soon under treatment himself—it scarcely appeared for +what complaint. He and Jean-Marie had each medicine to take at +different periods of the day. The Doctor used to lie in wait for the +exact moment, watch in hand. “There is nothing like regularity,” he +would say, fill out the doses, and dilate on the virtues of the +draught; and if the boy seemed none the better, the Doctor was not at +all the worse. + +Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It was scowling, squally +weather. Huge broken companies of cloud sailed swiftly overhead; raking +gleams of sunlight swept the village, and were followed by intervals of +darkness and white, flying rain. At times the wind lifted up its voice +and bellowed. The trees were all scourging themselves along the +meadows, the last leaves flying like dust. + +The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was in his element; he had +a theory to prove. He sat with his watch out and a barometer in front +of him, waiting for the squalls and noting their effect upon the human +pulse. “For the true philosopher,” he remarked delightedly, “every fact +in nature is a toy.” A letter came to him; but, as its arrival +coincided with the approach of another gust, he merely crammed it into +his pocket, gave the time to Jean-Marie, and the next moment they were +both counting their pulses as if for a wager. + +At nightfall the wind rose into a tempest. It besieged the hamlet, +apparently from every side, as if with batteries of cannon; the houses +shook and groaned; live coals were blown upon the floor. The uproar and +terror of the night kept people long awake, sitting with pallid faces +giving ear. + +It was twelve before the Desprez family retired. By half-past one, when +the storm was already somewhat past its height, the Doctor was awakened +from a troubled slumber, and sat up. A noise still rang in his ears, +but whether of this world or the world of dreams he was not certain. +Another clap of wind followed. It was accompanied by a sickening +movement of the whole house, and in the subsequent lull Desprez could +hear the tiles pouring like a cataract into the loft above his head. He +plucked Anastasie bodily out of bed. + +“Run!” he cried, thrusting some wearing apparel into her hands; “the +house is falling! To the garden!” + +She did not pause to be twice bidden; she was down the stair in an +instant. She had never before suspected herself of such activity. The +Doctor meanwhile, with the speed of a piece of pantomime business, and +undeterred by broken shins, proceeded to rout out Jean-Marie, tore +Aline from her virgin slumbers, seized her by the hand, and tumbled +downstairs and into the garden, with the girl tumbling behind him, +still not half awake. + +The fugitives rendezvous’d in the arbour by some common instinct. Then +came a bull’s-eye flash of struggling moonshine, which disclosed their +four figures standing huddled from the wind in a raffle of flying +drapery, and not without a considerable need for more. At the +humiliating spectacle Anastasie clutched her nightdress desperately +about her and burst loudly into tears. The Doctor flew to console her; +but she elbowed him away. She suspected everybody of being the general +public, and thought the darkness was alive with eyes. + +Another gleam and another violent gust arrived together; the house was +seen to rock on its foundation, and, just as the light was once more +eclipsed, a crash which triumphed over the shouting of the wind +announced its fall, and for a moment the whole garden was alive with +skipping tiles and brickbats. One such missile grazed the Doctor’s ear; +another descended on the bare foot of Aline, who instantly made night +hideous with her shrieks. + +By this time the hamlet was alarmed, lights flashed from the windows, +hails reached the party, and the Doctor answered, nobly contending +against Aline and the tempest. But this prospect of help only awakened +Anastasie to a more active stage of terror. + +“Henri, people will be coming,” she screamed in her husband’s ear. + +“I trust so,” he replied. + +“They cannot. I would rather die,” she wailed. + +“My dear,” said the Doctor reprovingly, “you are excited. I gave you +some clothes. What have you done with them?” + +“Oh, I don’t know—I must have thrown them away! Where are they?” she +sobbed. + +Desprez groped about in the darkness. “Admirable!” he remarked; “my +grey velveteen trousers! This will exactly meet your necessities.” + +“Give them to me!” she cried fiercely; but as soon as she had them in +her hands her mood appeared to alter—she stood silent for a moment, and +then pressed the garment back upon the Doctor. “Give it to Aline,” she +said—“poor girl.” + +“Nonsense!” said the Doctor. “Aline does not know what she is about. +Aline is beside herself with terror; and at any rate, she is a peasant. +Now I am really concerned at this exposure for a person of your +housekeeping habits; my solicitude and your fantastic modesty both +point to the same remedy—the pantaloons.” He held them ready. + +“It is impossible. You do not understand,” she said with dignity. + +By this time rescue was at hand. It had been found impracticable to +enter by the street, for the gate was blocked with masonry, and the +nodding ruin still threatened further avalanches. But between the +Doctor’s garden and the one on the right hand there was that very +picturesque contrivance—a common well; the door on the Desprez’ side +had chanced to be unbolted, and now, through the arched aperture a +man’s bearded face and an arm supporting a lantern were introduced into +the world of windy darkness, where Anastasie concealed her woes. The +light struck here and there among the tossing apple boughs, it glinted +on the grass; but the lantern and the glowing face became the centre of +the world. Anastasie crouched back from the intrusion. + +“This way!” shouted the man. “Are you all safe?” Aline, still +screaming, ran to the new comer, and was presently hauled head-foremost +through the wall. + +“Now, Anastasie, come on; it is your turn,” said the husband. + +“I cannot,” she replied. + +“Are we all to die of exposure, madame?” thundered Doctor Desprez. + +“You can go!” she cried. “Oh, go, go away! I can stay here; I am quite +warm.” + +The Doctor took her by the shoulders with an oath. + +“Stop!” she screamed. “I will put them on.” + +She took the detested lendings in her hand once more; but her repulsion +was stronger than shame. “Never!” she cried, shuddering, and flung them +far away into the night. + +Next moment the Doctor had whirled her to the well. The man was there +and the lantern; Anastasie closed her eyes and appeared to herself to +be about to die. How she was transported through the arch she knew not; +but once on the other side she was received by the neighbour’s wife, +and enveloped in a friendly blanket. + +Beds were made ready for the two women, clothes of very various sizes +for the Doctor and Jean-Marie; and for the remainder of the night, +while madame dozed in and out on the borderland of hysterics, her +husband sat beside the fire and held forth to the admiring neighbours. +He showed them, at length, the causes of the accident; for years, he +explained, the fall had been impending; one sign had followed another, +the joints had opened, the plaster had cracked, the old walls bowed +inward; last, not three weeks ago, the cellar door had begun to work +with difficulty in its grooves. “The cellar!” he said, gravely shaking +his head over a glass of mulled wine. “That reminds me of my poor +vintages. By a manifest providence the Hermitage was nearly at an end. +One bottle—I lose but one bottle of that incomparable wine. It had been +set apart against Jean-Marie’s wedding. Well, I must lay down some +more; it will be an interest in life. I am, however, a man somewhat +advanced in years. My great work is now buried in the fall of my humble +roof; it will never be completed—my name will have been writ in water. +And yet you find me calm—I would say cheerful. Can your priest do +more?” + +By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth from the fireside +into the street. The wind had fallen, but still charioted a world of +troubled clouds; the air bit like frost; and the party, as they stood +about the ruins in the rainy twilight of the morning, beat upon their +breasts and blew into their hands for warmth. The house had entirely +fallen, the walls outward, the roof in; it was a mere heap of rubbish, +with here and there a forlorn spear of broken rafter. A sentinel was +placed over the ruins to protect the property, and the party adjourned +to Tentaillon’s to break their fast at the Doctor’s expense. The bottle +circulated somewhat freely; and before they left the table it had begun +to snow. + +For three days the snow continued to fall, and the ruins, covered with +tarpaulin and watched by sentries, were left undisturbed. The Desprez’ +meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon’s. Madame spent her +time in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, with the admiring +aid of Madame Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire in thoughtful +abstraction. The fall of the house affected her wonderfully little; +that blow had been parried by another; and in her mind she was +continually fighting over again the battle of the trousers. Had she +done right? Had she done wrong? And now she would applaud her +determination; and anon, with a horrid flush of unavailing penitence, +she would regret the trousers. No juncture in her life had so much +exercised her judgment. In the meantime the Doctor had become vastly +pleased with his situation. Two of the summer boarders still lingered +behind the rest, prisoners for lack of a remittance; they were both +English, but one of them spoke French pretty fluently, and was, +besides, a humorous, agile-minded fellow, with whom the Doctor could +reason by the hour, secure of comprehension. Many were the glasses they +emptied, many the topics they discussed. + +“Anastasie,” the Doctor said on the third morning, “take an example +from your husband, from Jean-Marie! The excitement has done more for +the boy than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with positive +gusto. As for me, you behold me. I have made friends with the +Egyptians; and my Pharaoh is, I swear it, a most agreeable companion. +You alone are hipped. About a house—a few dresses? What are they in +comparison to the ‘Pharmacopoeia’—the labour of years lying buried +below stones and sticks in this depressing hamlet? The snow falls; I +shake it from my cloak! Imitate me. Our income will be impaired, I +grant it, since we must rebuild; but moderation, patience, and +philosophy will gather about the hearth. In the meanwhile, the +Tentaillons are obliging; the table, with your additions, will pass; +only the wine is execrable—well, I shall send for some to-day. My +Pharaoh will be gratified to drink a decent glass; aha! and I shall see +if he possesses that acme of organisation—a palate. If he has a palate, +he is perfect.” + +“Henri,” she said, shaking her head, “you are a man; you cannot +understand my feelings; no woman could shake off the memory of so +public a humiliation.” The Doctor could not restrain a titter. “Pardon +me, darling,” he said; “but really, to the philosophical intelligence, +the incident appears so small a trifle. You looked extremely well—” + +“Henri!” she cried. + +“Well, well, I will say no more,” he replied. “Though, to be sure, if +you had consented to indue—_À propos_,” he broke off, “and my trousers! +They are lying in the snow—my favourite trousers!” And he dashed in +quest of Jean-Marie. + +Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under one +arm and a curious sop of clothing under the other. + +The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands. “They have been!” he said. +“Their tense is past. Excellent pantaloons, you are no more! Stay, +something in the pocket,” and he produced a piece of paper. “A letter! +ay, now I mind me; it was received on the morning of the gale, when I +was absorbed in delicate investigations. It is still legible. From +poor, dear Casimir! It is as well,” he chuckled, “that I have educated +him to patience. Poor Casimir and his correspondence—his infinitesimal, +timorous, idiotic correspondence!” + +He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he bent +himself to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his brow. + +“_Bigre_!” he cried, with a galvanic start. + +And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor’s cap was +on his head in the turn of a hand. + +“Ten minutes! I can catch it, if I run,” he cried. “It is always late. +I go to Paris. I shall telegraph.” + +“Henri! what is wrong?” cried his wife. + +“Ottoman Bonds!” came from the disappearing Doctor; and Anastasie and +Jean-Marie were left face to face with the wet trousers. Desprez had +gone to Paris, for the second time in seven years; he had gone to Paris +with a pair of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer, a black blouse, a +country nightcap, and twenty francs in his pocket. The fall of the +house was but a secondary marvel; the whole world might have fallen and +scarce left his family more petrified. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY. + + +On the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of himself, +was brought back in the custody of Casimir. They found Anastasie and +the boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, who had exchanged +his toilette for a ready-made rig-out of poor materials, waved his hand +as he entered, and sank speechless on the nearest chair. Madame turned +direct to Casimir. + +“What is wrong?” she cried. + +“Well,” replied Casimir, “what have I told you all along? It has come. +It is a clean shave, this time; so you may as well bear up and make the +best of it. House down, too, eh? Bad luck, upon my soul.” + +“Are we—are we—ruined?” she gasped. + +The Doctor stretched out his arms to her. “Ruined,” he replied, “you +are ruined by your sinister husband.” + +Casimir observed the consequent embrace through his eyeglass; then he +turned to Jean-Marie. “You hear?” he said. “They are ruined; no more +pickings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes me, my friend, +that you had best be packing; the present speculation is about worked +out.” And he nodded to him meaningly. + +“Never!” cried Desprez, springing up. “Jean-Marie, if you prefer to +leave me, now that I am poor, you can go; you shall receive your +hundred francs, if so much remains to me. But if you will consent to +stay”—the Doctor wept a little—“Casimir offers me a place—as clerk,” he +resumed. “The emoluments are slender, but they will be enough for +three. It is too much already to have lost my fortune; must I lose my +son?” + +Jean-Marie sobbed bitterly, but without a word. + +“I don’t like boys who cry,” observed Casimir. “This one is always +crying. Here! you clear out of this for a little; I have business with +your master and mistress, and these domestic feelings may be settled +after I am gone. March!” and he held the door open. + +Jean-Marie slunk out, like a detected thief. + +By twelve they were all at table but Jean-Marie. + +“Hey?” said Casimir. “Gone, you see. Took the hint at once.” + +“I do not, I confess,” said Desprez, “I do not seek to excuse his +absence. It speaks a want of heart that disappoints me sorely.” + +“Want of manners,” corrected Casimir. “Heart, he never had. Why, +Desprez, for a clever fellow, you are the most gullible mortal in +creation. Your ignorance of human nature and human business is beyond +belief. You are swindled by heathen Turks, swindled by vagabond +children, swindled right and left, upstairs and downstairs. I think it +must be your imagination. I thank my stars I have none.” + +“Pardon me,” replied Desprez, still humbly, but with a return of spirit +at sight of a distinction to be drawn; “pardon me, Casimir. You +possess, even to an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. It was +the lack of that in me—it appears it is my weak point—that has led to +these repeated shocks. By the commercial imagination the financier +forecasts the destiny of his investments, marks the falling house—” + +“Egad,” interrupted Casimir: “our friend the stable-boy appears to have +his share of it.” + +The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was continued and finished +principally to the tune of the brother-in-law’s not very consolatory +conversation. He entirely ignored the two young English painters, +turning a blind eyeglass to their salutations, and continuing his +remarks as if he were alone in the bosom of his family; and with every +second word he ripped another stitch out of the air balloon of +Desprez’s vanity. By the time coffee was over the poor Doctor was as +limp as a napkin. + +“Let us go and see the ruins,” said Casimir. + +They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the house, like the +loss of a front tooth, had quite transformed the village. Through the +gap the eye commanded a great stretch of open snowy country, and the +place shrank in comparison. It was like a room with an open door. The +sentinel stood by the green gate, looking very red and cold, but he had +a pleasant word for the Doctor and his wealthy kinsman. + +Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the quality of the +tarpaulin. “H’m,” he said, “I hope the cellar arch has stood. If it +has, my good brother, I will give you a good price for the wines.” + +“We shall start digging to-morrow,” said the sentry. “There is no more +fear of snow.” + +“My friend,” returned Casimir sententiously, “you had better wait till +you get paid.” + +The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offensive brother-in-law +towards Tentaillon’s. In the house there would be fewer auditors, and +these already in the secret of his fall. + +“Hullo!” cried Casimir, “there goes the stable-boy with his luggage; +no, egad, he is taking it into the inn.” + +And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the snowy street and +enter Tentaillon’s, staggering under a large hamper. + +The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope. + +“What can he have?” he said. “Let us go and see.” And he hurried on. + +“His luggage, to be sure,” answered Casimir. “He is on the move—thanks +to the commercial imagination.” + +“I have not seen that hamper for—for ever so long,” remarked the +Doctor. + +“Nor will you see it much longer,” chuckled Casimir; “unless, indeed, +we interfere. And by the way, I insist on an examination.” + +“You will not require,” said Desprez, positively with a sob; and, +casting a moist, triumphant glance at Casimir, he began to run. + +“What the devil is up with him, I wonder?” Casimir reflected; and then, +curiosity taking the upper hand, he followed the Doctor’s example and +took to his heels. + +The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-Marie himself so little and +so weary, that it had taken him a great while to bundle it upstairs to +the Desprez’ private room; and he had just set it down on the floor in +front of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and was closely followed +by the man of business. Boy and hamper were both in a most sorry +plight; for the one had passed four months underground in a certain +cave on the way to Acheres, and the other had run about five miles as +hard as his legs would carry him, half that distance under a staggering +weight. + +“Jean-Marie,” cried the Doctor, in a voice that was only too seraphic +to be called hysterical, “is it—? It is!” he cried. “O, my son, my +son!” And he sat down upon the hamper and sobbed like a little child. + +“You will not go to Paris now,” said Jean-Marie sheepishly. + +“Casimir,” said Desprez, raising his wet face, “do you see that boy, +that angel boy? He is the thief; he took the treasure from a man unfit +to be entrusted with its use; he brings it back to me when I am sobered +and humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits of my Teaching, and this +moment is the Reward of my Life.” + +“_Tiens_,” said Casimir. + +printed by +spottiswoode and co. ltd., new-street square +london + + + + +Footnotes + + +[5] Boggy. + +[15] Clock + +[16] Enjoy. + +[140] To come forrit—to offer oneself as a communicant. + +[144] It was a common belief in Scotland that the devil appeared as a +black man. This appears in several witch trials and I think in Law’s +_Memorials_, that delightful store-house of the quaint and grisly. + +[263] Let it be so, for my tale! + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY MEN *** + +***** This file should be named 344-0.txt or 344-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/344/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Merry Men<br /> +and Other Tales and Fables</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert Louis Stevenson</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October, 1995 [eBook #344]<br /> +[Most recently updated: May 17, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY MEN ***</div> + +<h1><span class="smcap">The Merry Men</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">and</span><br /> +Other Tales and Fables</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break"> +<span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">tenth edition</span> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON<br /> +CHATTO & WINDUS<br /> +1904 +</p> + +<p class="center"> +Three of the following Tales have appeared in the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>; one +in <i>Longman’s</i>; one in Mr. Henry Norman’s Christmas Annual; +and one in the <i>Court and Society Review</i>. The Author desires to make +proper acknowledgements to the Publishers concerned. +</p> + +<h2>Dedication</h2> + +<p> +<span class="smcap"><i>My dear Lady Taylor</i></span>, +</p> + +<p> +<i>To your name</i>, <i>if I wrote on brass</i>, <i>I could add nothing</i>; +<i>it has been already written higher than I could dream to reach</i>, <i>by a +strong and dear hand</i>; <i>and if I now dedicate to you these tales</i>, +<i>it is not as the writer who brings you his work</i>, <i>but as the friend +who would remind you of his affection</i>. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</i> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Skerryvore</span>, <span class="smcap">Bournemouth</span>. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#tale01"><b>THE MERRY MEN</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER 1. EILEAN AROS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER 2. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER 3. LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER 4. THE GALE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER 5. A MAN OUT OF THE SEA</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#tale02"><b>WILL O’ THE MILL</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER 1. THE PLAIN AND THE STARS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER 2. THE PARSON’S MARJORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER 3. DEATH</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#tale03"><b>MARKHEIM</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#tale04"><b>THRAWN JANET</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#tale05"><b>OLALLA</b></a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#tale06"><b>THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER 1. BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER 2. MORNING TALK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER 3. THE ADOPTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER 4. THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER 5. TREASURE TROVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER 6. A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER 7. THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER 8. THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="tale01"></a>THE MERRY MEN</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +EILEAN AROS.</h3> + +<p> +It was a beautiful morning in the late July when I set forth on foot for the +last time for Aros. A boat had put me ashore the night before at Grisapol; I +had such breakfast as the little inn afforded, and, leaving all my baggage till +I had an occasion to come round for it by sea, struck right across the +promontory with a cheerful heart. +</p> + +<p> +I was far from being a native of these parts, springing, as I did, from an +unmixed lowland stock. But an uncle of mine, Gordon Darnaway, after a poor, +rough youth, and some years at sea, had married a young wife in the islands; +Mary Maclean she was called, the last of her family; and when she died in +giving birth to a daughter, Aros, the sea-girt farm, had remained in his +possession. It brought him in nothing but the means of life, as I was well +aware; but he was a man whom ill-fortune had pursued; he feared, cumbered as he +was with the young child, to make a fresh adventure upon life; and remained in +Aros, biting his nails at destiny. Years passed over his head in that +isolation, and brought neither help nor contentment. Meantime our family was +dying out in the lowlands; there is little luck for any of that race; and +perhaps my father was the luckiest of all, for not only was he one of the last +to die, but he left a son to his name and a little money to support it. I was a +student of Edinburgh University, living well enough at my own charges, but +without kith or kin; when some news of me found its way to Uncle Gordon on the +Ross of Grisapol; and he, as he was a man who held blood thicker than water, +wrote to me the day he heard of my existence, and taught me to count Aros as my +home. Thus it was that I came to spend my vacations in that part of the +country, so far from all society and comfort, between the codfish and the +moorcocks; and thus it was that now, when I had done with my classes, I was +returning thither with so light a heart that July day. +</p> + +<p> +The Ross, as we call it, is a promontory neither wide nor high, but as rough as +God made it to this day; the deep sea on either hand of it, full of rugged +isles and reefs most perilous to seamen—all overlooked from the eastward +by some very high cliffs and the great peals of Ben Kyaw. <i>The Mountain of +the Mist</i>, they say the words signify in the Gaelic tongue; and it is well +named. For that hill-top, which is more than three thousand feet in height, +catches all the clouds that come blowing from the seaward; and, indeed, I used +often to think that it must make them for itself; since when all heaven was +clear to the sea level, there would ever be a streamer on Ben Kyaw. It brought +water, too, and was mossy<a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a> to the top in consequence. I have seen us sitting in +broad sunshine on the Ross, and the rain falling black like crape upon the +mountain. But the wetness of it made it often appear more beautiful to my eyes; +for when the sun struck upon the hill sides, there were many wet rocks and +watercourses that shone like jewels even as far as Aros, fifteen miles away. +</p> + +<p> +The road that I followed was a cattle-track. It twisted so as nearly to double +the length of my journey; it went over rough boulders so that a man had to leap +from one to another, and through soft bottoms where the moss came nearly to the +knee. There was no cultivation anywhere, and not one house in the ten miles +from Grisapol to Aros. Houses of course there were—three at least; but +they lay so far on the one side or the other that no stranger could have found +them from the track. A large part of the Ross is covered with big granite +rocks, some of them larger than a two-roomed house, one beside another, with +fern and deep heather in between them where the vipers breed. Anyway the wind +was, it was always sea air, as salt as on a ship; the gulls were as free as +moorfowl over all the Ross; and whenever the way rose a little, your eye would +kindle with the brightness of the sea. From the very midst of the land, on a +day of wind and a high spring, I have heard the Roost roaring, like a battle +where it runs by Aros, and the great and fearful voices of the breakers that we +call the Merry Men. +</p> + +<p> +Aros itself—Aros Jay, I have heard the natives call it, and they say it +means <i>the House of God</i>—Aros itself was not properly a piece of the +Ross, nor was it quite an islet. It formed the south-west corner of the land, +fitted close to it, and was in one place only separated from the coast by a +little gut of the sea, not forty feet across the narrowest. When the tide was +full, this was clear and still, like a pool on a land river; only there was a +difference in the weeds and fishes, and the water itself was green instead of +brown; but when the tide went out, in the bottom of the ebb, there was a day or +two in every month when you could pass dryshod from Aros to the mainland. There +was some good pasture, where my uncle fed the sheep he lived on; perhaps the +feed was better because the ground rose higher on the islet than the main level +of the Ross, but this I am not skilled enough to settle. The house was a good +one for that country, two storeys high. It looked westward over a bay, with a +pier hard by for a boat, and from the door you could watch the vapours blowing +on Ben Kyaw. +</p> + +<p> +On all this part of the coast, and especially near Aros, these great granite +rocks that I have spoken of go down together in troops into the sea, like +cattle on a summer’s day. There they stand, for all the world like their +neighbours ashore; only the salt water sobbing between them instead of the +quiet earth, and clots of sea-pink blooming on their sides instead of heather; +and the great sea conger to wreathe about the base of them instead of the +poisonous viper of the land. On calm days you can go wandering between them in +a boat for hours, echoes following you about the labyrinth; but when the sea is +up, Heaven help the man that hears that cauldron boiling. +</p> + +<p> +Off the south-west end of Aros these blocks are very many, and much greater in +size. Indeed, they must grow monstrously bigger out to sea, for there must be +ten sea miles of open water sown with them as thick as a country place with +houses, some standing thirty feet above the tides, some covered, but all +perilous to ships; so that on a clear, westerly blowing day, I have counted, +from the top of Aros, the great rollers breaking white and heavy over as many +as six-and-forty buried reefs. But it is nearer in shore that the danger is +worst; for the tide, here running like a mill race, makes a long belt of broken +water—a <i>Roost</i> we call it—at the tail of the land. I have +often been out there in a dead calm at the slack of the tide; and a strange +place it is, with the sea swirling and combing up and boiling like the +cauldrons of a linn, and now and again a little dancing mutter of sound as +though the <i>Roost</i> were talking to itself. But when the tide begins to run +again, and above all in heavy weather, there is no man could take a boat within +half a mile of it, nor a ship afloat that could either steer or live in such a +place. You can hear the roaring of it six miles away. At the seaward end there +comes the strongest of the bubble; and it’s here that these big breakers +dance together—the dance of death, it may be called—that have got +the name, in these parts, of the Merry Men. I have heard it said that they run +fifty feet high; but that must be the green water only, for the spray runs +twice as high as that. Whether they got the name from their movements, which +are swift and antic, or from the shouting they make about the turn of the tide, +so that all Aros shakes with it, is more than I can tell. +</p> + +<p> +The truth is, that in a south-westerly wind, that part of our archipelago is no +better than a trap. If a ship got through the reefs, and weathered the Merry +Men, it would be to come ashore on the south coast of Aros, in Sandag Bay, +where so many dismal things befell our family, as I propose to tell. The +thought of all these dangers, in the place I knew so long, makes me +particularly welcome the works now going forward to set lights upon the +headlands and buoys along the channels of our iron-bound, inhospitable islands. +</p> + +<p> +The country people had many a story about Aros, as I used to hear from my +uncle’s man, Rorie, an old servant of the Macleans, who had transferred +his services without afterthought on the occasion of the marriage. There was +some tale of an unlucky creature, a sea-kelpie, that dwelt and did business in +some fearful manner of his own among the boiling breakers of the Roost. A +mermaid had once met a piper on Sandag beach, and there sang to him a long, +bright midsummer’s night, so that in the morning he was found stricken +crazy, and from thenceforward, till the day he died, said only one form of +words; what they were in the original Gaelic I cannot tell, but they were thus +translated: “Ah, the sweet singing out of the sea.” Seals that +haunted on that coast have been known to speak to man in his own tongue, +presaging great disasters. It was here that a certain saint first landed on his +voyage out of Ireland to convert the Hebrideans. And, indeed, I think he had +some claim to be called saint; for, with the boats of that past age, to make so +rough a passage, and land on such a ticklish coast, was surely not far short of +the miraculous. It was to him, or to some of his monkish underlings who had a +cell there, that the islet owes its holy and beautiful name, the House of God. +</p> + +<p> +Among these old wives’ stories there was one which I was inclined to hear +with more credulity. As I was told, in that tempest which scattered the ships +of the Invincible Armada over all the north and west of Scotland, one great +vessel came ashore on Aros, and before the eyes of some solitary people on a +hill-top, went down in a moment with all hands, her colours flying even as she +sank. There was some likelihood in this tale; for another of that fleet lay +sunk on the north side, twenty miles from Grisapol. It was told, I thought, +with more detail and gravity than its companion stories, and there was one +particularity which went far to convince me of its truth: the name, that is, of +the ship was still remembered, and sounded, in my ears, Spanishly. The +<i>Espirito Santo</i> they called it, a great ship of many decks of guns, laden +with treasure and grandees of Spain, and fierce soldadoes, that now lay fathom +deep to all eternity, done with her wars and voyages, in Sandag bay, upon the +west of Aros. No more salvos of ordnance for that tall ship, the “Holy +Spirit,” no more fair winds or happy ventures; only to rot there deep in +the sea-tangle and hear the shoutings of the Merry Men as the tide ran high +about the island. It was a strange thought to me first and last, and only grew +stranger as I learned the more of Spain, from which she had set sail with so +proud a company, and King Philip, the wealthy king, that sent her on that +voyage. +</p> + +<p> +And now I must tell you, as I walked from Grisapol that day, the <i>Espirito +Santo</i> was very much in my reflections. I had been favourably remarked by +our then Principal in Edinburgh College, that famous writer, Dr. Robertson, and +by him had been set to work on some papers of an ancient date to rearrange and +sift of what was worthless; and in one of these, to my great wonder, I found a +note of this very ship, the <i>Espirito Santo</i>, with her captain’s +name, and how she carried a great part of the Spaniard’s treasure, and +had been lost upon the Ross of Grisapol; but in what particular spot, the wild +tribes of that place and period would give no information to the king’s +inquiries. Putting one thing with another, and taking our island tradition +together with this note of old King Jamie’s perquisitions after wealth, +it had come strongly on my mind that the spot for which he sought in vain could +be no other than the small bay of Sandag on my uncle’s land; and being a +fellow of a mechanical turn, I had ever since been plotting how to weigh that +good ship up again with all her ingots, ounces, and doubloons, and bring back +our house of Darnaway to its long-forgotten dignity and wealth. +</p> + +<p> +This was a design of which I soon had reason to repent. My mind was sharply +turned on different reflections; and since I became the witness of a strange +judgment of God’s, the thought of dead men’s treasures has been +intolerable to my conscience. But even at that time I must acquit myself of +sordid greed; for if I desired riches, it was not for their own sake, but for +the sake of a person who was dear to my heart—my uncle’s daughter, +Mary Ellen. She had been educated well, and had been a time to school upon the +mainland; which, poor girl, she would have been happier without. For Aros was +no place for her, with old Rorie the servant, and her father, who was one of +the unhappiest men in Scotland, plainly bred up in a country place among +Cameronians, long a skipper sailing out of the Clyde about the islands, and +now, with infinite discontent, managing his sheep and a little “long +shore fishing for the necessary bread. If it was sometimes weariful to me, who +was there but a month or two, you may fancy what it was to her who dwelt in +that same desert all the year round, with the sheep and flying sea-gulls, and +the Merry Men singing and dancing in the Roost! +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS.</h3> + +<p> +It was half-flood when I got the length of Aros; and there was nothing for it +but to stand on the far shore and whistle for Rorie with the boat. I had no +need to repeat the signal. At the first sound, Mary was at the door flying a +handkerchief by way of answer, and the old long-legged serving-man was +shambling down the gravel to the pier. For all his hurry, it took him a long +while to pull across the bay; and I observed him several times to pause, go +into the stern, and look over curiously into the wake. As he came nearer, he +seemed to me aged and haggard, and I thought he avoided my eye. The coble had +been repaired, with two new thwarts and several patches of some rare and +beautiful foreign wood, the name of it unknown to me. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Rorie,” said I, as we began the return voyage, “this is +fine wood. How came you by that?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be hard to cheesel,” Rorie opined reluctantly; and just +then, dropping the oars, he made another of those dives into the stern which I +had remarked as he came across to fetch me, and, leaning his hand on my +shoulder, stared with an awful look into the waters of the bay. +</p> + +<p> +“What is wrong?” I asked, a good deal startled. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be a great feesh,” said the old man, returning to his +oars; and nothing more could I get out of him, but strange glances and an +ominous nodding of the head. In spite of myself, I was infected with a measure +of uneasiness; I turned also, and studied the wake. The water was still and +transparent, but, out here in the middle of the bay, exceeding deep. For some +time I could see naught; but at last it did seem to me as if something +dark—a great fish, or perhaps only a shadow—followed studiously in +the track of the moving coble. And then I remembered one of Rorie’s +superstitions: how in a ferry in Morven, in some great, exterminating feud +among the clans; a fish, the like of it unknown in all our waters, followed for +some years the passage of the ferry-boat, until no man dared to make the +crossing. +</p> + +<p> +“He will be waiting for the right man,” said Rorie. +</p> + +<p> +Mary met me on the beach, and led me up the brae and into the house of Aros. +Outside and inside there were many changes. The garden was fenced with the same +wood that I had noted in the boat; there were chairs in the kitchen covered +with strange brocade; curtains of brocade hung from the window; a clock stood +silent on the dresser; a lamp of brass was swinging from the roof; the table +was set for dinner with the finest of linen and silver; and all these new +riches were displayed in the plain old kitchen that I knew so well, with the +high-backed settle, and the stools, and the closet bed for Rorie; with the wide +chimney the sun shone into, and the clear-smouldering peats; with the pipes on +the mantelshelf and the three-cornered spittoons, filled with sea-shells +instead of sand, on the floor; with the bare stone walls and the bare wooden +floor, and the three patchwork rugs that were of yore its sole +adornment—poor man’s patchwork, the like of it unknown in cities, +woven with homespun, and Sunday black, and sea-cloth polished on the bench of +rowing. The room, like the house, had been a sort of wonder in that +country-side, it was so neat and habitable; and to see it now, shamed by these +incongruous additions, filled me with indignation and a kind of anger. In view +of the errand I had come upon to Aros, the feeling was baseless and unjust; but +it burned high, at the first moment, in my heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, girl,” said I, “this is the place I had learned to +call my home, and I do not know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my home by nature, not by the learning,” she replied; +“the place I was born and the place I’m like to die in; and I +neither like these changes, nor the way they came, nor that which came with +them. I would have liked better, under God’s pleasure, they had gone down +into the sea, and the Merry Men were dancing on them now.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was always serious; it was perhaps the only trait that she shared with her +father; but the tone with which she uttered these words was even graver than of +custom. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said I, “I feared it came by wreck, and that’s by +death; yet when my father died, I took his goods without remorse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father died a clean strae death, as the folk say,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“True,” I returned; “and a wreck is like a judgment. What was +she called?” +</p> + +<p> +“They ca’d her the <i>Christ-Anna</i>,” said a voice behind +me; and, turning round, I saw my uncle standing in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +He was a sour, small, bilious man, with a long face and very dark eyes; +fifty-six years old, sound and active in body, and with an air somewhat between +that of a shepherd and that of a man following the sea. He never laughed, that +I heard; read long at the Bible; prayed much, like the Cameronians he had been +brought up among; and indeed, in many ways, used to remind me of one of the +hill-preachers in the killing times before the Revolution. But he never got +much comfort, nor even, as I used to think, much guidance, by his piety. He had +his black fits when he was afraid of hell; but he had led a rough life, to +which he would look back with envy, and was still a rough, cold, gloomy man. +</p> + +<p> +As he came in at the door out of the sunlight, with his bonnet on his head and +a pipe hanging in his button-hole, he seemed, like Rorie, to have grown older +and paler, the lines were deeplier ploughed upon his face, and the whites of +his eyes were yellow, like old stained ivory, or the bones of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay” he repeated, dwelling upon the first part of the word, +“the <i>Christ-Anna</i>. It’s an awfu’ name.” +</p> + +<p> +I made him my salutations, and complimented him upon his look of health; for I +feared he had perhaps been ill. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in the body,” he replied, ungraciously enough; +“aye in the body and the sins of the body, like yoursel’. +Denner,” he said abruptly to Mary, and then ran on to me: +“They’re grand braws, thir that we hae gotten, are they no? +Yon’s a bonny knock<a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15" +class="citation">[15]</a>, but it’ll no gang; and the napery’s by +ordnar. Bonny, bairnly braws; it’s for the like o’ them folk sells +the peace of God that passeth understanding; it’s for the like o’ +them, an’ maybe no even sae muckle worth, folk daunton God to His face +and burn in muckle hell; and it’s for that reason the Scripture +ca’s them, as I read the passage, the accursed thing. Mary, ye +girzie,” he interrupted himself to cry with some asperity, “what +for hae ye no put out the twa candlesticks?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why should we need them at high noon?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +But my uncle was not to be turned from his idea. “We’ll bruik<a +name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16" class="citation">[16]</a> them +while we may,” he said; and so two massive candlesticks of wrought silver +were added to the table equipage, already so unsuited to that rough sea-side +farm. +</p> + +<p> +“She cam’ ashore Februar’ 10, about ten at nicht,” he +went on to me. “There was nae wind, and a sair run o’ sea; and she +was in the sook o’ the Roost, as I jaloose. We had seen her a’ day, +Rorie and me, beating to the wind. She wasnae a handy craft, I’m +thinking, that <i>Christ-Anna</i>; for she would neither steer nor stey +wi’ them. A sair day they had of it; their hands was never aff the +sheets, and it perishin’ cauld—ower cauld to snaw; and aye they +would get a bit nip o’ wind, and awa’ again, to pit the emp’y +hope into them. Eh, man! but they had a sair day for the last o’t! He +would have had a prood, prood heart that won ashore upon the back o’ +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“And were all lost?” I cried. “God held them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wheesht!” he said sternly. “Nane shall pray for the deid on +my hearth-stane.” +</p> + +<p> +I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation; and he seemed to accept my +disclaimer with unusual facility, and ran on once more upon what had evidently +become a favourite subject. +</p> + +<p> +“We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an’ me, and a’ thae braws +in the inside of her. There’s a kittle bit, ye see, about Sandag; whiles +the sook rins strong for the Merry Men; an’ whiles again, when the +tide’s makin’ hard an’ ye can hear the Roost blawin’ at +the far-end of Aros, there comes a back-spang of current straucht into Sandag +Bay. Weel, there’s the thing that got the grip on the <i>Christ-Anna</i>. +She but to have come in ram-stam an’ stern forrit; for the bows of her +are aften under, and the back-side of her is clear at hie-water o’ neaps. +But, man! the dunt that she cam doon wi’ when she struck! Lord save us +a’! but it’s an unco life to be a sailor—a cauld, wanchancy +life. Mony’s the gliff I got mysel’ in the great deep; and why the +Lord should hae made yon unco water is mair than ever I could win to +understand. He made the vales and the pastures, the bonny green yaird, the +halesome, canty land— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And now they shout and sing to Thee,<br /> +For Thou hast made them glad, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +as the Psalms say in the metrical version. No that I would preen my faith to +that clink neither; but it’s bonny, and easier to mind. ‘Who go to +sea in ships,’ they hae’t again— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And in<br /> +Great waters trading be,<br /> +Within the deep these men God’s works<br /> +And His great wonders see. +</p> + +<p> +Weel, it’s easy sayin’ sae. Maybe Dauvit wasnae very weel acquant +wi’ the sea. But, troth, if it wasnae prentit in the Bible, I wad whiles +be temp’it to think it wasnae the Lord, but the muckle, black deil that +made the sea. There’s naething good comes oot o’t but the fish; +an’ the spentacle o’ God riding on the tempest, to be shure, whilk +would be what Dauvit was likely ettling at. But, man, they were sair wonders +that God showed to the <i>Christ-Anna</i>—wonders, do I ca’ them? +Judgments, rather: judgments in the mirk nicht among the draygons o’ the +deep. And their souls—to think o’ that—their souls, man, +maybe no prepared! The sea—a muckle yett to hell!” +</p> + +<p> +I observed, as my uncle spoke, that his voice was unnaturally moved and his +manner unwontedly demonstrative. He leaned forward at these last words, for +example, and touched me on the knee with his spread fingers, looking up into my +face with a certain pallor, and I could see that his eyes shone with a +deep-seated fire, and that the lines about his mouth were drawn and tremulous. +</p> + +<p> +Even the entrance of Rorie, and the beginning of our meal, did not detach him +from his train of thought beyond a moment. He condescended, indeed, to ask me +some questions as to my success at college, but I thought it was with half his +mind; and even in his extempore grace, which was, as usual, long and wandering, +I could find the trace of his preoccupation, praying, as he did, that God would +“remember in mercy fower puir, feckless, fiddling, sinful creatures here +by their lee-lane beside the great and dowie waters.” +</p> + +<p> +Soon there came an interchange of speeches between him and Rorie. +</p> + +<p> +“Was it there?” asked my uncle. +</p> + +<p> +“Ou, ay!” said Rorie. +</p> + +<p> +I observed that they both spoke in a manner of aside, and with some show of +embarrassment, and that Mary herself appeared to colour, and looked down on her +plate. Partly to show my knowledge, and so relieve the party from an awkward +strain, partly because I was curious, I pursued the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the fish?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatten fish?” cried my uncle. “Fish, quo’ he! Fish! +Your een are fu’ o’ fatness, man; your heid dozened wi’ +carnal leir. Fish! it’s a bogle!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with great vehemence, as though angry; and perhaps I was not very +willing to be put down so shortly, for young men are disputatious. At least I +remember I retorted hotly, crying out upon childish superstitions. +</p> + +<p> +“And ye come frae the College!” sneered Uncle Gordon. “Gude +kens what they learn folk there; it’s no muckle service onyway. Do ye +think, man, that there’s naething in a’ yon saut wilderness +o’ a world oot wast there, wi’ the sea grasses growin’, +an’ the sea beasts fechtin’, an’ the sun glintin’ down +into it, day by day? Na; the sea’s like the land, but fearsomer. If +there’s folk ashore, there’s folk in the sea—deid they may +be, but they’re folk whatever; and as for deils, there’s nane +that’s like the sea deils. There’s no sae muckle harm in the land +deils, when a’s said and done. Lang syne, when I was a callant in the +south country, I mind there was an auld, bald bogle in the Peewie Moss. I got a +glisk o’ him mysel’, sittin’ on his hunkers in a hag, as +gray’s a tombstane. An’, troth, he was a fearsome-like taed. But he +steered naebody. Nae doobt, if ane that was a reprobate, ane the Lord hated, +had gane by there wi’ his sin still upon his stamach, nae doobt the +creature would hae lowped upo’ the likes o’ him. But there’s +deils in the deep sea would yoke on a communicant! Eh, sirs, if ye had gane +doon wi’ the puir lads in the <i>Christ-Anna</i>, ye would ken by now the +mercy o’ the seas. If ye had sailed it for as lang as me, ye would hate +the thocht of it as I do. If ye had but used the een God gave ye, ye would hae +learned the wickedness o’ that fause, saut, cauld, bullering creature, +and of a’ that’s in it by the Lord’s permission: labsters +an’ partans, an’ sic like, howking in the deid; muckle, gutsy, +blawing whales; an’ fish—the hale clan o’ +them—cauld-wamed, blind-eed uncanny ferlies. O, sirs,” he cried, +“the horror—the horror o’ the sea!” +</p> + +<p> +We were all somewhat staggered by this outburst; and the speaker himself, after +that last hoarse apostrophe, appeared to sink gloomily into his own thoughts. +But Rorie, who was greedy of superstitious lore, recalled him to the subject by +a question. +</p> + +<p> +“You will not ever have seen a teevil of the sea?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No clearly,” replied the other. “I misdoobt if a mere man +could see ane clearly and conteenue in the body. I hae sailed wi’ a +lad—they ca’d him Sandy Gabart; he saw ane, shure eneueh, an’ +shure eneueh it was the end of him. We were seeven days oot frae the +Clyde—a sair wark we had had—gaun north wi’ seeds an’ +braws an’ things for the Macleod. We had got in ower near under the +Cutchull’ns, an’ had just gane about by soa, an’ were off on +a lang tack, we thocht would maybe hauld as far’s Copnahow. I mind the +nicht weel; a mune smoored wi’ mist; a fine gaun breeze upon the water, +but no steedy; an’—what nane o’ us likit to +hear—anither wund gurlin’ owerheid, amang thae fearsome, auld stane +craigs o’ the Cutchull’ns. Weel, Sandy was forrit wi’ the jib +sheet; we couldnae see him for the mains’l, that had just begude to draw, +when a’ at ance he gied a skirl. I luffed for my life, for I thocht we +were ower near Soa; but na, it wasnae that, it was puir Sandy Gabart’s +deid skreigh, or near hand, for he was deid in half an hour. A’t he could +tell was that a sea deil, or sea bogle, or sea spenster, or sic-like, had clum +up by the bowsprit, an’ gi’en him ae cauld, uncanny look. +An’, or the life was oot o’ Sandy’s body, we kent weel what +the thing betokened, and why the wund gurled in the taps o’ the +Cutchull’ns; for doon it cam’—a wund do I ca’ it! it +was the wund o’ the Lord’s anger—an’ a’ that +nicht we foucht like men dementit, and the niest that we kenned we were ashore +in Loch Uskevagh, an’ the cocks were crawin’ in Benbecula.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will have been a merman,” Rorie said. +</p> + +<p> +“A merman!” screamed my uncle with immeasurable scorn. “Auld +wives’ clavers! There’s nae sic things as mermen.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what was the creature like?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“What like was it? Gude forbid that we suld ken what like it was! It had +a kind of a heid upon it—man could say nae mair.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Rorie, smarting under the affront, told several tales of mermen, mermaids, +and sea-horses that had come ashore upon the islands and attacked the crews of +boats upon the sea; and my uncle, in spite of his incredulity, listened with +uneasy interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Aweel, aweel,” he said, “it may be sae; I may be wrang; but +I find nae word o’ mermen in the Scriptures.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will find nae word of Aros Roost, maybe,” objected Rorie, +and his argument appeared to carry weight. +</p> + +<p> +When dinner was over, my uncle carried me forth with him to a bank behind the +house. It was a very hot and quiet afternoon; scarce a ripple anywhere upon the +sea, nor any voice but the familiar voice of sheep and gulls; and perhaps in +consequence of this repose in nature, my kinsman showed himself more rational +and tranquil than before. He spoke evenly and almost cheerfully of my career, +with every now and then a reference to the lost ship or the treasures it had +brought to Aros. For my part, I listened to him in a sort of trance, gazing +with all my heart on that remembered scene, and drinking gladly the sea-air and +the smoke of peats that had been lit by Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps an hour had passed when my uncle, who had all the while been covertly +gazing on the surface of the little bay, rose to his feet and bade me follow +his example. Now I should say that the great run of tide at the south-west end +of Aros exercises a perturbing influence round all the coast. In Sandag Bay, to +the south, a strong current runs at certain periods of the flood and ebb +respectively; but in this northern bay—Aros Bay, as it is +called—where the house stands and on which my uncle was now gazing, the +only sign of disturbance is towards the end of the ebb, and even then it is too +slight to be remarkable. When there is any swell, nothing can be seen at all; +but when it is calm, as it often is, there appear certain strange, +undecipherable marks—sea-runes, as we may name them—on the glassy +surface of the bay. The like is common in a thousand places on the coast; and +many a boy must have amused himself as I did, seeking to read in them some +reference to himself or those he loved. It was to these marks that my uncle now +directed my attention, struggling, as he did so, with an evident reluctance. +</p> + +<p> +“Do ye see yon scart upo’ the water?” he inquired; “yon +ane wast the gray stane? Ay? Weel, it’ll no be like a letter, wull +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly it is,” I replied. “I have often remarked it. It +is like a C.” +</p> + +<p> +He heaved a sigh as if heavily disappointed with my answer, and then added +below his breath: “Ay, for the <i>Christ-Anna</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“I used to suppose, sir, it was for myself,” said I; “for my +name is Charles.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so ye saw’t afore?”, he ran on, not heeding my remark. +“Weel, weel, but that’s unco strange. Maybe, it’s been there +waitin’, as a man wad say, through a’ the weary ages. Man, but +that’s awfu’.” And then, breaking off: “Ye’ll no +see anither, will ye?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said I. “I see another very plainly, near the Ross +side, where the road comes down—an M.” +</p> + +<p> +“An M,” he repeated very low; and then, again after another pause: +“An’ what wad ye make o’ that?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I had always thought it to mean Mary, sir,” I answered, growing +somewhat red, convinced as I was in my own mind that I was on the threshold of +a decisive explanation. +</p> + +<p> +But we were each following his own train of thought to the exclusion of the +other’s. My uncle once more paid no attention to my words; only hung his +head and held his peace; and I might have been led to fancy that he had not +heard me, if his next speech had not contained a kind of echo from my own. +</p> + +<p> +“I would say naething o’ thae clavers to Mary,” he observed, +and began to walk forward. +</p> + +<p> +There is a belt of turf along the side of Aros Bay, where walking is easy; and +it was along this that I silently followed my silent kinsman. I was perhaps a +little disappointed at having lost so good an opportunity to declare my love; +but I was at the same time far more deeply exercised at the change that had +befallen my uncle. He was never an ordinary, never, in the strict sense, an +amiable, man; but there was nothing in even the worst that I had known of him +before, to prepare me for so strange a transformation. It was impossible to +close the eyes against one fact; that he had, as the saying goes, something on +his mind; and as I mentally ran over the different words which might be +represented by the letter M—misery, mercy, marriage, money, and the +like—I was arrested with a sort of start by the word murder. I was still +considering the ugly sound and fatal meaning of the word, when the direction of +our walk brought us to a point from which a view was to be had to either side, +back towards Aros Bay and homestead, and forward on the ocean, dotted to the +north with isles, and lying to the southward blue and open to the sky. There my +guide came to a halt, and stood staring for awhile on that expanse. Then he +turned to me and laid a hand on my arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye think there’s naething there?” he said, pointing with his +pipe; and then cried out aloud, with a kind of exultation: “I’ll +tell ye, man! The deid are down there—thick like rattons!” +</p> + +<p> +He turned at once, and, without another word, we retraced our steps to the +house of Aros. +</p> + +<p> +I was eager to be alone with Mary; yet it was not till after supper, and then +but for a short while, that I could have a word with her. I lost no time +beating about the bush, but spoke out plainly what was on my mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” I said, “I have not come to Aros without a hope. If +that should prove well founded, we may all leave and go somewhere else, secure +of daily bread and comfort; secure, perhaps, of something far beyond that, +which it would seem extravagant in me to promise. But there’s a hope that +lies nearer to my heart than money.” And at that I paused. “You can +guess fine what that is, Mary,” I said. She looked away from me in +silence, and that was small encouragement, but I was not to be put off. +“All my days I have thought the world of you,” I continued; +“the time goes on and I think always the more of you; I could not think +to be happy or hearty in my life without you: you are the apple of my +eye.” Still she looked away, and said never a word; but I thought I saw +that her hands shook. “Mary,” I cried in fear, “do ye no like +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“O, Charlie man,” she said, “is this a time to speak of it? +Let me be, a while; let me be the way I am; it’ll not be you that loses +by the waiting!” +</p> + +<p> +I made out by her voice that she was nearly weeping, and this put me out of any +thought but to compose her. “Mary Ellen,” I said, “say no +more; I did not come to trouble you: your way shall be mine, and your time too; +and you have told me all I wanted. Only just this one thing more: what ails +you?” +</p> + +<p> +She owned it was her father, but would enter into no particulars, only shook +her head, and said he was not well and not like himself, and it was a great +pity. She knew nothing of the wreck. “I havenae been near it,” said +she. “What for would I go near it, Charlie lad? The poor souls are gone +to their account long syne; and I would just have wished they had ta’en +their gear with them—poor souls!” +</p> + +<p> +This was scarcely any great encouragement for me to tell her of the <i>Espirito +Santo</i>; yet I did so, and at the very first word she cried out in surprise. +“There was a man at Grisapol,” she said, “in the month of +May—a little, yellow, black-avised body, they tell me, with gold rings +upon his fingers, and a beard; and he was speiring high and low for that same +ship.” +</p> + +<p> +It was towards the end of April that I had been given these papers to sort out +by Dr. Robertson: and it came suddenly back upon my mind that they were thus +prepared for a Spanish historian, or a man calling himself such, who had come +with high recommendations to the Principal, on a mission of inquiry as to the +dispersion of the great Armada. Putting one thing with another, I fancied that +the visitor “with the gold rings upon his fingers” might be the +same with Dr. Robertson’s historian from Madrid. If that were so, he +would be more likely after treasure for himself than information for a learned +society. I made up my mind, I should lose no time over my undertaking; and if +the ship lay sunk in Sandag Bay, as perhaps both he and I supposed, it should +not be for the advantage of this ringed adventurer, but for Mary and myself, +and for the good, old, honest, kindly family of the Darnaways. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY.</h3> + +<p> +I was early afoot next morning; and as soon as I had a bite to eat, set forth +upon a tour of exploration. Something in my heart distinctly told me that I +should find the ship of the Armada; and although I did not give way entirely to +such hopeful thoughts, I was still very light in spirits and walked upon air. +Aros is a very rough islet, its surface strewn with great rocks and shaggy with +fernland heather; and my way lay almost north and south across the highest +knoll; and though the whole distance was inside of two miles it took more time +and exertion than four upon a level road. Upon the summit, I paused. Although +not very high—not three hundred feet, as I think—it yet outtops all +the neighbouring lowlands of the Ross, and commands a great view of sea and +islands. The sun, which had been up some time, was already hot upon my neck; +the air was listless and thundery, although purely clear; away over the +north-west, where the isles lie thickliest congregated, some half-a-dozen small +and ragged clouds hung together in a covey; and the head of Ben Kyaw wore, not +merely a few streamers, but a solid hood of vapour. There was a threat in the +weather. The sea, it is true, was smooth like glass: even the Roost was but a +seam on that wide mirror, and the Merry Men no more than caps of foam; but to +my eye and ear, so long familiar with these places, the sea also seemed to lie +uneasily; a sound of it, like a long sigh, mounted to me where I stood; and, +quiet as it was, the Roost itself appeared to be revolving mischief. For I +ought to say that all we dwellers in these parts attributed, if not prescience, +at least a quality of warning, to that strange and dangerous creature of the +tides. +</p> + +<p> +I hurried on, then, with the greater speed, and had soon descended the slope of +Aros to the part that we call Sandag Bay. It is a pretty large piece of water +compared with the size of the isle; well sheltered from all but the prevailing +wind; sandy and shoal and bounded by low sand-hills to the west, but to the +eastward lying several fathoms deep along a ledge of rocks. It is upon that +side that, at a certain time each flood, the current mentioned by my uncle sets +so strong into the bay; a little later, when the Roost begins to work higher, +an undertow runs still more strongly in the reverse direction; and it is the +action of this last, as I suppose, that has scoured that part so deep. Nothing +is to be seen out of Sandag Bay, but one small segment of the horizon and, in +heavy weather, the breakers flying high over a deep sea reef. +</p> + +<p> +From half-way down the hill, I had perceived the wreck of February last, a brig +of considerable tonnage, lying, with her back broken, high and dry on the east +corner of the sands; and I was making directly towards it, and already almost +on the margin of the turf, when my eyes were suddenly arrested by a spot, +cleared of fern and heather, and marked by one of those long, low, and almost +human-looking mounds that we see so commonly in graveyards. I stopped like a +man shot. Nothing had been said to me of any dead man or interment on the +island; Rorie, Mary, and my uncle had all equally held their peace; of her at +least, I was certain that she must be ignorant; and yet here, before my eyes, +was proof indubitable of the fact. Here was a grave; and I had to ask myself, +with a chill, what manner of man lay there in his last sleep, awaiting the +signal of the Lord in that solitary, sea-beat resting-place? My mind supplied +no answer but what I feared to entertain. Shipwrecked, at least, he must have +been; perhaps, like the old Armada mariners, from some far and rich land +over-sea; or perhaps one of my own race, perishing within eyesight of the smoke +of home. I stood awhile uncovered by his side, and I could have desired that it +had lain in our religion to put up some prayer for that unhappy stranger, or, +in the old classic way, outwardly to honour his misfortune. I knew, although +his bones lay there, a part of Aros, till the trumpet sounded, his imperishable +soul was forth and far away, among the raptures of the everlasting Sabbath or +the pangs of hell; and yet my mind misgave me even with a fear, that perhaps he +was near me where I stood, guarding his sepulchre, and lingering on the scene +of his unhappy fate. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly it was with a spirit somewhat over-shadowed that I turned away from +the grave to the hardly less melancholy spectacle of the wreck. Her stem was +above the first arc of the flood; she was broken in two a little abaft the +foremast—though indeed she had none, both masts having broken short in +her disaster; and as the pitch of the beach was very sharp and sudden, and the +bows lay many feet below the stern, the fracture gaped widely open, and you +could see right through her poor hull upon the farther side. Her name was much +defaced, and I could not make out clearly whether she was called +<i>Christiania</i>, after the Norwegian city, or <i>Christiana</i>, after the +good woman, Christian’s wife, in that old book the “Pilgrim’s +Progress.” By her build she was a foreign ship, but I was not certain of +her nationality. She had been painted green, but the colour was faded and +weathered, and the paint peeling off in strips. The wreck of the mainmast lay +alongside, half buried in sand. She was a forlorn sight, indeed, and I could +not look without emotion at the bits of rope that still hung about her, so +often handled of yore by shouting seamen; or the little scuttle where they had +passed up and down to their affairs; or that poor noseless angel of a +figure-head that had dipped into so many running billows. +</p> + +<p> +I do not know whether it came most from the ship or from the grave, but I fell +into some melancholy scruples, as I stood there, leaning with one hand against +the battered timbers. The homelessness of men and even of inanimate vessels, +cast away upon strange shores, came strongly in upon my mind. To make a profit +of such pitiful misadventures seemed an unmanly and a sordid act; and I began +to think of my then quest as of something sacrilegious in its nature. But when +I remembered Mary, I took heart again. My uncle would never consent to an +imprudent marriage, nor would she, as I was persuaded, wed without his full +approval. It behoved me, then, to be up and doing for my wife; and I thought +with a laugh how long it was since that great sea-castle, the <i>Espirito +Santo</i>, had left her bones in Sandag Bay, and how weak it would be to +consider rights so long extinguished and misfortunes so long forgotten in the +process of time. +</p> + +<p> +I had my theory of where to seek for her remains. The set of the current and +the soundings both pointed to the east side of the bay under the ledge of +rocks. If she had been lost in Sandag Bay, and if, after these centuries, any +portion of her held together, it was there that I should find it. The water +deepens, as I have said, with great rapidity, and even close along-side the +rocks several fathoms may be found. As I walked upon the edge I could see far +and wide over the sandy bottom of the bay; the sun shone clear and green and +steady in the deeps; the bay seemed rather like a great transparent crystal, as +one sees them in a lapidary’s shop; there was naught to show that it was +water but an internal trembling, a hovering within of sun-glints and netted +shadows, and now and then a faint lap and a dying bubble round the edge. The +shadows of the rocks lay out for some distance at their feet, so that my own +shadow, moving, pausing, and stooping on the top of that, reached sometimes +half across the bay. It was above all in this belt of shadows that I hunted for +the <i>Espirito Santo</i>; since it was there the undertow ran strongest, +whether in or out. Cool as the whole water seemed this broiling day, it looked, +in that part, yet cooler, and had a mysterious invitation for the eyes. Peer as +I pleased, however, I could see nothing but a few fishes or a bush of +sea-tangle, and here and there a lump of rock that had fallen from above and +now lay separate on the sandy floor. Twice did I pass from one end to the other +of the rocks, and in the whole distance I could see nothing of the wreck, nor +any place but one where it was possible for it to be. This was a large terrace +in five fathoms of water, raised off the surface of the sand to a considerable +height, and looking from above like a mere outgrowth of the rocks on which I +walked. It was one mass of great sea-tangles like a grove, which prevented me +judging of its nature, but in shape and size it bore some likeness to a +vessel’s hull. At least it was my best chance. If the <i>Espirito +Santo</i> lay not there under the tangles, it lay nowhere at all in Sandag Bay; +and I prepared to put the question to the proof, once and for all, and either +go back to Aros a rich man or cured for ever of my dreams of wealth. +</p> + +<p> +I stripped to the skin, and stood on the extreme margin with my hands clasped, +irresolute. The bay at that time was utterly quiet; there was no sound but from +a school of porpoises somewhere out of sight behind the point; yet a certain +fear withheld me on the threshold of my venture. Sad sea-feelings, scraps of my +uncle’s superstitions, thoughts of the dead, of the grave, of the old +broken ships, drifted through my mind. But the strong sun upon my shoulders +warmed me to the heart, and I stooped forward and plunged into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +It was all that I could do to catch a trail of the sea-tangle that grew so +thickly on the terrace; but once so far anchored I secured myself by grasping a +whole armful of these thick and slimy stalks, and, planting my feet against the +edge, I looked around me. On all sides the clear sand stretched forth unbroken; +it came to the foot of the rocks, scoured into the likeness of an alley in a +garden by the action of the tides; and before me, for as far as I could see, +nothing was visible but the same many-folded sand upon the sun-bright bottom of +the bay. Yet the terrace to which I was then holding was as thick with strong +sea-growths as a tuft of heather, and the cliff from which it bulged hung +draped below the water-line with brown lianas. In this complexity of forms, all +swaying together in the current, things were hard to be distinguished; and I +was still uncertain whether my feet were pressed upon the natural rock or upon +the timbers of the Armada treasure-ship, when the whole tuft of tangle came +away in my hand, and in an instant I was on the surface, and the shores of the +bay and the bright water swam before my eyes in a glory of crimson. +</p> + +<p> +I clambered back upon the rocks, and threw the plant of tangle at my feet. +Something at the same moment rang sharply, like a falling coin. I stooped, and +there, sure enough, crusted with the red rust, there lay an iron shoe-buckle. +The sight of this poor human relic thrilled me to the heart, but not with hope +nor fear, only with a desolate melancholy. I held it in my hand, and the +thought of its owner appeared before me like the presence of an actual man. His +weather-beaten face, his sailor’s hands, his sea-voice hoarse with +singing at the capstan, the very foot that had once worn that buckle and trod +so much along the swerving decks—the whole human fact of him, as a +creature like myself, with hair and blood and seeing eyes, haunted me in that +sunny, solitary place, not like a spectre, but like some friend whom I had +basely injured. Was the great treasure ship indeed below there, with her guns +and chain and treasure, as she had sailed from Spain; her decks a garden for +the seaweed, her cabin a breeding place for fish, soundless but for the +dredging water, motionless but for the waving of the tangle upon her +battlements—that old, populous, sea-riding castle, now a reef in Sandag +Bay? Or, as I thought it likelier, was this a waif from the disaster of the +foreign brig—was this shoe-buckle bought but the other day and worn by a +man of my own period in the world’s history, hearing the same news from +day to day, thinking the same thoughts, praying, perhaps, in the same temple +with myself? However it was, I was assailed with dreary thoughts; my +uncle’s words, “the dead are down there,” echoed in my ears; +and though I determined to dive once more, it was with a strong repugnance that +I stepped forward to the margin of the rocks. +</p> + +<p> +A great change passed at that moment over the appearance of the bay. It was no +more that clear, visible interior, like a house roofed with glass, where the +green, submarine sunshine slept so stilly. A breeze, I suppose, had flawed the +surface, and a sort of trouble and blackness filled its bosom, where flashes of +light and clouds of shadow tossed confusedly together. Even the terrace below +obscurely rocked and quivered. It seemed a graver thing to venture on this +place of ambushes; and when I leaped into the sea the second time it was with a +quaking in my soul. +</p> + +<p> +I secured myself as at first, and groped among the waving tangle. All that met +my touch was cold and soft and gluey. The thicket was alive with crabs and +lobsters, trundling to and fro lopsidedly, and I had to harden my heart against +the horror of their carrion neighbourhood. On all sides I could feel the grain +and the clefts of hard, living stone; no planks, no iron, not a sign of any +wreck; the <i>Espirito Santo</i> was not there. I remember I had almost a sense +of relief in my disappointment, and I was about ready to leave go, when +something happened that sent me to the surface with my heart in my mouth. I had +already stayed somewhat late over my explorations; the current was freshening +with the change of the tide, and Sandag Bay was no longer a safe place for a +single swimmer. Well, just at the last moment there came a sudden flush of +current, dredging through the tangles like a wave. I lost one hold, was flung +sprawling on my side, and, instinctively grasping for a fresh support, my +fingers closed on something hard and cold. I think I knew at that moment what +it was. At least I instantly left hold of the tangle, leaped for the surface, +and clambered out next moment on the friendly rocks with the bone of a +man’s leg in my grasp. +</p> + +<p> +Mankind is a material creature, slow to think and dull to perceive connections. +The grave, the wreck of the brig, and the rusty shoe-buckle were surely plain +advertisements. A child might have read their dismal story, and yet it was not +until I touched that actual piece of mankind that the full horror of the +charnel ocean burst upon my spirit. I laid the bone beside the buckle, picked +up my clothes, and ran as I was along the rocks towards the human shore. I +could not be far enough from the spot; no fortune was vast enough to tempt me +back again. The bones of the drowned dead should henceforth roll undisturbed by +me, whether on tangle or minted gold. But as soon as I trod the good earth +again, and had covered my nakedness against the sun, I knelt down over against +the ruins of the brig, and out of the fulness of my heart prayed long and +passionately for all poor souls upon the sea. A generous prayer is never +presented in vain; the petition may be refused, but the petitioner is always, I +believe, rewarded by some gracious visitation. The horror, at least, was lifted +from my mind; I could look with calm of spirit on that great bright creature, +God’s ocean; and as I set off homeward up the rough sides of Aros, +nothing remained of my concern beyond a deep determination to meddle no more +with the spoils of wrecked vessels or the treasures of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +I was already some way up the hill before I paused to breathe and look behind +me. The sight that met my eyes was doubly strange. +</p> + +<p> +For, first, the storm that I had foreseen was now advancing with almost +tropical rapidity. The whole surface of the sea had been dulled from its +conspicuous brightness to an ugly hue of corrugated lead; already in the +distance the white waves, the “skipper’s daughters,” had +begun to flee before a breeze that was still insensible on Aros; and already +along the curve of Sandag Bay there was a splashing run of sea that I could +hear from where I stood. The change upon the sky was even more remarkable. +There had begun to arise out of the south-west a huge and solid continent of +scowling cloud; here and there, through rents in its contexture, the sun still +poured a sheaf of spreading rays; and here and there, from all its edges, vast +inky streamers lay forth along the yet unclouded sky. The menace was express +and imminent. Even as I gazed, the sun was blotted out. At any moment the +tempest might fall upon Aros in its might. +</p> + +<p> +The suddenness of this change of weather so fixed my eyes on heaven that it was +some seconds before they alighted on the bay, mapped out below my feet, and +robbed a moment later of the sun. The knoll which I had just surmounted +overflanked a little amphitheatre of lower hillocks sloping towards the sea, +and beyond that the yellow arc of beach and the whole extent of Sandag Bay. It +was a scene on which I had often looked down, but where I had never before +beheld a human figure. I had but just turned my back upon it and left it empty, +and my wonder may be fancied when I saw a boat and several men in that deserted +spot. The boat was lying by the rocks. A pair of fellows, bareheaded, with +their sleeves rolled up, and one with a boathook, kept her with difficulty to +her moorings for the current was growing brisker every moment. A little way off +upon the ledge two men in black clothes, whom I judged to be superior in rank, +laid their heads together over some task which at first I did not understand, +but a second after I had made it out—they were taking bearings with the +compass; and just then I saw one of them unroll a sheet of paper and lay his +finger down, as though identifying features in a map. Meanwhile a third was +walking to and fro, polling among the rocks and peering over the edge into the +water. While I was still watching them with the stupefaction of surprise, my +mind hardly yet able to work on what my eyes reported, this third person +suddenly stooped and summoned his companions with a cry so loud that it reached +my ears upon the hill. The others ran to him, even dropping the compass in +their hurry, and I could see the bone and the shoe-buckle going from hand to +hand, causing the most unusual gesticulations of surprise and interest. Just +then I could hear the seamen crying from the boat, and saw them point westward +to that cloud continent which was ever the more rapidly unfurling its blackness +over heaven. The others seemed to consult; but the danger was too pressing to +be braved, and they bundled into the boat carrying my relies with them, and set +forth out of the bay with all speed of oars. +</p> + +<p> +I made no more ado about the matter, but turned and ran for the house. Whoever +these men were, it was fit my uncle should be instantly informed. It was not +then altogether too late in the day for a descent of the Jacobites; and may be +Prince Charlie, whom I knew my uncle to detest, was one of the three superiors +whom I had seen upon the rock. Yet as I ran, leaping from rock to rock, and +turned the matter loosely in my mind, this theory grew ever the longer the less +welcome to my reason. The compass, the map, the interest awakened by the +buckle, and the conduct of that one among the strangers who had looked so often +below him in the water, all seemed to point to a different explanation of their +presence on that outlying, obscure islet of the western sea. The Madrid +historian, the search instituted by Dr. Robertson, the bearded stranger with +the rings, my own fruitless search that very morning in the deep water of +Sandag Bay, ran together, piece by piece, in my memory, and I made sure that +these strangers must be Spaniards in quest of ancient treasure and the lost +ship of the Armada. But the people living in outlying islands, such as Aros, +are answerable for their own security; there is none near by to protect or even +to help them; and the presence in such a spot of a crew of foreign +adventurers—poor, greedy, and most likely lawless—filled me with +apprehensions for my uncle’s money, and even for the safety of his +daughter. I was still wondering how we were to get rid of them when I came, all +breathless, to the top of Aros. The whole world was shadowed over; only in the +extreme east, on a hill of the mainland, one last gleam of sunshine lingered +like a jewel; rain had begun to fall, not heavily, but in great drops; the sea +was rising with each moment, and already a band of white encircled Aros and the +nearer coasts of Grisapol. The boat was still pulling seaward, but I now became +aware of what had been hidden from me lower down—a large, heavily +sparred, handsome schooner, lying to at the south end of Aros. Since I had not +seen her in the morning when I had looked around so closely at the signs of the +weather, and upon these lone waters where a sail was rarely visible, it was +clear she must have lain last night behind the uninhabited Eilean Gour, and +this proved conclusively that she was manned by strangers to our coast, for +that anchorage, though good enough to look at, is little better than a trap for +ships. With such ignorant sailors upon so wild a coast, the coming gale was not +unlikely to bring death upon its wings. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +THE GALE.</h3> + +<p> +I found my uncle at the gable end, watching the signs of the weather, with a +pipe in his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle,” said I, “there were men ashore at Sandag +Bay—” +</p> + +<p> +I had no time to go further; indeed, I not only forgot my words, but even my +weariness, so strange was the effect on Uncle Gordon. He dropped his pipe and +fell back against the end of the house with his jaw fallen, his eyes staring, +and his long face as white as paper. We must have looked at one another +silently for a quarter of a minute, before he made answer in this extraordinary +fashion: “Had he a hair kep on?” +</p> + +<p> +I knew as well as if I had been there that the man who now lay buried at Sandag +had worn a hairy cap, and that he had come ashore alive. For the first and only +time I lost toleration for the man who was my benefactor and the father of the +woman I hoped to call my wife. +</p> + +<p> +“These were living men,” said I, “perhaps Jacobites, perhaps +the French, perhaps pirates, perhaps adventurers come here to seek the Spanish +treasure ship; but, whatever they may be, dangerous at least to your daughter +and my cousin. As for your own guilty terrors, man, the dead sleeps well where +you have laid him. I stood this morning by his grave; he will not wake before +the trump of doom.” +</p> + +<p> +My kinsman looked upon me, blinking, while I spoke; then he fixed his eyes for +a little on the ground, and pulled his fingers foolishly; but it was plain that +he was past the power of speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said I. “You must think for others. You must come up +the hill with me, and see this ship.” +</p> + +<p> +He obeyed without a word or a look, following slowly after my impatient +strides. The spring seemed to have gone out of his body, and he scrambled +heavily up and down the rocks, instead of leaping, as he was wont, from one to +another. Nor could I, for all my cries, induce him to make better haste. Only +once he replied to me complainingly, and like one in bodily pain: “Ay, +ay, man, I’m coming.” Long before we had reached the top, I had no +other thought for him but pity. If the crime had been monstrous the punishment +was in proportion. +</p> + +<p> +At last we emerged above the sky-line of the hill, and could see around us. All +was black and stormy to the eye; the last gleam of sun had vanished; a wind had +sprung up, not yet high, but gusty and unsteady to the point; the rain, on the +other hand, had ceased. Short as was the interval, the sea already ran vastly +higher than when I had stood there last; already it had begun to break over +some of the outward reefs, and already it moaned aloud in the sea-caves of +Aros. I looked, at first, in vain for the schooner. +</p> + +<p> +“There she is,” I said at last. But her new position, and the +course she was now lying, puzzled me. “They cannot mean to beat to +sea,” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what they mean,” said my uncle, with something like +joy; and just then the schooner went about and stood upon another tack, which +put the question beyond the reach of doubt. These strangers, seeing a gale on +hand, had thought first of sea-room. With the wind that threatened, in these +reef-sown waters and contending against so violent a stream of tide, their +course was certain death. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” said I, “they are all lost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” returned my uncle, “a’—a’ lost. They +hadnae a chance but to rin for Kyle Dona. The gate they’re gaun the noo, +they couldnae win through an the muckle deil were there to pilot them. Eh, +man,” he continued, touching me on the sleeve, “it’s a braw +nicht for a shipwreck! Twa in ae twalmonth! Eh, but the Merry Men’ll +dance bonny!” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him, and it was then that I began to fancy him no longer in his +right mind. He was peering up to me, as if for sympathy, a timid joy in his +eyes. All that had passed between us was already forgotten in the prospect of +this fresh disaster. +</p> + +<p> +“If it were not too late,” I cried with indignation, “I would +take the coble and go out to warn them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Na, na,” he protested, “ye maunnae interfere; ye maunnae +meddle wi’ the like o’ that. It’s His”—doffing +his bonnet—“His wull. And, eh, man! but it’s a braw nicht +for’t!” +</p> + +<p> +Something like fear began to creep into my soul and, reminding him that I had +not yet dined, I proposed we should return to the house. But no; nothing would +tear him from his place of outlook. +</p> + +<p> +“I maun see the hail thing, man, Cherlie,” he explained—and +then as the schooner went about a second time, “Eh, but they han’le +her bonny!” he cried. “The <i>Christ-Anna</i> was naething to +this.” +</p> + +<p> +Already the men on board the schooner must have begun to realise some part, but +not yet the twentieth, of the dangers that environed their doomed ship. At +every lull of the capricious wind they must have seen how fast the current +swept them back. Each tack was made shorter, as they saw how little it +prevailed. Every moment the rising swell began to boom and foam upon another +sunken reef; and ever and again a breaker would fall in sounding ruin under the +very bows of her, and the brown reef and streaming tangle appear in the hollow +of the wave. I tell you, they had to stand to their tackle: there was no idle +men aboard that ship, God knows. It was upon the progress of a scene so +horrible to any human-hearted man that my misguided uncle now pored and gloated +like a connoisseur. As I turned to go down the hill, he was lying on his belly +on the summit, with his hands stretched forth and clutching in the heather. He +seemed rejuvenated, mind and body. +</p> + +<p> +When I got back to the house already dismally affected, I was still more sadly +downcast at the sight of Mary. She had her sleeves rolled up over her strong +arms, and was quietly making bread. I got a bannock from the dresser and sat +down to eat it in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Are ye wearied, lad?” she asked after a while. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not so much wearied, Mary,” I replied, getting on my feet, +“as I am weary of delay, and perhaps of Aros too. You know me well enough +to judge me fairly, say what I like. Well, Mary, you may be sure of this: you +had better be anywhere but here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be sure of one thing,” she returned: “I’ll +be where my duty is.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget, you have a duty to yourself,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, man?” she replied, pounding at the dough; “will you have +found that in the Bible, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” I said solemnly, “you must not laugh at me just now. +God knows I am in no heart for laughing. If we could get your father with us, +it would be best; but with him or without him, I want you far away from here, +my girl; for your own sake, and for mine, ay, and for your father’s too, +I want you far—far away from here. I came with other thoughts; I came +here as a man comes home; now it is all changed, and I have no desire nor hope +but to flee—for that’s the word—flee, like a bird out of the +fowler’s snare, from this accursed island.” +</p> + +<p> +She had stopped her work by this time. +</p> + +<p> +“And do you think, now,” said she, “do you think, now, I have +neither eyes nor ears? Do ye think I havenae broken my heart to have these +braws (as he calls them, God forgive him!) thrown into the sea? Do ye think I +have lived with him, day in, day out, and not seen what you saw in an hour or +two? No,” she said, “I know there’s wrong in it; what wrong, +I neither know nor want to know. There was never an ill thing made better by +meddling, that I could hear of. But, my lad, you must never ask me to leave my +father. While the breath is in his body, I’ll be with him. And he’s +not long for here, either: that I can tell you, Charlie—he’s not +long for here. The mark is on his brow; and better so—maybe better +so.” +</p> + +<p> +I was a while silent, not knowing what to say; and when I roused my head at +last to speak, she got before me. +</p> + +<p> +“Charlie,” she said, “what’s right for me, neednae be +right for you. There’s sin upon this house and trouble; you are a +stranger; take your things upon your back and go your ways to better places and +to better folk, and if you were ever minded to come back, though it were twenty +years syne, you would find me aye waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary Ellen,” I said, “I asked you to be my wife, and you +said as good as yes. That’s done for good. Wherever you are, I am; as I +shall answer to my God.” +</p> + +<p> +As I said the words, the wind suddenly burst out raving, and then seemed to +stand still and shudder round the house of Aros. It was the first squall, or +prologue, of the coming tempest, and as we started and looked about us, we +found that a gloom, like the approach of evening, had settled round the house. +</p> + +<p> +“God pity all poor folks at sea!” she said. “We’ll see +no more of my father till the morrow’s morning.” +</p> + +<p> +And then she told me, as we sat by the fire and hearkened to the rising gusts, +of how this change had fallen upon my uncle. All last winter he had been dark +and fitful in his mind. Whenever the Roost ran high, or, as Mary said, whenever +the Merry Men were dancing, he would lie out for hours together on the Head, if +it were at night, or on the top of Aros by day, watching the tumult of the sea, +and sweeping the horizon for a sail. After February the tenth, when the +wealth-bringing wreck was cast ashore at Sandag, he had been at first +unnaturally gay, and his excitement had never fallen in degree, but only +changed in kind from dark to darker. He neglected his work, and kept Rorie +idle. They two would speak together by the hour at the gable end, in guarded +tones and with an air of secrecy and almost of guilt; and if she questioned +either, as at first she sometimes did, her inquiries were put aside with +confusion. Since Rorie had first remarked the fish that hung about the ferry, +his master had never set foot but once upon the mainland of the Ross. That +once—it was in the height of the springs—he had passed dryshod +while the tide was out; but, having lingered overlong on the far side, found +himself cut off from Aros by the returning waters. It was with a shriek of +agony that he had leaped across the gut, and he had reached home thereafter in +a fever-fit of fear. A fear of the sea, a constant haunting thought of the sea, +appeared in his talk and devotions, and even in his looks when he was silent. +</p> + +<p> +Rorie alone came in to supper; but a little later my uncle appeared, took a +bottle under his arm, put some bread in his pocket, and set forth again to his +outlook, followed this time by Rorie. I heard that the schooner was losing +ground, but the crew were still fighting every inch with hopeless ingenuity and +course; and the news filled my mind with blackness. +</p> + +<p> +A little after sundown the full fury of the gale broke forth, such a gale as I +have never seen in summer, nor, seeing how swiftly it had come, even in winter. +Mary and I sat in silence, the house quaking overhead, the tempest howling +without, the fire between us sputtering with raindrops. Our thoughts were far +away with the poor fellows on the schooner, or my not less unhappy uncle, +houseless on the promontory; and yet ever and again we were startled back to +ourselves, when the wind would rise and strike the gable like a solid body, or +suddenly fall and draw away, so that the fire leaped into flame and our hearts +bounded in our sides. Now the storm in its might would seize and shake the four +corners of the roof, roaring like Leviathan in anger. Anon, in a lull, cold +eddies of tempest moved shudderingly in the room, lifting the hair upon our +heads and passing between us as we sat. And again the wind would break forth in +a chorus of melancholy sounds, hooting low in the chimney, wailing with +flutelike softness round the house. +</p> + +<p> +It was perhaps eight o’clock when Rorie came in and pulled me +mysteriously to the door. My uncle, it appeared, had frightened even his +constant comrade; and Rorie, uneasy at his extravagance, prayed me to come out +and share the watch. I hastened to do as I was asked; the more readily as, what +with fear and horror, and the electrical tension of the night, I was myself +restless and disposed for action. I told Mary to be under no alarm, for I +should be a safeguard on her father; and wrapping myself warmly in a plaid, I +followed Rorie into the open air. +</p> + +<p> +The night, though we were so little past midsummer, was as dark as January. +Intervals of a groping twilight alternated with spells of utter blackness; and +it was impossible to trace the reason of these changes in the flying horror of +the sky. The wind blew the breath out of a man’s nostrils; all heaven +seemed to thunder overhead like one huge sail; and when there fell a momentary +lull on Aros, we could hear the gusts dismally sweeping in the distance. Over +all the lowlands of the Ross, the wind must have blown as fierce as on the open +sea; and God only knows the uproar that was raging around the head of Ben Kyaw. +Sheets of mingled spray and rain were driven in our faces. All round the isle +of Aros the surf, with an incessant, hammering thunder, beat upon the reefs and +beaches. Now louder in one place, now lower in another, like the combinations +of orchestral music, the constant mass of sound was hardly varied for a moment. +And loud above all this hurly-burly I could hear the changeful voices of the +Roost and the intermittent roaring of the Merry Men. At that hour, there +flashed into my mind the reason of the name that they were called. For the +noise of them seemed almost mirthful, as it out-topped the other noises of the +night; or if not mirthful, yet instinct with a portentous joviality. Nay, and +it seemed even human. As when savage men have drunk away their reason, and, +discarding speech, bawl together in their madness by the hour; so, to my ears, +these deadly breakers shouted by Aros in the night. +</p> + +<p> +Arm in arm, and staggering against the wind, Rorie and I won every yard of +ground with conscious effort. We slipped on the wet sod, we fell together +sprawling on the rocks. Bruised, drenched, beaten, and breathless, it must have +taken us near half an hour to get from the house down to the Head that +overlooks the Roost. There, it seemed, was my uncle’s favourite +observatory. Right in the face of it, where the cliff is highest and most +sheer, a hump of earth, like a parapet, makes a place of shelter from the +common winds, where a man may sit in quiet and see the tide and the mad billows +contending at his feet. As he might look down from the window of a house upon +some street disturbance, so, from this post, he looks down upon the tumbling of +the Merry Men. On such a night, of course, he peers upon a world of blackness, +where the waters wheel and boil, where the waves joust together with the noise +of an explosion, and the foam towers and vanishes in the twinkling of an eye. +Never before had I seen the Merry Men thus violent. The fury, height, and +transiency of their spoutings was a thing to be seen and not recounted. High +over our heads on the cliff rose their white columns in the darkness; and the +same instant, like phantoms, they were gone. Sometimes three at a time would +thus aspire and vanish; sometimes a gust took them, and the spray would fall +about us, heavy as a wave. And yet the spectacle was rather maddening in its +levity than impressive by its force. Thought was beaten down by the confounding +uproar—a gleeful vacancy possessed the brains of men, a state akin to +madness; and I found myself at times following the dance of the Merry Men as it +were a tune upon a jigging instrument. +</p> + +<p> +I first caught sight of my uncle when we were still some yards away in one of +the flying glimpses of twilight that chequered the pitch darkness of the night. +He was standing up behind the parapet, his head thrown back and the bottle to +his mouth. As he put it down, he saw and recognised us with a toss of one hand +fleeringly above his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he been drinking?” shouted I to Rorie. +</p> + +<p> +“He will aye be drunk when the wind blaws,” returned Rorie in the +same high key, and it was all that I could do to hear him. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—was he so—in February?” I inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Rorie’s “Ay” was a cause of joy to me. The murder, then, had +not sprung in cold blood from calculation; it was an act of madness no more to +be condemned than to be pardoned. My uncle was a dangerous madman, if you will, +but he was not cruel and base as I had feared. Yet what a scene for a carouse, +what an incredible vice, was this that the poor man had chosen! I have always +thought drunkenness a wild and almost fearful pleasure, rather demoniacal than +human; but drunkenness, out here in the roaring blackness, on the edge of a +cliff above that hell of waters, the man’s head spinning like the Roost, +his foot tottering on the edge of death, his ear watching for the signs of +ship-wreck, surely that, if it were credible in any one, was morally impossible +in a man like my uncle, whose mind was set upon a damnatory creed and haunted +by the darkest superstitions. Yet so it was; and, as we reached the bight of +shelter and could breathe again, I saw the man’s eyes shining in the +night with an unholy glimmer. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, Charlie, man, it’s grand!” he cried. “See to +them!” he continued, dragging me to the edge of the abyss from whence +arose that deafening clamour and those clouds of spray; “see to them +dancin’, man! Is that no wicked?” +</p> + +<p> +He pronounced the word with gusto, and I thought it suited with the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re yowlin’ for thon schooner,” he went on, his +thin, insane voice clearly audible in the shelter of the bank, “an’ +she’s comin’ aye nearer, aye nearer, aye nearer an’ nearer +an’ nearer; an’ they ken’t, the folk kens it, they ken wool +it’s by wi’ them. Charlie, lad, they’re a’ drunk in yon +schooner, a’ dozened wi’ drink. They were a’ drunk in the +<i>Christ-Anna</i>, at the hinder end. There’s nane could droon at sea +wantin’ the brandy. Hoot awa, what do you ken?” with a sudden blast +of anger. “I tell ye, it cannae be; they droon withoot it. +Ha’e,” holding out the bottle, “tak’ a sowp.” +</p> + +<p> +I was about to refuse, but Rorie touched me as if in warning; and indeed I had +already thought better of the movement. I took the bottle, therefore, and not +only drank freely myself, but contrived to spill even more as I was doing so. +It was pure spirit, and almost strangled me to swallow. My kinsman did not +observe the loss, but, once more throwing back his head, drained the remainder +to the dregs. Then, with a loud laugh, he cast the bottle forth among the Merry +Men, who seemed to leap up, shouting to receive it. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha’e, bairns!” he cried, “there’s your +han’sel. Ye’ll get bonnier nor that, or morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, out in the black night before us, and not two hundred yards away, we +heard, at a moment when the wind was silent, the clear note of a human voice. +Instantly the wind swept howling down upon the Head, and the Roost bellowed, +and churned, and danced with a new fury. But we had heard the sound, and we +knew, with agony, that this was the doomed ship now close on ruin, and that +what we had heard was the voice of her master issuing his last command. +Crouching together on the edge, we waited, straining every sense, for the +inevitable end. It was long, however, and to us it seemed like ages, ere the +schooner suddenly appeared for one brief instant, relieved against a tower of +glimmering foam. I still see her reefed mainsail flapping loose, as the boom +fell heavily across the deck; I still see the black outline of the hull, and +still think I can distinguish the figure of a man stretched upon the tiller. +Yet the whole sight we had of her passed swifter than lightning; the very wave +that disclosed her fell burying her for ever; the mingled cry of many voices at +the point of death rose and was quenched in the roaring of the Merry Men. And +with that the tragedy was at an end. The strong ship, with all her gear, and +the lamp perhaps still burning in the cabin, the lives of so many men, precious +surely to others, dear, at least, as heaven to themselves, had all, in that one +moment, gone down into the surging waters. They were gone like a dream. And the +wind still ran and shouted, and the senseless waters in the Roost still leaped +and tumbled as before. +</p> + +<p> +How long we lay there together, we three, speechless and motionless, is more +than I can tell, but it must have been for long. At length, one by one, and +almost mechanically, we crawled back into the shelter of the bank. As I lay +against the parapet, wholly wretched and not entirely master of my mind, I +could hear my kinsman maundering to himself in an altered and melancholy mood. +Now he would repeat to himself with maudlin iteration, “Sic a fecht as +they had—sic a sair fecht as they had, puir lads, puir lads!” and +anon he would bewail that “a’ the gear was as gude’s +tint,” because the ship had gone down among the Merry Men instead of +stranding on the shore; and throughout, the name—the +<i>Christ-Anna</i>—would come and go in his divagations, pronounced with +shuddering awe. The storm all this time was rapidly abating. In half an hour +the wind had fallen to a breeze, and the change was accompanied or caused by a +heavy, cold, and plumping rain. I must then have fallen asleep, and when I came +to myself, drenched, stiff, and unrefreshed, day had already broken, grey, wet, +discomfortable day; the wind blew in faint and shifting capfuls, the tide was +out, the Roost was at its lowest, and only the strong beating surf round all +the coasts of Aros remained to witness of the furies of the night. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +A MAN OUT OF THE SEA.</h3> + +<p> +Rorie set out for the house in search of warmth and breakfast; but my uncle was +bent upon examining the shores of Aros, and I felt it a part of duty to +accompany him throughout. He was now docile and quiet, but tremulous and weak +in mind and body; and it was with the eagerness of a child that he pursued his +exploration. He climbed far down upon the rocks; on the beaches, he pursued the +retreating breakers. The merest broken plank or rag of cordage was a treasure +in his eyes to be secured at the peril of his life. To see him, with weak and +stumbling footsteps, expose himself to the pursuit of the surf, or the snares +and pitfalls of the weedy rock, kept me in a perpetual terror. My arm was ready +to support him, my hand clutched him by the skirt, I helped him to draw his +pitiful discoveries beyond the reach of the returning wave; a nurse +accompanying a child of seven would have had no different experience. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, weakened as he was by the reaction from his madness of the night before, +the passions that smouldered in his nature were those of a strong man. His +terror of the sea, although conquered for the moment, was still undiminished; +had the sea been a lake of living flames, he could not have shrunk more +panically from its touch; and once, when his foot slipped and he plunged to the +midleg into a pool of water, the shriek that came up out of his soul was like +the cry of death. He sat still for a while, panting like a dog, after that; but +his desire for the spoils of shipwreck triumphed once more over his fears; once +more he tottered among the curded foam; once more he crawled upon the rocks +among the bursting bubbles; once more his whole heart seemed to be set on +driftwood, fit, if it was fit for anything, to throw upon the fire. Pleased as +he was with what he found, he still incessantly grumbled at his ill-fortune. +</p> + +<p> +“Aros,” he said, “is no a place for wrecks +ava’—no ava’. A’ the years I’ve dwalt here, this +ane maks the second; and the best o’ the gear clean tint!” +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle,” said I, for we were now on a stretch of open sand, where +there was nothing to divert his mind, “I saw you last night, as I never +thought to see you—you were drunk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Na, na,” he said, “no as bad as that. I had been drinking, +though. And to tell ye the God’s truth, it’s a thing I cannae mend. +There’s nae soberer man than me in my ordnar; but when I hear the wind +blaw in my lug, it’s my belief that I gang gyte.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a religious man,” I replied, “and this is +sin’. +</p> + +<p> +“Ou,” he returned, “if it wasnae sin, I dinnae ken that I +would care for’t. Ye see, man, it’s defiance. There’s a sair +spang o’ the auld sin o’ the warld in you sea; it’s an +unchristian business at the best o’t; an’ whiles when it gets up, +an’ the wind skreights—the wind an’ her are a kind of sib, +I’m thinkin’—an’ thae Merry Men, the daft callants, +blawin’ and lauchin’, and puir souls in the deid thraws +warstlin’ the leelang nicht wi’ their bit ships—weel, it +comes ower me like a glamour. I’m a deil, I ken’t. But I think +naething o’ the puir sailor lads; I’m wi’ the sea, I’m +just like ane o’ her ain Merry Men.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought I should touch him in a joint of his harness. I turned me towards the +sea; the surf was running gaily, wave after wave, with their manes blowing +behind them, riding one after another up the beach, towering, curving, falling +one upon another on the trampled sand. Without, the salt air, the scared gulls, +the widespread army of the sea-chargers, neighing to each other, as they +gathered together to the assault of Aros; and close before us, that line on the +flat sands that, with all their number and their fury, they might never pass. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus far shalt thou go,” said I, “and no farther.” And +then I quoted as solemnly as I was able a verse that I had often before fitted +to the chorus of the breakers:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But yet the Lord that is on high,<br /> +Is more of might by far,<br /> +Than noise of many waters is,<br /> +As great sea billows are. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said my kinsinan, “at the hinder end, the Lord will +triumph; I dinnae misdoobt that. But here on earth, even silly men-folk daur +Him to His face. It is nae wise; I am nae sayin’ that it’s wise; +but it’s the pride of the eye, and it’s the lust o’ life, +an’ it’s the wale o’ pleesures.” +</p> + +<p> +I said no more, for we had now begun to cross a neck of land that lay between +us and Sandag; and I withheld my last appeal to the man’s better reason +till we should stand upon the spot associated with his crime. Nor did he pursue +the subject; but he walked beside me with a firmer step. The call that I had +made upon his mind acted like a stimulant, and I could see that he had +forgotten his search for worthless jetsam, in a profound, gloomy, and yet +stirring train of thought. In three or four minutes we had topped the brae and +begun to go down upon Sandag. The wreck had been roughly handled by the sea; +the stem had been spun round and dragged a little lower down; and perhaps the +stern had been forced a little higher, for the two parts now lay entirely +separate on the beach. When we came to the grave I stopped, uncovered my head +in the thick rain, and, looking my kinsman in the face, addressed him. +</p> + +<p> +“A man,” said I, “was in God’s providence suffered to +escape from mortal dangers; he was poor, he was naked, he was wet, he was +weary, he was a stranger; he had every claim upon the bowels of your +compassion; it may be that he was the salt of the earth, holy, helpful, and +kind; it may be he was a man laden with iniquities to whom death was the +beginning of torment. I ask you in the sight of heaven: Gordon Darnaway, where +is the man for whom Christ died?” +</p> + +<p> +He started visibly at the last words; but there came no answer, and his face +expressed no feeling but a vague alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“You were my father’s brother,” I continued; “You, have +taught me to count your house as if it were my father’s house; and we are +both sinful men walking before the Lord among the sins and dangers of this +life. It is by our evil that God leads us into good; we sin, I dare not say by +His temptation, but I must say with His consent; and to any but the brutish man +his sins are the beginning of wisdom. God has warned you by this crime; He +warns you still by the bloody grave between our feet; and if there shall follow +no repentance, no improvement, no return to Him, what can we look for but the +following of some memorable judgment?” +</p> + +<p> +Even as I spoke the words, the eyes of my uncle wandered from my face. A change +fell upon his looks that cannot be described; his features seemed to dwindle in +size, the colour faded from his cheeks, one hand rose waveringly and pointed +over my shoulder into the distance, and the oft-repeated name fell once more +from his lips: “The <i>Christ-Anna</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +I turned; and if I was not appalled to the same degree, as I return thanks to +Heaven that I had not the cause, I was still startled by the sight that met my +eyes. The form of a man stood upright on the cabin-hutch of the wrecked ship; +his back was towards us; he appeared to be scanning the offing with shaded +eyes, and his figure was relieved to its full height, which was plainly very +great, against the sea and sky. I have said a thousand times that I am not +superstitious; but at that moment, with my mind running upon death and sin, the +unexplained appearance of a stranger on that sea-girt, solitary island filled +me with a surprise that bordered close on terror. It seemed scarce possible +that any human soul should have come ashore alive in such a sea as had rated +last night along the coasts of Aros; and the only vessel within miles had gone +down before our eyes among the Merry Men. I was assailed with doubts that made +suspense unbearable, and, to put the matter to the touch at once, stepped +forward and hailed the figure like a ship. +</p> + +<p> +He turned about, and I thought he started to behold us. At this my courage +instantly revived, and I called and signed to him to draw near, and he, on his +part, dropped immediately to the sands, and began slowly to approach, with many +stops and hesitations. At each repeated mark of the man’s uneasiness I +grew the more confident myself; and I advanced another step, encouraging him as +I did so with my head and hand. It was plain the castaway had heard indifferent +accounts of our island hospitality; and indeed, about this time, the people +farther north had a sorry reputation. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” I said, “the man is black!” +</p> + +<p> +And just at that moment, in a voice that I could scarce have recognised, my +kinsman began swearing and praying in a mingled stream. I looked at him; he had +fallen on his knees, his face was agonised; at each step of the +castaway’s the pitch of his voice rose, the volubility of his utterance +and the fervour of his language redoubled. I call it prayer, for it was +addressed to God; but surely no such ranting incongruities were ever before +addressed to the Creator by a creature: surely if prayer can be a sin, this mad +harangue was sinful. I ran to my kinsman, I seized him by the shoulders, I +dragged him to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence, man,” said I, “respect your God in words, if not in +action. Here, on the very scene of your transgressions, He sends you an +occasion of atonement. Forward and embrace it; welcome like a father yon +creature who comes trembling to your mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +With that, I tried to force him towards the black; but he felled me to the +ground, burst from my grasp, leaving the shoulder of his jacket, and fled up +the hillside towards the top of Aros like a deer. I staggered to my feet again, +bruised and somewhat stunned; the negro had paused in surprise, perhaps in +terror, some halfway between me and the wreck; my uncle was already far away, +bounding from rock to rock; and I thus found myself torn for a time between two +duties. But I judged, and I pray Heaven that I judged rightly, in favour of the +poor wretch upon the sands; his misfortune was at least not plainly of his own +creation; it was one, besides, that I could certainly relieve; and I had begun +by that time to regard my uncle as an incurable and dismal lunatic. I advanced +accordingly towards the black, who now awaited my approach with folded arms, +like one prepared for either destiny. As I came nearer, he reached forth his +hand with a great gesture, such as I had seen from the pulpit, and spoke to me +in something of a pulpit voice, but not a word was comprehensible. I tried him +first in English, then in Gaelic, both in vain; so that it was clear we must +rely upon the tongue of looks and gestures. Thereupon I signed to him to follow +me, which he did readily and with a grave obeisance like a fallen king; all the +while there had come no shade of alteration in his face, neither of anxiety +while he was still waiting, nor of relief now that he was reassured; if he were +a slave, as I supposed, I could not but judge he must have fallen from some +high place in his own country, and fallen as he was, I could not but admire his +bearing. As we passed the grave, I paused and raised my hands and eyes to +heaven in token of respect and sorrow for the dead; and he, as if in answer, +bowed low and spread his hands abroad; it was a strange motion, but done like a +thing of common custom; and I supposed it was ceremonial in the land from which +he came. At the same time he pointed to my uncle, whom we could just see +perched upon a knoll, and touched his head to indicate that he was mad. +</p> + +<p> +We took the long way round the shore, for I feared to excite my uncle if we +struck across the island; and as we walked, I had time enough to mature the +little dramatic exhibition by which I hoped to satisfy my doubts. Accordingly, +pausing on a rock, I proceeded to imitate before the negro the action of the +man whom I had seen the day before taking bearings with the compass at Sandag. +He understood me at once, and, taking the imitation out of my hands, showed me +where the boat was, pointed out seaward as if to indicate the position of the +schooner, and then down along the edge of the rock with the words +“Espirito Santo,” strangely pronounced, but clear enough for +recognition. I had thus been right in my conjecture; the pretended historical +inquiry had been but a cloak for treasure-hunting; the man who had played on +Dr. Robertson was the same as the foreigner who visited Grisapol in spring, and +now, with many others, lay dead under the Roost of Aros: there had their greed +brought them, there should their bones be tossed for evermore. In the meantime +the black continued his imitation of the scene, now looking up skyward as +though watching the approach of the storm now, in the character of a seaman, +waving the rest to come aboard; now as an officer, running along the rock and +entering the boat; and anon bending over imaginary oars with the air of a +hurried boatman; but all with the same solemnity of manner, so that I was never +even moved to smile. Lastly, he indicated to me, by a pantomime not to be +described in words, how he himself had gone up to examine the stranded wreck, +and, to his grief and indignation, had been deserted by his comrades; and +thereupon folded his arms once more, and stooped his head, like one accepting +fate. +</p> + +<p> +The mystery of his presence being thus solved for me, I explained to him by +means of a sketch the fate of the vessel and of all aboard her. He showed no +surprise nor sorrow, and, with a sudden lifting of his open hand, seemed to +dismiss his former friends or masters (whichever they had been) into +God’s pleasure. Respect came upon me and grew stronger, the more I +observed him; I saw he had a powerful mind and a sober and severe character, +such as I loved to commune with; and before we reached the house of Aros I had +almost forgotten, and wholly forgiven him, his uncanny colour. +</p> + +<p> +To Mary I told all that had passed without suppression, though I own my heart +failed me; but I did wrong to doubt her sense of justice. +</p> + +<p> +“You did the right,” she said. “God’s will be +done.” And she set out meat for us at once. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as I was satisfied, I bade Rorie keep an eye upon the castaway, who was +still eating, and set forth again myself to find my uncle. I had not gone far +before I saw him sitting in the same place, upon the very topmost knoll, and +seemingly in the same attitude as when I had last observed him. From that +point, as I have said, the most of Aros and the neighbouring Ross would be +spread below him like a map; and it was plain that he kept a bright look-out in +all directions, for my head had scarcely risen above the summit of the first +ascent before he had leaped to his feet and turned as if to face me. I hailed +him at once, as well as I was able, in the same tones and words as I had often +used before, when I had come to summon him to dinner. He made not so much as a +movement in reply. I passed on a little farther, and again tried parley, with +the same result. But when I began a second time to advance, his insane fears +blazed up again, and still in dead silence, but with incredible speed, he began +to flee from before me along the rocky summit of the hill. An hour before, he +had been dead weary, and I had been comparatively active. But now his strength +was recruited by the fervour of insanity, and it would have been vain for me to +dream of pursuit. Nay, the very attempt, I thought, might have inflamed his +terrors, and thus increased the miseries of our position. And I had nothing +left but to turn homeward and make my sad report to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +She heard it, as she had heard the first, with a concerned composure, and, +bidding me lie down and take that rest of which I stood so much in need, set +forth herself in quest of her misguided father. At that age it would have been +a strange thing that put me from either meat or sleep; I slept long and deep; +and it was already long past noon before I awoke and came downstairs into the +kitchen. Mary, Rorie, and the black castaway were seated about the fire in +silence; and I could see that Mary had been weeping. There was cause enough, as +I soon learned, for tears. First she, and then Rorie, had been forth to seek my +uncle; each in turn had found him perched upon the hill-top, and from each in +turn he had silently and swiftly fled. Rorie had tried to chase him, but in +vain; madness lent a new vigour to his bounds; he sprang from rock to rock over +the widest gullies; he scoured like the wind along the hill-tops; he doubled +and twisted like a hare before the dogs; and Rorie at length gave in; and the +last that he saw, my uncle was seated as before upon the crest of Aros. Even +during the hottest excitement of the chase, even when the fleet-footed servant +had come, for a moment, very near to capture him, the poor lunatic had uttered +not a sound. He fled, and he was silent, like a beast; and this silence had +terrified his pursuer. +</p> + +<p> +There was something heart-breaking in the situation. How to capture the madman, +how to feed him in the meanwhile, and what to do with him when he was captured, +were the three difficulties that we had to solve. +</p> + +<p> +“The black,” said I, “is the cause of this attack. It may +even be his presence in the house that keeps my uncle on the hill. We have done +the fair thing; he has been fed and warmed under this roof; now I propose that +Rorie put him across the bay in the coble, and take him through the Ross as far +as Grisapol.” +</p> + +<p> +In this proposal Mary heartily concurred; and bidding the black follow us, we +all three descended to the pier. Certainly, Heaven’s will was declared +against Gordon Darnaway; a thing had happened, never paralleled before in Aros; +during the storm, the coble had broken loose, and, striking on the rough +splinters of the pier, now lay in four feet of water with one side stove in. +Three days of work at least would be required to make her float. But I was not +to be beaten. I led the whole party round to where the gut was narrowest, swam +to the other side, and called to the black to follow me. He signed, with the +same clearness and quiet as before, that he knew not the art; and there was +truth apparent in his signals, it would have occurred to none of us to doubt +his truth; and that hope being over, we must all go back even as we came to the +house of Aros, the negro walking in our midst without embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +All we could do that day was to make one more attempt to communicate with the +unhappy madman. Again he was visible on his perch; again he fled in silence. +But food and a great cloak were at least left for his comfort; the rain, +besides, had cleared away, and the night promised to be even warm. We might +compose ourselves, we thought, until the morrow; rest was the chief requisite, +that we might be strengthened for unusual exertions; and as none cared to talk, +we separated at an early hour. +</p> + +<p> +I lay long awake, planning a campaign for the morrow. I was to place the black +on the side of Sandag, whence he should head my uncle towards the house; Rorie +in the west, I on the east, were to complete the cordon, as best we might. It +seemed to me, the more I recalled the configuration of the island, that it +should be possible, though hard, to force him down upon the low ground along +Aros Bay; and once there, even with the strength of his madness, ultimate +escape was hardly to be feared. It was on his terror of the black that I +relied; for I made sure, however he might run, it would not be in the direction +of the man whom he supposed to have returned from the dead, and thus one point +of the compass at least would be secure. +</p> + +<p> +When at length I fell asleep, it was to be awakened shortly after by a dream of +wrecks, black men, and submarine adventure; and I found myself so shaken and +fevered that I arose, descended the stair, and stepped out before the house. +Within, Rorie and the black were asleep together in the kitchen; outside was a +wonderful clear night of stars, with here and there a cloud still hanging, last +stragglers of the tempest. It was near the top of the flood, and the Merry Men +were roaring in the windless quiet of the night. Never, not even in the height +of the tempest, had I heard their song with greater awe. Now, when the winds +were gathered home, when the deep was dandling itself back into its summer +slumber, and when the stars rained their gentle light over land and sea, the +voice of these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc. They seemed, indeed, +to be a part of the world’s evil and the tragic side of life. Nor were +their meaningless vociferations the only sounds that broke the silence of the +night. For I could hear, now shrill and thrilling and now almost drowned, the +note of a human voice that accompanied the uproar of the Roost. I knew it for +my kinsman’s; and a great fear fell upon me of God’s judgments, and +the evil in the world. I went back again into the darkness of the house as into +a place of shelter, and lay long upon my bed, pondering these mysteries. +</p> + +<p> +It was late when I again woke, and I leaped into my clothes and hurried to the +kitchen. No one was there; Rorie and the black had both stealthily departed +long before; and my heart stood still at the discovery. I could rely on +Rorie’s heart, but I placed no trust in his discretion. If he had thus +set out without a word, he was plainly bent upon some service to my uncle. But +what service could he hope to render even alone, far less in the company of the +man in whom my uncle found his fears incarnated? Even if I were not already too +late to prevent some deadly mischief, it was plain I must delay no longer. With +the thought I was out of the house; and often as I have run on the rough sides +of Aros, I never ran as I did that fatal morning. I do not believe I put twelve +minutes to the whole ascent. +</p> + +<p> +My uncle was gone from his perch. The basket had indeed been torn open and the +meat scattered on the turf; but, as we found afterwards, no mouthful had been +tasted; and there was not another trace of human existence in that wide field +of view. Day had already filled the clear heavens; the sun already lighted in a +rosy bloom upon the crest of Ben Kyaw; but all below me the rude knolls of Aros +and the shield of sea lay steeped in the clear darkling twilight of the dawn. +</p> + +<p> +“Rorie!” I cried; and again “Rorie!” My voice died in +the silence, but there came no answer back. If there were indeed an enterprise +afoot to catch my uncle, it was plainly not in fleetness of foot, but in +dexterity of stalking, that the hunters placed their trust. I ran on farther, +keeping the higher spurs, and looking right and left, nor did I pause again +till I was on the mount above Sandag. I could see the wreck, the uncovered belt +of sand, the waves idly beating, the long ledge of rocks, and on either hand +the tumbled knolls, boulders, and gullies of the island. But still no human +thing. +</p> + +<p> +At a stride the sunshine fell on Aros, and the shadows and colours leaped into +being. Not half a moment later, below me to the west, sheep began to scatter as +in a panic. There came a cry. I saw my uncle running. I saw the black jump up +in hot pursuit; and before I had time to understand, Rorie also had appeared, +calling directions in Gaelic as to a dog herding sheep. +</p> + +<p> +I took to my heels to interfere, and perhaps I had done better to have waited +where I was, for I was the means of cutting off the madman’s last escape. +There was nothing before him from that moment but the grave, the wreck, and the +sea in Sandag Bay. And yet Heaven knows that what I did was for the best. +</p> + +<p> +My uncle Gordon saw in what direction, horrible to him, the chase was driving +him. He doubled, darting to the right and left; but high as the fever ran in +his veins, the black was still the swifter. Turn where he would, he was still +forestalled, still driven toward the scene of his crime. Suddenly he began to +shriek aloud, so that the coast re-echoed; and now both I and Rorie were +calling on the black to stop. But all was vain, for it was written otherwise. +The pursuer still ran, the chase still sped before him screaming; they avoided +the grave, and skimmed close past the timbers of the wreck; in a breath they +had cleared the sand; and still my kinsman did not pause, but dashed straight +into the surf; and the black, now almost within reach, still followed swiftly +behind him. Rorie and I both stopped, for the thing was now beyond the hands of +men, and these were the decrees of God that came to pass before our eyes. There +was never a sharper ending. On that steep beach they were beyond their depth at +a bound; neither could swim; the black rose once for a moment with a throttling +cry; but the current had them, racing seaward; and if ever they came up again, +which God alone can tell, it would be ten minutes after, at the far end of Aros +Roost, where the seabirds hover fishing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="tale02"></a>WILL O’ THE MILL.</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +THE PLAIN AND THE STARS.</h3> + +<p> +The Mill here Will lived with his adopted parents stood in a falling valley +between pinewoods and great mountains. Above, hill after hill, soared upwards +until they soared out of the depth of the hardiest timber, and stood naked +against the sky. Some way up, a long grey village lay like a seam or a ray of +vapour on a wooded hillside; and when the wind was favourable, the sound of the +church bells would drop down, thin and silvery, to Will. Below, the valley grew +ever steeper and steeper, and at the same time widened out on either hand; and +from an eminence beside the mill it was possible to see its whole length and +away beyond it over a wide plain, where the river turned and shone, and moved +on from city to city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced that over this +valley there lay a pass into a neighbouring kingdom; so that, quiet and rural +as it was, the road that ran along beside the river was a high thoroughfare +between two splendid and powerful societies. All through the summer, +travelling-carriages came crawling up, or went plunging briskly downwards past +the mill; and as it happened that the other side was very much easier of +ascent, the path was not much frequented, except by people going in one +direction; and of all the carriages that Will saw go by, five-sixths were +plunging briskly downwards and only one-sixth crawling up. Much more was this +the case with foot-passengers. All the light-footed tourists, all the pedlars +laden with strange wares, were tending downward like the river that accompanied +their path. Nor was this all; for when Will was yet a child a disastrous war +arose over a great part of the world. The newspapers were full of defeats and +victories, the earth rang with cavalry hoofs, and often for days together and +for miles around the coil of battle terrified good people from their labours in +the field. Of all this, nothing was heard for a long time in the valley; but at +last one of the commanders pushed an army over the pass by forced marches, and +for three days horse and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum and standard, kept +pouring downward past the mill. All day the child stood and watched them on +their passage—the rhythmical stride, the pale, unshaven faces tanned +about the eyes, the discoloured regimentals and the tattered flags, filled him +with a sense of weariness, pity, and wonder; and all night long, after he was +in bed, he could hear the cannon pounding and the feet trampling, and the great +armament sweeping onward and downward past the mill. No one in the valley ever +heard the fate of the expedition, for they lay out of the way of gossip in +those troublous times; but Will saw one thing plainly, that not a man returned. +Whither had they all gone? Whither went all the tourists and pedlars with +strange wares? whither all the brisk barouches with servants in the dicky? +whither the water of the stream, ever coursing downward and ever renewed from +above? Even the wind blew oftener down the valley, and carried the dead leaves +along with it in the fall. It seemed like a great conspiracy of things animate +and inanimate; they all went downward, fleetly and gaily downward, and only he, +it seemed, remained behind, like a stock upon the wayside. It sometimes made +him glad when he noticed how the fishes kept their heads up stream. They, at +least, stood faithfully by him, while all else were posting downward to the +unknown world. +</p> + +<p> +One evening he asked the miller where the river went. +</p> + +<p> +“It goes down the valley,” answered he, “and turns a power of +mills—six score mills, they say, from here to Unterdeck—and is none +the wearier after all. And then it goes out into the lowlands, and waters the +great corn country, and runs through a sight of fine cities (so they say) where +kings live all alone in great palaces, with a sentry walling up and down before +the door. And it goes under bridges with stone men upon them, looking down and +smiling so curious it the water, and living folks leaning their elbows on the +wall and looking over too. And then it goes on and on, and down through marshes +and sands, until at last it falls into the sea, where the ships are that bring +parrots and tobacco from the Indies. Ay, it has a long trot before it as it +goes singing over our weir, bless its heart!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is the sea?” asked Will. +</p> + +<p> +“The sea!” cried the miller. “Lord help us all, it is the +greatest thing God made! That is where all the water in the world runs down +into a great salt lake. There it lies, as flat as my hand and as innocent-like +as a child; but they do say when the wind blows it gets up into water-mountains +bigger than any of ours, and swallows down great ships bigger than our mill, +and makes such a roaring that you can hear it miles away upon the land. There +are great fish in it five times bigger than a bull, and one old serpent as long +as our river and as old as all the world, with whiskers like a man, and a crown +of silver on her head.” +</p> + +<p> +Will thought he had never heard anything like this, and he kept on asking +question after question about the world that lay away down the river, with all +its perils and marvels, until the old miller became quite interested himself, +and at last took him by the hand and led him to the hilltop that overlooks the +valley and the plain. The sun was near setting, and hung low down in a +cloudless sky. Everything was defined and glorified in golden light. Will had +never seen so great an expanse of country in his life; he stood and gazed with +all his eyes. He could see the cities, and the woods and fields, and the bright +curves of the river, and far away to where the rim of the plain trenched along +the shining heavens. An over-mastering emotion seized upon the boy, soul and +body; his heart beat so thickly that he could not breathe; the scene swam +before his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round and round, and throw off, as it +turned, strange shapes which disappeared with the rapidity of thought, and were +succeeded by others. Will covered his face with his hands, and burst into a +violent fit of tears; and the poor miller, sadly disappointed and perplexed, +saw nothing better for it than to take him up in his arms and carry him home in +silence. +</p> + +<p> +From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. Something kept +tugging at his heart-strings; the running water carried his desires along with +it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the wind, as it ran over +innumerable tree-tops, hailed him with encouraging words; branches beckoned +downward; the open road, as it shouldered round the angles and went turning and +vanishing fast and faster down the valley, tortured him with its solicitations. +He spent long whiles on the eminence, looking down the rivershed and abroad on +the fat lowlands, and watched the clouds that travelled forth upon the sluggish +wind and trailed their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger by the +wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled downward by the +river. It did not matter what it was; everything that went that way, were it +cloud or carriage, bird or brown water in the stream, he felt his heart flow +out after it in an ecstasy of longing. +</p> + +<p> +We are told by men of science that all the ventures of mariners on the sea, all +that counter-marching of tribes and races that confounds old history with its +dust and rumour, sprang from nothing more abstruse than the laws of supply and +demand, and a certain natural instinct for cheap rations. To any one thinking +deeply, this will seem a dull and pitiful explanation. The tribes that came +swarming out of the North and East, if they were indeed pressed onward from +behind by others, were drawn at the same time by the magnetic influence of the +South and West. The fame of other lands had reached them; the name of the +eternal city rang in their ears; they were not colonists, but pilgrims; they +travelled towards wine and gold and sunshine, but their hearts were set on +something higher. That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble of humanity +that makes all high achievements and all miserable failure, the same that +spread wings with Icarus, the same that sent Columbus into the desolate +Atlantic, inspired and supported these barbarians on their perilous march. +There is one legend which profoundly represents their spirit, of how a flying +party of these wanderers encountered a very old man shod with iron. The old man +asked them whither they were going; and they answered with one voice: “To +the Eternal City!” He looked upon them gravely. “I have sought +it,” he said, “over the most part of the world. Three such pairs as +I now carry on my feet have I worn out upon this pilgrimage, and now the fourth +is growing slender underneath my steps. And all this while I have not found the +city.” And he turned and went his own way alone, leaving them astonished. +</p> + +<p> +And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will’s feeling for +the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, he felt as if his eyesight +would be purged and clarified, as if his hearing would grow more delicate, and +his very breath would come and go with luxury. He was transplanted and +withering where he was; he lay in a strange country and was sick for home. Bit +by bit, he pieced together broken notions of the world below: of the river, +ever moving and growing until it sailed forth into the majestic ocean; of the +cities, full of brisk and beautiful people, playing fountains, bands of music +and marble palaces, and lighted up at night from end to end with artificial +stars of gold; of the great churches, wise universities, brave armies, and +untold money lying stored in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved in the +sunshine, and the stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have said he was +sick as if for home: the figure halts. He was like some one lying in twilit, +formless preexistence, and stretching out his hands lovingly towards +many-coloured, many-sounding life. It was no wonder he was unhappy, he would go +and tell the fish: they were made for their life, wished for no more than worms +and running water, and a hole below a falling bank; but he was differently +designed, full of desires and aspirations, itching at the fingers, lusting with +the eyes, whom the whole variegated world could not satisfy with aspects. The +true life, the true bright sunshine, lay far out upon the plain. And O! to see +this sunlight once before he died! to move with a jocund spirit in a golden +land! to hear the trained singers and sweet church bells, and see the holiday +gardens! “And O fish!” he would cry, “if you would only turn +your noses down stream, you could swim so easily into the fabled waters and see +the vast ships passing over your head like clouds, and hear the great +water-hills making music over you all day long!” But the fish kept +looking patiently in their own direction, until Will hardly knew whether to +laugh or cry. +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something seen in a +picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a tourist, or caught sight +of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage window; but for the most +part it had been a mere symbol, which he contemplated from apart and with +something of a superstitious feeling. A time came at last when this was to be +changed. The miller, who was a greedy man in his way, and never forewent an +opportunity of honest profit, turned the mill-house into a little wayside inn, +and, several pieces of good fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and +got the position of post master on the road. It now became Will’s duty to +wait upon people, as they sat to break their fasts in the little arbour at the +top of the mill garden; and you may be sure that he kept his ears open, and +learned many new things about the outside world as he brought the omelette or +the wine. Nay, he would often get into conversation with single guests, and by +adroit questions and polite attention, not only gratify his own curiosity, but +win the goodwill of the travellers. Many complimented the old couple on their +serving-boy; and a professor was eager to take him away with him, and have him +properly educated in the plain. The miller and his wife were mightily +astonished and even more pleased. They thought it a very good thing that they +should have opened their inn. “You see,” the old man would remark, +“he has a kind of talent for a publican; he never would have made +anything else!” And so life wagged on in the valley, with high +satisfaction to all concerned but Will. Every carriage that left the inn-door +seemed to take a part of him away with it; and when people jestingly offered +him a lift, he could with difficulty command his emotion. Night after night he +would dream that he was awakened by flustered servants, and that a splendid +equipage waited at the door to carry him down into the plain; night after +night; until the dream, which had seemed all jollity to him at first, began to +take on a colour of gravity, and the nocturnal summons and waiting equipage +occupied a place in his mind as something to be both feared and hoped for. +</p> + +<p> +One day, when Will was about sixteen, a fat young man arrived at sunset to pass +the night. He was a contented-looking fellow, with a jolly eye, and carried a +knapsack. While dinner was preparing, he sat in the arbour to read a book; but +as soon as he had begun to observe Will, the book was laid aside; he was +plainly one of those who prefer living people to people made of ink and paper. +Will, on his part, although he had not been much interested in the stranger at +first sight, soon began to take a great deal of pleasure in his talk, which was +full of good nature and good sense, and at last conceived a great respect for +his character and wisdom. They sat far into the night; and about two in the +morning Will opened his heart to the young man, and told him how he longed to +leave the valley and what bright hopes he had connected with the cities of the +plain. The young man whistled, and then broke into a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“My young friend,” he remarked, “you are a very curious +little fellow to be sure, and wish a great many things which you will never +get. Why, you would feel quite ashamed if you knew how the little fellows in +these fairy cities of yours are all after the same sort of nonsense, and keep +breaking their hearts to get up into the mountains. And let me tell you, those +who go down into the plains are a very short while there before they wish +themselves heartily back again. The air is not so light nor so pure; nor is the +sun any brighter. As for the beautiful men and women, you would see many of +them in rags and many of them deformed with horrible disorders; and a city is +so hard a place for people who are poor and sensitive that many choose to die +by their own hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must think me very simple,” answered Will. “Although I +have never been out of this valley, believe me, I have used my eyes. I know how +one thing lives on another; for instance, how the fish hangs in the eddy to +catch his fellows; and the shepherd, who makes so pretty a picture carrying +home the lamb, is only carrying it home for dinner. I do not expect to find all +things right in your cities. That is not what troubles me; it might have been +that once upon a time; but although I live here always, I have asked many +questions and learned a great deal in these last years, and certainly enough to +cure me of my old fancies. But you would not have me die like a dog and not see +all that is to be seen, and do all that a man can do, let it be good or evil? +you would not have me spend all my days between this road here and the river, +and not so much as make a motion to be up and live my life?—I would +rather die out of hand,” he cried, “than linger on as I am +doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thousands of people,” said the young man, “live and die like +you, and are none the less happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Will, “if there are thousands who would like, why +should not one of them have my place?” +</p> + +<p> +It was quite dark; there was a hanging lamp in the arbour which lit up the +table and the faces of the speakers; and along the arch, the leaves upon the +trellis stood out illuminated against the night sky, a pattern of transparent +green upon a dusky purple. The fat young man rose, and, taking Will by the arm, +led him out under the open heavens. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever look at the stars?” he asked, pointing upwards. +</p> + +<p> +“Often and often,” answered Will. +</p> + +<p> +“And do you know what they are?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have fancied many things.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are worlds like ours,” said the young man. “Some of +them less; many of them a million times greater; and some of the least sparkles +that you see are not only worlds, but whole clusters of worlds turning about +each other in the midst of space. We do not know what there may be in any of +them; perhaps the answer to all our difficulties or the cure of all our +sufferings: and yet we can never reach them; not all the skill of the craftiest +of men can fit out a ship for the nearest of these our neighbours, nor would +the life of the most aged suffice for such a journey. When a great battle has +been lost or a dear friend is dead, when we are hipped or in high spirits, +there they are unweariedly shining overhead. We may stand down here, a whole +army of us together, and shout until we break our hearts, and not a whisper +reaches them. We may climb the highest mountain, and we are no nearer them. All +we can do is to stand down here in the garden and take off our hats; the +starshine lights upon our heads, and where mine is a little bald, I dare say +you can see it glisten in the darkness. The mountain and the mouse. That is +like to be all we shall ever have to do with Arcturus or Aldebaran. Can you +apply a parable?” he added, laying his hand upon Will’s shoulder. +“It is not the same thing as a reason, but usually vastly more +convincing.” +</p> + +<p> +Will hung his head a little, and then raised it once more to heaven. The stars +seemed to expand and emit a sharper brilliancy; and as he kept turning his eyes +higher and higher, they seemed to increase in multitude under his gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” he said, turning to the young man. “We are in a +rat-trap.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something of that size. Did you ever see a squirrel turning in a cage? +and another squirrel sitting philosophically over his nuts? I needn’t ask +you which of them looked more of a fool.” +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +THE PARSON’S MARJORY.</h3> + +<p> +After some years the old people died, both in one winter, very carefully tended +by their adopted son, and very quietly mourned when they were gone. People who +had heard of his roving fancies supposed he would hasten to sell the property, +and go down the river to push his fortunes. But there was never any sign of +such in intention on the part of Will. On the contrary, he had the inn set on a +better footing, and hired a couple of servants to assist him in carrying it on; +and there he settled down, a kind, talkative, inscrutable young man, six feet +three in his stockings, with an iron constitution and a friendly voice. He soon +began to take rank in the district as a bit of an oddity: it was not much to be +wondered at from the first, for he was always full of notions, and kept calling +the plainest common-sense in question; but what most raised the report upon him +was the odd circumstance of his courtship with the parson’s Marjory. +</p> + +<p> +The parson’s Marjory was a lass about nineteen, when Will would be about +thirty; well enough looking, and much better educated than any other girl in +that part of the country, as became her parentage. She held her head very high, +and had already refused several offers of marriage with a grand air, which had +got her hard names among the neighbours. For all that she was a good girl, and +one that would have made any man well contented. +</p> + +<p> +Will had never seen much of her; for although the church and parsonage were +only two miles from his own door, he was never known to go there but on +Sundays. It chanced, however, that the parsonage fell into disrepair, and had +to be dismantled; and the parson and his daughter took lodgings for a month or +so, on very much reduced terms, at Will’s inn. Now, what with the inn, +and the mill, and the old miller’s savings, our friend was a man of +substance; and besides that, he had a name for good temper and shrewdness, +which make a capital portion in marriage; and so it was currently gossiped, +among their ill-wishers, that the parson and his daughter had not chosen their +temporary lodging with their eyes shut. Will was about the last man in the +world to be cajoled or frightened into marriage. You had only to look into his +eyes, limpid and still like pools of water, and yet with a sort of clear light +that seemed to come from within, and you would understand at once that here was +one who knew his own mind, and would stand to it immovably. Marjory herself was +no weakling by her looks, with strong, steady eyes and a resolute and quiet +bearing. It might be a question whether she was not Will’s match in +stedfastness, after all, or which of them would rule the roost in marriage. But +Marjory had never given it a thought, and accompanied her father with the most +unshaken innocence and unconcern. +</p> + +<p> +The season was still so early that Will’s customers were few and far +between; but the lilacs were already flowering, and the weather was so mild +that the party took dinner under the trellice, with the noise of the river in +their ears and the woods ringing about them with the songs of birds. Will soon +began to take a particular pleasure in these dinners. The parson was rather a +dull companion, with a habit of dozing at table; but nothing rude or cruel ever +fell from his lips. And as for the parson’s daughter, she suited her +surroundings with the best grace imaginable; and whatever she said seemed so +pat and pretty that Will conceived a great idea of her talents. He could see +her face, as she leaned forward, against a background of rising pinewoods; her +eyes shone peaceably; the light lay around her hair like a kerchief; something +that was hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and Will could not contain +himself from gazing on her in an agreeable dismay. She looked, even in her +quietest moments, so complete in herself, and so quick with life down to her +finger tips and the very skirts of her dress, that the remainder of created +things became no more than a blot by comparison; and if Will glanced away from +her to her surroundings, the trees looked inanimate and senseless, the clouds +hung in heaven like dead things, and even the mountain tops were disenchanted. +The whole valley could not compare in looks with this one girl. +</p> + +<p> +Will was always observant in the society of his fellow-creatures; but his +observation became almost painfully eager in the case of Marjory. He listened +to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the same time, for the unspoken +commentary. Many kind, simple, and sincere speeches found an echo in his heart. +He became conscious of a soul beautifully poised upon itself, nothing doubting, +nothing desiring, clothed in peace. It was not possible to separate her +thoughts from her appearance. The turn of her wrist, the still sound of her +voice, the light in her eyes, the lines of her body, fell in tune with her +grave and gentle words, like the accompaniment that sustains and harmonises the +voice of the singer. Her influence was one thing, not to be divided or +discussed, only to be felt with gratitude and joy. To Will, her presence +recalled something of his childhood, and the thought of her took its place in +his mind beside that of dawn, of running water, and of the earliest violets and +lilacs. It is the property of things seen for the first time, or for the first +time after long, like the flowers in spring, to reawaken in us the sharp edge +of sense and that impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise passes out +of life with the coming of years; but the sight of a loved face is what renews +a man’s character from the fountain upwards. +</p> + +<p> +One day after dinner Will took a stroll among the firs; a grave beatitude +possessed him from top to toe, and he kept smiling to himself and the landscape +as he went. The river ran between the stepping-stones with a pretty wimple; a +bird sang loudly in the wood; the hill-tops looked immeasurably high, and as he +glanced at them from time to time seemed to contemplate his movements with a +beneficent but awful curiosity. His way took him to the eminence which +overlooked the plain; and there he sat down upon a stone, and fell into deep +and pleasant thought. The plain lay abroad with its cities and silver river; +everything was asleep, except a great eddy of birds which kept rising and +falling and going round and round in the blue air. He repeated Marjory’s +name aloud, and the sound of it gratified his ear. He shut his eyes, and her +image sprang up before him, quietly luminous and attended with good thoughts. +The river might run for ever; the birds fly higher and higher till they touched +the stars. He saw it was empty bustle after all; for here, without stirring a +feet, waiting patiently in his own narrow valley, he also had attained the +better sunlight. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Will made a sort of declaration across the dinner-table, while the +parson was filling his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Marjory,” he said, “I never knew any one I liked so +well as you. I am mostly a cold, unkindly sort of man; not from want of heart, +but out of strangeness in my way of thinking; and people seem far away from me. +’Tis as if there were a circle round me, which kept every one out but +you; I can hear the others talking and laughing; but you come quite close. +Maybe, this is disagreeable to you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Marjory made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak up, girl,” said the parson. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, now,” returned Will, “I wouldn’t press her, +parson. I feel tongue-tied myself, who am not used to it; and she’s a +woman, and little more than a child, when all is said. But for my part, as far +as I can understand what people mean by it, I fancy I must be what they call in +love. I do not wish to be held as committing myself; for I may be wrong; but +that is how I believe things are with me. And if Miss Marjory should feel any +otherwise on her part, mayhap she would be so kind as shake her head.” +</p> + +<p> +Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had heard. +</p> + +<p> +“How is that, parson?” asked Will. +</p> + +<p> +“The girl must speak,” replied the parson, laying down his pipe. +“Here’s our neighbour who says he loves you, Madge. Do you love +him, ay or no?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do,” said Marjory, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, that’s all that could be wished!” cried Will, +heartily. And he took her hand across the table, and held it a moment in both +of his with great satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“You must marry,” observed the parson, replacing his pipe in his +mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the right thing to do, think you?” demanded Will. +</p> + +<p> +“It is indispensable,” said the parson. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” replied the wooer. +</p> + +<p> +Two or three days passed away with great delight to Will, although a bystander +might scarce have found it out. He continued to take his meals opposite +Marjory, and to talk with her and gaze upon her in her father’s presence; +but he made no attempt to see her alone, nor in any other way changed his +conduct towards her from what it had been since the beginning. Perhaps the girl +was a little disappointed, and perhaps not unjustly; and yet if it had been +enough to be always in the thoughts of another person, and so pervade and alter +his whole life, she might have been thoroughly contented. For she was never out +of Will’s mind for an instant. He sat over the stream, and watched the +dust of the eddy, and the poised fish, and straining weeds; he wandered out +alone into the purple even, with all the blackbirds piping round him in the +wood; he rose early in the morning, and saw the sky turn from grey to gold, and +the light leap upon the hill-tops; and all the while he kept wondering if he +had never seen such things before, or how it was that they should look so +different now. The sound of his own mill-wheel, or of the wind among the trees, +confounded and charmed his heart. The most enchanting thoughts presented +themselves unbidden in his mind. He was so happy that he could not sleep at +night, and so restless, that he could hardly sit still out of her company. And +yet it seemed as if he avoided her rather than sought her out. +</p> + +<p> +One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will found Marjory in the garden +picking flowers, and as he came up with her, slackened his pace and continued +walking by her side. +</p> + +<p> +“You like flowers?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I love them dearly,” she replied. “Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no,” said he, “not so much. They are a very small +affair, when all is done. I can fancy people caring for them greatly, but not +doing as you are just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” she asked, pausing and looking up at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Plucking them,” said he. “They are a deal better off where +they are, and look a deal prettier, if you go to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to have them for my own,” she answered, “to carry +them near my heart, and keep them in my room. They tempt me when they grow +here; they seem to say, ‘Come and do something with us;’ but once I +have cut them and put them by, the charm is laid, and I can look at them with +quite an easy heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wish to possess them,” replied Will, “in order to think +no more about them. It’s a bit like killing the goose with the golden +eggs. It’s a bit like what I wished to do when I was a boy. Because I had +a fancy for looking out over the plain, I wished to go down there—where I +couldn’t look out over it any longer. Was not that fine reasoning? Dear, +dear, if they only thought of it, all the world would do like me; and you would +let your flowers alone, just as I stay up here in the mountains.” +Suddenly he broke off sharp. “By the Lord!” he cried. And when she +asked him what was wrong, he turned the question off and walked away into the +house with rather a humorous expression of face. +</p> + +<p> +He was silent at table; and after the night hid fallen and the stars had come +out overhead, he walked up and down for hours in the courtyard and garden with +an uneven pace. There was still a light in the window of Marjory’s room: +one little oblong patch of orange in a world of dark blue hills and silver +starlight. Will’s mind ran a great deal on the window; but his thoughts +were not very lover-like. “There she is in her room,” he thought, +“and there are the stars overhead:—a blessing upon both!” +Both were good influences in his life; both soothed and braced him in his +profound contentment with the world. And what more should he desire with +either? The fat young man and his councils were so present to his mind, that he +threw back his head, and, putting his hands before his mouth, shouted aloud to +the populous heavens. Whether from the position of his head or the sudden +strain of the exertion, he seemed to see a momentary shock among the stars, and +a diffusion of frosty light pass from one to another along the sky. At the same +instant, a corner of the blind was lifted and lowered again at once. He laughed +a loud ho-ho! “One and another!” thought Will. “The stars +tremble, and the blind goes up. Why, before Heaven, what a great magician I +must be! Now if I were only a fool, should not I be in a pretty way?” And +he went off to bed, chuckling to himself: “If I were only a fool!” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once more in the garden, and sought +her out. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been thinking about getting married,” he began abruptly; +“and after having turned it all over, I have made up my mind it’s +not worthwhile.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned upon him for a single moment; but his radiant, kindly appearance +would, under the circumstances, have disconcerted an angel, and she looked down +again upon the ground in silence. He could see her tremble. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you don’t mind,” he went on, a little taken aback. +“You ought not. I have turned it all over, and upon my soul there’s +nothing in it. We should never be one whit nearer than we are just now, and, if +I am a wise man, nothing like so happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is unnecessary to go round about with me,” she said. “I +very well remember that you refused to commit yourself; and now that I see you +were mistaken, and in reality have never cared for me, I can only feel sad that +I have been so far misled.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask your pardon,” said Will stoutly; “you do not +understand my meaning. As to whether I have ever loved you or not, I must leave +that to others. But for one thing, my feeling is not changed; and for another, +you may make it your boast that you have made my whole life and character +something different from what they were. I mean what I say; no less. I do not +think getting married is worth while. I would rather you went on living with +your father, so that I could walk over and see you once, or maybe twice a week, +as people go to church, and then we should both be all the happier between +whiles. That’s my notion. But I’ll marry you if you will,” he +added. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that you are insulting me?” she broke out. +</p> + +<p> +“Not I, Marjory,” said he; “if there is anything in a clear +conscience, not I. I offer all my heart’s best affection; you can take it +or want it, though I suspect it’s beyond either your power or mine to +change what has once been done, and set me fancy-free. I’ll marry you, if +you like; but I tell you again and again, it’s not worth while, and we +had best stay friends. Though I am a quiet man I have noticed a heap of things +in my life. Trust in me, and take things as I propose; or, if you don’t +like that, say the word, and I’ll marry you out of hand.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a considerable pause, and Will, who began to feel uneasy, began to +grow angry in consequence. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems you are too proud to say your mind,” he said. +“Believe me that’s a pity. A clean shrift makes simple living. Can +a man be more downright or honourable, to a woman than I have been? I have said +my say, and given you your choice. Do you want me to marry you? or will you +take my friendship, as I think best? or have you had enough of me for good? +Speak out for the dear God’s sake! You know your father told you a girl +should speak her mind in these affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without a word, walked rapidly +through the garden, and disappeared into the house, leaving Will in some +confusion as to the result. He walked up and down the garden, whistling softly +to himself. Sometimes he stopped and contemplated the sky and hill-tops; +sometimes he went down to the tail of the weir and sat there, looking foolishly +in the water. All this dubiety and perturbation was so foreign to his nature +and the life which he had resolutely chosen for himself, that he began to +regret Marjory’s arrival. “After all,” he thought, “I +was as happy as a man need be. I could come down here and watch my fishes all +day long if I wanted: I was as settled and contented as my old mill.” +</p> + +<p> +Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim and quiet; and no sooner were +all three at table than she made her father a speech, with her eyes fixed upon +her plate, but showing no other sign of embarrassment or distress. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” she began, “Mr. Will and I have been talking things +over. We see that we have each made a mistake about our feelings, and he has +agreed, at my request, to give up all idea of marriage, and be no more than my +very good friend, as in the past. You see, there is no shadow of a quarrel, and +indeed I hope we shall see a great deal of him in the future, for his visits +will always be welcome in our house. Of course, father, you will know best, but +perhaps we should do better to leave Mr. Will’s house for the present. I +believe, after what has passed, we should hardly be agreeable inmates for some +days.” +</p> + +<p> +Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from the first, broke out upon +this into an inarticulate noise, and raised one hand with an appearance of real +dismay, as if he were about to interfere and contradict. But she checked him at +once looking up at him with a swift glance and an angry flush upon her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“You will perhaps have the good grace,” she said, “to let me +explain these matters for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expression and the ring of her +voice. He held his peace, concluding that there were some things about this +girl beyond his comprehension, in which he was exactly right. +</p> + +<p> +The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove that this was no more +than a true lovers’ tiff, which would pass off before night; and when he +was dislodged from that position, he went on to argue that where there was no +quarrel there could be no call for a separation; for the good man liked both +his entertainment and his host. It was curious to see how the girl managed +them, saying little all the time, and that very quietly, and yet twisting them +round her finger and insensibly leading them wherever she would by feminine +tact and generalship. It scarcely seemed to have been her doing—it seemed +as if things had merely so fallen out—that she and her father took their +departure that same afternoon in a farm-cart, and went farther down the valley, +to wait, until their own house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But Will +had been observing closely, and was well aware of her dexterity and resolution. +When he found himself alone he had a great many curious matters to turn over in +his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to begin with. All the interest had +gone out of his life, and he might look up at the stars as long as he pleased, +he somehow failed to find support or consolation. And then he was in such a +turmoil of spirit about Marjory. He had been puzzled and irritated at her +behaviour, and yet he could not keep himself from admiring it. He thought he +recognised a fine, perverse angel in that still soul which he had never +hitherto suspected; and though he saw it was an influence that would fit but +ill with his own life of artificial calm, he could not keep himself from +ardently desiring to possess it. Like a man who has lived among shadows and now +meets the sun, he was both pained and delighted. +</p> + +<p> +As the days went forward he passed from one extreme to another; now pluming +himself on the strength of his determination, now despising his timid and silly +caution. The former was, perhaps, the true thought of his heart, and +represented the regular tenor of the man’s reflections; but the latter +burst forth from time to time with an unruly violence, and then he would forget +all consideration, and go up and down his house and garden or walk among the +fir-woods like one who is beside himself with remorse. To equable, +steady-minded Will this state of matters was intolerable; and he determined, at +whatever cost, to bring it to an end. So, one warm summer afternoon he put on +his best clothes, took a thorn switch in his hand, and set out down the valley +by the river. As soon as he had taken his determination, he had regained at a +bound his customary peace of heart, and he enjoyed the bright weather and the +variety of the scene without any admixture of alarm or unpleasant eagerness. It +was nearly the same to him how the matter turned out. If she accepted him he +would have to marry her this time, which perhaps was, all for the best. If she +refused him, he would have done his utmost, and might follow his own way in the +future with an untroubled conscience. He hoped, on the whole, she would refuse +him; and then, again, as he saw the brown roof which sheltered her, peeping +through some willows at an angle of the stream, he was half inclined to reverse +the wish, and more than half ashamed of himself for this infirmity of purpose. +</p> + +<p> +Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her hand without affectation or +delay. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been thinking about this marriage,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“So have I,” she answered. “And I respect you more and more +for a very wise man. You understood me better than I understood myself; and I +am now quite certain that things are all for the best as they are.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the same time—,” ventured Will. +</p> + +<p> +“You must be tired,” she interrupted. “Take a seat and let me +fetch you a glass of wine. The afternoon is so warm; and I wish you not to be +displeased with your visit. You must come quite often; once a week, if you can +spare the time; I am always so glad to see my friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, very well,” thought Will to himself. “It appears I was +right after all.” And he paid a very agreeable visit, walked home again +in capital spirits, and gave himself no further concern about the matter. +</p> + +<p> +For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued on these terms, seeing each +other once or twice a week without any word of love between them; and for all +that time I believe Will was nearly as happy as a man can be. He rather stinted +himself the pleasure of seeing her; and he would often walk half-way over to +the parsonage, and then back again, as if to whet his appetite. Indeed there +was one corner of the road, whence he could see the church-spire wedged into a +crevice of the valley between sloping firwoods, with a triangular snatch of +plain by way of background, which he greatly affected as a place to sit and +moralise in before returning homewards; and the peasants got so much into the +habit of finding him there in the twilight that they gave it the name of +“Will o’ the Mill’s Corner.” +</p> + +<p> +At the end of the three years Marjory played him a sad trick by suddenly +marrying somebody else. Will kept his countenance bravely, and merely remarked +that, for as little as he knew of women, he had acted very prudently in not +marrying her himself three years before. She plainly knew very little of her +own mind, and, in spite of a deceptive manner, was as fickle and flighty as the +rest of them. He had to congratulate himself on an escape, he said, and would +take a higher opinion of his own wisdom in consequence. But at heart, he was +reasonably displeased, moped a good deal for a month or two, and fell away in +flesh, to the astonishment of his serving-lads. +</p> + +<p> +It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will was awakened late one night +by the sound of a horse galloping on the road, followed by precipitate knocking +at the inn-door. He opened his window and saw a farm servant, mounted and +holding a led horse by the bridle, who told him to make what haste he could and +go along with him; for Marjory was dying, and had sent urgently to fetch him to +her bedside. Will was no horseman, and made so little speed upon the way that +the poor young wife was very near her end before he arrived. But they had some +minutes’ talk in private, and he was present and wept very bitterly while +she breathed her last. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +DEATH</h3> + +<p> +Year after year went away into nothing, with great explosions and outcries in +the cities on the plain: red revolt springing up and being suppressed in blood, +battle swaying hither and thither, patient astronomers in observatory towers +picking out and christening new stars, plays being performed in lighted +theatres, people being carried into hospital on stretchers, and all the usual +turmoil and agitation of men’s lives in crowded centres. Up in +Will’s valley only the winds and seasons made an epoch; the fish hung in +the swift stream, the birds circled overhead, the pine-tops rustled underneath +the stars, the tall hills stood over all; and Will went to and fro, minding his +wayside inn, until the snow began to thicken on his head. His heart was young +and vigorous; and if his pulses kept a sober time, they still beat strong and +steady in his wrists. He carried a ruddy stain on either cheek, like a ripe +apple; he stooped a little, but his step was still firm; and his sinewy hands +were reached out to all men with a friendly pressure. His face was covered with +those wrinkles which are got in open air, and which rightly looked at, are no +more than a sort of permanent sunburning; such wrinkles heighten the stupidity +of stupid faces; but to a person like Will, with his clear eyes and smiling +mouth, only give another charm by testifying to a simple and easy life. His +talk was full of wise sayings. He had a taste for other people; and other +people had a taste for him. When the valley was full of tourists in the season, +there were merry nights in Will’s arbour; and his views, which seemed +whimsical to his neighbours, were often enough admired by learned people out of +towns and colleges. Indeed, he had a very noble old age, and grew daily better +known; so that his fame was heard of in the cities of the plain; and young men +who had been summer travellers spoke together in <i>cafés</i> of Will +o’ the Mill and his rough philosophy. Many and many an invitation, you +may be sure, he had; but nothing could tempt him from his upland valley. He +would shake his head and smile over his tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. +“You come too late,” he would answer. “I am a dead man now: I +have lived and died already. Fifty years ago you would have brought my heart +into my mouth; and now you do not even tempt me. But that is the object of long +living, that man should cease to care about life.” And again: +“There is only one difference between a long life and a good dinner: +that, in the dinner, the sweets come last.” Or once more: “When I +was a boy, I was a bit puzzled, and hardly knew whether it was myself or the +world that was curious and worth looking into. Now, I know it is myself, and +stick to that.” +</p> + +<p> +He never showed any symptom of frailty, but kept stalwart and firm to the last; +but they say he grew less talkative towards the end, and would listen to other +people by the hour in an amused and sympathetic silence. Only, when he did +speak, it was more to the point and more charged with old experience. He drank +a bottle of wine gladly; above all, at sunset on the hill-top or quite late at +night under the stars in the arbour. The sight of something attractive and +unatttainable seasoned his enjoyment, he would say; and he professed he had +lived long enough to admire a candle all the more when he could compare it with +a planet. +</p> + +<p> +One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed in such uneasiness of +body and mind that he arose and dressed himself and went out to meditate in the +arbour. It was pitch dark, without a star; the river was swollen, and the wet +woods and meadows loaded the air with perfume. It had thundered during the day, +and it promised more thunder for the morrow. A murky, stifling night for a man +of seventy-two! Whether it was the weather or the wakefulness, or some little +touch of fever in his old limbs, Will’s mind was besieged by tumultuous +and crying memories. His boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the death +of his adopted parents, the summer days with Marjory, and many of those small +circumstances, which seem nothing to another, and are yet the very gist of a +man’s own life to himself—things seen, words heard, looks +misconstrued—arose from their forgotten corners and usurped his +attention. The dead themselves were with him, not merely taking part in this +thin show of memory that defiled before his brain, but revisiting his bodily +senses as they do in profound and vivid dreams. The fat young man leaned his +elbows on the table opposite; Marjory came and went with an apronful of flowers +between the garden and the arbour; he could hear the old parson knocking out +his pipe or blowing his resonant nose. The tide of his consciousness ebbed and +flowed: he was sometimes half-asleep and drowned in his recollections of the +past; and sometimes he was broad awake, wondering at himself. But about the +middle of the night he was startled by the voice of the dead miller calling to +him out of the house as he used to do on the arrival of custom. The +hallucination was so perfect that Will sprang from his seat and stood listening +for the summons to be repeated; and as he listened he became conscious of +another noise besides the brawling of the river and the ringing in his feverish +ears. It was like the stir of horses and the creaking of harness, as though a +carriage with an impatient team had been brought up upon the road before the +courtyard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough and dangerous pass, the +supposition was no better than absurd; and Will dismissed it from his mind, and +resumed his seat upon the arbour chair; and sleep closed over him again like +running water. He was once again awakened by the dead miller’s call, +thinner and more spectral than before; and once again he heard the noise of an +equipage upon the road. And so thrice and four times, the same dream, or the +same fancy, presented itself to his senses: until at length, smiling to himself +as when one humours a nervous child, he proceeded towards the gate to set his +uncertainty at rest. +</p> + +<p> +From the arbour to the gate was no great distance, and yet it took Will some +time; it seemed as if the dead thickened around him in the court, and crossed +his path at every step. For, first, he was suddenly surprised by an +overpowering sweetness of heliotropes; it was as if his garden had been planted +with this flower from end to end, and the hot, damp night had drawn forth all +their perfumes in a breath. Now the heliotrope had been Marjory’s +favourite flower, and since her death not one of them had ever been planted in +Will’s ground. +</p> + +<p> +“I must be going crazy,” he thought. “Poor Marjory and her +heliotropes!” +</p> + +<p> +And with that he raised his eyes towards the window that had once been hers. If +he had been bewildered before, he was now almost terrified; for there was a +light in the room; the window was an orange oblong as of yore; and the corner +of the blind was lifted and let fall as on the night when he stood and shouted +to the stars in his perplexity. The illusion only endured an instant; but it +left him somewhat unmanned, rubbing his eyes and staring at the outline of the +house and the black night behind it. While he thus stood, and it seemed as if +he must have stood there quite a long time, there came a renewal of the noises +on the road: and he turned in time to meet a stranger, who was advancing to +meet him across the court. There was something like the outline of a great +carriage discernible on the road behind the stranger, and, above that, a few +black pine-tops, like so many plumes. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Will?” asked the new-comer, in brief military fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“That same, sir,” answered Will. “Can I do anything to serve +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will,” returned the other; +“much spoken of, and well. And though I have both hands full of business, +I wish to drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbour. Before I go, I shall +introduce myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted and a bottle uncorked. +He was not altogether unused to such complimentary interviews, and hoped little +enough from this one, being schooled by many disappointments. A sort of cloud +had settled on his wits and prevented him from remembering the strangeness of +the hour. He moved like a person in his sleep; and it seemed as if the lamp +caught fire and the bottle came uncorked with the facility of thought. Still, +he had some curiosity about the appearance of his visitor, and tried in vain to +turn the light into his face; either he handled the lamp clumsily, or there was +a dimness over his eyes; but he could make out little more than a shadow at +table with him. He stared and stared at this shadow, as he wiped out the +glasses, and began to feel cold and strange about the heart. The silence +weighed upon him, for he could hear nothing now, not even the river, but the +drumming of his own arteries in his ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s to you,” said the stranger, roughly. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is my service, sir,” replied Will, sipping his wine, which +somehow tasted oddly. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand you are a very positive fellow,” pursued the +stranger. +</p> + +<p> +Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction and a little nod. +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” continued the other; “and it is the delight of my +heart to tramp on people’s corns. I will have nobody positive but myself; +not one. I have crossed the whims, in my time, of kings and generals and great +artists. And what would you say,” he went on, “if I had come up +here on purpose to cross yours?” +</p> + +<p> +Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder; but the politeness of an +old innkeeper prevailed; and he held his peace and made answer with a civil +gesture of the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” said the stranger. “And if I did not hold you in a +particular esteem, I should make no words about the matter. It appears you +pride yourself on staying where you are. You mean to stick by your inn. Now I +mean you shall come for a turn with me in my barouche; and before this +bottle’s empty, so you shall.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be an odd thing, to be sure,” replied Will, with a +chuckle. “Why, sir, I have grown here like an old oak-tree; the Devil +himself could hardly root me up: and for all I perceive you are a very +entertaining old gentleman, I would wager you another bottle you lose your +pains with me.” +</p> + +<p> +The dimness of Will’s eyesight had been increasing all this while; but he +was somehow conscious of a sharp and chilling scrutiny which irritated and yet +overmastered him. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not think,” he broke out suddenly, in an explosive, +febrile manner that startled and alarmed himself, “that I am a +stay-at-home, because I fear anything under God. God knows I am tired enough of +it all; and when the time comes for a longer journey than ever you dream of, I +reckon I shall find myself prepared.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away from him. He looked down for +a little, and then, leaning over the table, tapped Will three times upon the +forearm with a single finger. “The time has come!” he said +solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +An ugly thrill spread from the spot he touched. The tones of his voice were +dull and startling, and echoed strangely in Will’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” he said, with some discomposure. “What +do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me, and you will find your eyesight swim. Raise your hand; it is +dead-heavy. This is your last bottle of wine, Master Will, and your last night +upon the earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a doctor?” quavered Will. +</p> + +<p> +“The best that ever was,” replied the other; “for I cure both +mind and body with the same prescription. I take away all pain and I forgive +all sins; and where my patients have gone wrong in life, I smooth out all +complications and set them free again upon their feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no need of you,” said Will. +</p> + +<p> +“A time comes for all men, Master Will,” replied the doctor, +“when the helm is taken out of their hands. For you, because you were +prudent and quiet, it has been long of coming, and you have had long to +discipline yourself for its reception. You have seen what is to be seen about +your mill; you have sat close all your days like a hare in its form; but now +that is at an end; and,” added the doctor, getting on his feet, +“you must arise and come with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a strange physician,” said Will, looking steadfastly upon +his guest. +</p> + +<p> +“I am a natural law,” he replied, “and people call me +Death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you not tell me so at first?” cried Will. “I have +been waiting for you these many years. Give me your hand, and welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lean upon my arm,” said the stranger, “for already your +strength abates. Lean on me as heavily as you need; for though I am old, I am +very strong. It is but three steps to my carriage, and there all your trouble +ends. Why, Will,” he added, “I have been yearning for you as if you +were my own son; and of all the men that ever I came for in my long days, I +have come for you most gladly. I am caustic, and sometimes offend people at +first sight; but I am a good friend at heart to such as you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since Marjory was taken,” returned Will, “I declare before +God you were the only friend I had to look for.” So the pair went +arm-in-arm across the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +One of the servants awoke about this time and heard the noise of horses pawing +before he dropped asleep again; all down the valley that night there was a +rushing as of a smooth and steady wind descending towards the plain; and when +the world rose next morning, sure enough Will o’ the Mill had gone at +last upon his travels. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="tale03"></a>MARKHEIM</h2> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the dealer, “our windfalls are of various kinds. +Some customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior +knowledge. Some are dishonest,” and here he held up the candle, so that +the light fell strongly on his visitor, “and in that case,” he +continued, “I profit by my virtue.” +</p> + +<p> +Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes had not +yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these +pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked painfully +and looked aside. +</p> + +<p> +The dealer chuckled. “You come to me on Christmas Day,” he resumed, +“when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and make +a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; you will +have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing my books; you will +have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remark in you to-day very +strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but +when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it.” The +dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to his usual business voice, +though still with a note of irony, “You can give, as usual, a clear +account of how you came into the possession of the object?” he continued. +“Still your uncle’s cabinet? A remarkable collector, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip-toe, looking +over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with every mark of +disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of infinite pity, and a touch of +horror. +</p> + +<p> +“This time,” said he, “you are in error. I have not come to +sell, but to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle’s cabinet is +bare to the wainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock +Exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errand to-day +is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas present for a lady,” he +continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he had prepared; +“and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus disturbing you upon so +small a matter. But the thing was neglected yesterday; I must produce my little +compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a rich marriage is not a +thing to be neglected.” +</p> + +<p> +There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh this statement +incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curious lumber of the shop, +and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near thoroughfare, filled up the +interval of silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said the dealer, “be it so. You are an old +customer after all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, +far be it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady +now,” he went on, “this hand glass—fifteenth century, +warranted; comes from a good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the +interests of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew +and sole heir of a remarkable collector.” +</p> + +<p> +The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had stooped to +take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, a shock had passed +through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of many +tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as swiftly as it came, and left no +trace beyond a certain trembling of the hand that now received the glass. +</p> + +<p> +“A glass,” he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more +clearly. “A glass? For Christmas? Surely not?” +</p> + +<p> +“And why not?” cried the dealer. “Why not a glass?” +</p> + +<p> +Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. “You ask me +why not?” he said. “Why, look here—look in it—look at +yourself! Do you like to see it? No! nor I—nor any man.” +</p> + +<p> +The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly confronted him +with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse on hand, he +chuckled. “Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favoured,” +said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I ask you,” said Markheim, “for a Christmas present, and you +give me this—this damned reminder of years, and sins and +follies—this hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your +mind? Tell me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about +yourself. I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable +man?” +</p> + +<p> +The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheim did not +appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like an eager sparkle of +hope, but nothing of mirth. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you driving at?” the dealer asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not charitable?” returned the other, gloomily. “Not +charitable; not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get +money, a safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you what it is,” began the dealer, with some +sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. “But I see this is a +love match of yours, and you have been drinking the lady’s health.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. “Ah, have you +been in love? Tell me about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I,” cried the dealer. “I in love! I never had the time, nor +have I the time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is the hurry?” returned Markheim. “It is very pleasant +to stand here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurry +away from any pleasure—no, not even from so mild a one as this. We should +rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a cliff’s +edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it—a cliff a mile +high—high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of +humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each other: why +should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, we might become +friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have just one word to say to you,” said the dealer. +“Either make your purchase, or walk out of my shop!” +</p> + +<p> +“True true,” said Markheim. “Enough, fooling. To business. +Show me something else.” +</p> + +<p> +The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon the shelf, +his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. Markheim moved a little +nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat; he drew himself up and +filled his lungs; at the same time many different emotions were depicted +together on his face—terror, horror, and resolve, fascination and a +physical repulsion; and through a haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth +looked out. +</p> + +<p> +“This, perhaps, may suit,” observed the dealer: and then, as he +began to re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, +skewerlike dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, striking +his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in a heap. +</p> + +<p> +Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and slow as was +becoming to their great age; others garrulous and hurried. All these told out +the seconds in an intricate, chorus of tickings. Then the passage of a +lad’s feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in upon these smaller +voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness of his surroundings. He +looked about him awfully. The candle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly +wagging in a draught; and by that inconsiderable movement, the whole room was +filled with noiseless bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows +nodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as with +respiration, the faces of the portraits and the china gods changing and +wavering like images in water. The inner door stood ajar, and peered into that +leaguer of shadows with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. +</p> + +<p> +From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim’s eyes returned to the body of +his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incredibly small and +strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in that ungainly +attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, +and, lo! it was nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and +pool of blood began to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was none +to work the cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion—there it +must lie till it was found. Found! ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh +lift up a cry that would ring over England, and fill the world with the echoes +of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. “Time was that +when the brains were out,” he thought; and the first word struck into his +mind. Time, now that the deed was accomplished—time, which had closed for +the victim, had become instant and momentous for the slayer. +</p> + +<p> +The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, with every +variety of pace and voice—one deep as the bell from a cathedral turret, +another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz-the clocks began to +strike the hour of three in the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggered him. He +began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by +moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance reflections. In many rich +mirrors, some of home design, some from Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his face +repeated and repeated, as it were an army of spies; his own eyes met and +detected him; and the sound of his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the +surrounding quiet. And still, as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind +accused him with a sickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. +He should have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he +should not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and only bound +and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have been more bold, and +killed the servant also; he should have done all things otherwise: poignant +regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind to change what was unchangeable, +to plan what was now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past. +Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of +rats in a deserted attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with +riot; the hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his +nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, the +dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black coffin. +</p> + +<p> +Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like a besieging +army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some rumour of the struggle must +have reached their ears and set on edge their curiosity; and now, in all the +neighbouring houses, he divined them sitting motionless and with uplifted +ear—solitary people, condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone on +memories of the past, and now startingly recalled from that tender exercise; +happy family parties struck into silence round the table, the mother still with +raised finger: every degree and age and humour, but all, by their own hearths, +prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. Sometimes it +seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of the tall Bohemian +goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, +he was tempted to stop the clocks. And then, again, with a swift transition of +his terrors, the very silence of the place appeared a source of peril, and a +thing to strike and freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, and +bustle aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate +bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his own house. +</p> + +<p> +But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while one portion of +his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on the brink of lunacy. +One hallucination in particular took a strong hold on his credulity. The +neighbour hearkening with white face beside his window, the passer-by arrested +by a horrible surmise on the pavement—these could at worst suspect, they +could not know; through the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could +penetrate. But here, within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had +watched the servant set forth sweet-hearting, in her poor best, “out for +the day” written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; +and yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear a stir of +delicate footing—he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious of some +presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the house his imagination +followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet had eyes to see with; and +again it was a shadow of himself; and yet again behold the image of the dead +dealer, reinspired with cunning and hatred. +</p> + +<p> +At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door which still +seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the +day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to the ground story was +exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the threshold of the shop. And yet, in +that strip of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow? +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to beat with a +staff on the shop-door, accompanying his blows with shouts and railleries in +which the dealer was continually called upon by name. Markheim, smitten into +ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he lay quite still; he was fled away far +beyond earshot of these blows and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of +silence; and his name, which would once have caught his notice above the +howling of a storm, had become an empty sound. And presently the jovial +gentleman desisted from his knocking, and departed. +</p> + +<p> +Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth from this +accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of London multitudes, and to +reach, on the other side of day, that haven of safety and apparent +innocence—his bed. One visitor had come: at any moment another might +follow and be more obstinate. To have done the deed, and yet not to reap the +profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. The money, that was now +Markheim’s concern; and as a means to that, the keys. +</p> + +<p> +He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow was still +lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of the mind, yet with +a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his victim. The human character +had quite departed. Like a suit half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay +scattered, the trunk doubled, on the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. +Although so dingy and inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more +significance to the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and turned it on +its back. It was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had been +broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all expression; +but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. +That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. It carried him back, +upon the instant, to a certain fair-day in a fishers’ village: a gray +day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of brasses, the booming +of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, +buried over head in the crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, +coming out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great +screen with pictures, dismally designed, garishly coloured: Brown-rigg with her +apprentice; the Mannings with their murdered guest; Weare in the death-grip of +Thurtell; and a score besides of famous crimes. The thing was as clear as an +illusion; he was once again that little boy; he was looking once again, and +with the same sense of physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still +stunned by the thumping of the drums. A bar of that day’s music returned +upon his memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a +breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must instantly +resist and conquer. +</p> + +<p> +He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these considerations; +looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending his mind to realise the +nature and greatness of his crime. So little a while ago that face had moved +with every change of sentiment, that pale mouth had spoken, that body had been +all on fire with governable energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of +life had been arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the +beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more +remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before the painted +effigies of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt a gleam of +pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that can +make the world a garden of enchantment, one who had never lived and who was now +dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor. +</p> + +<p> +With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the keys and +advanced towards the open door of the shop. Outside, it had begun to rain +smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof had banished silence. Like +some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house were haunted by an incessant +echoing, which filled the ear and mingled with the ticking of the clocks. And, +as Markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own +cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow +still palpitated loosely on the threshold. He threw a ton’s weight of +resolve upon his muscles, and drew back the door. +</p> + +<p> +The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs; on the +bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing; and on the +dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung against the yellow panels of +the wainscot. So loud was the beating of the rain through all the house that, +in Markheim’s ears, it began to be distinguished into many different +sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the tread of regiments marching in the distance, +the chink of money in the counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily +ajar, appeared to mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the +gushing of the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon +him to the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by +presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he heard +the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great effort to mount +the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed stealthily behind. If he +were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he would possess his soul! And then +again, and hearkening with ever fresh attention, he blessed himself for that +unresting sense which held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his +life. His head turned continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting +from their orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half-rewarded +as with the tail of something nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty steps to +the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. +</p> + +<p> +On that first storey, the doors stood ajar, three of them like three ambushes, +shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could never again, he felt, +be sufficiently immured and fortified from men’s observing eyes, he +longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among bedclothes, and invisible to +all but God. And at that thought he wondered a little, recollecting tales of +other murderers and the fear they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. +It was not so, at least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their +callous and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence of +his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitions terror, some +scission in the continuity of man’s experience, some wilful illegality of +nature. He played a game of skill, depending on the rules, calculating +consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant overthrew +the chess-board, should break the mould of their succession? The like had +befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when the winter changed the time of its +appearance. The like might befall Markheim: the solid walls might become +transparent and reveal his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout +planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their +clutch; ay, and there were soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, for +instance, the house should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim; +or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen invade him from all +sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might be called +the hands of God reached forth against sin. But about God himself he was at +ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were his excuses, which God +knew; it was there, and not among men, that he felt sure of justice. +</p> + +<p> +When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, he +was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted +besides, and strewn with packing cases and incongruous furniture; several great +pier-glasses, in which he beheld himself at various angles, like an actor on a +stage; many pictures, framed and unframed, standing, with their faces to the +wall; a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, +with tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good +fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed him +from the neighbours. Here, then, Markheim drew in a packing case before the +cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It was a long business, for there +were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, there might be nothing +in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. But the closeness of the occupation +sobered him. With the tail of his eye he saw the door—even glanced at it +from time to time directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify the +good estate of his defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling in +the street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the +notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of many +children took up the air and words. How stately, how comfortable was the +melody! How fresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he +sorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with answerable ideas and +images; church-going children and the pealing of the high organ; children +afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite-flyers +in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another cadence of the hymn, +back again to church, and the somnolence of summer Sundays, and the high +genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little to recall) and the +painted Jacobean tombs, and the dim lettering of the Ten Commandments in the +chancel. +</p> + +<p> +And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his feet. A +flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, went over him, and +then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted the stair slowly and +steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the knob, and the lock clicked, +and the door opened. +</p> + +<p> +Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether the dead man +walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some chance witness +blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But when a face was thrust +into the aperture, glanced round the room, looked at him, nodded and smiled as +if in friendly recognition, and then withdrew again, and the door closed behind +it, his fear broke loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this +the visitant returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you call me?” he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered +the room and closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was a film +upon his sight, but the outlines of the new comer seemed to change and waver +like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light of the shop; and at times +he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he bore a likeness to himself; +and always, like a lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction +that this thing was not of the earth and not of God. +</p> + +<p> +And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood looking +on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: “You are looking for the +money, I believe?” it was in the tones of everyday politeness. +</p> + +<p> +Markheim made no answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I should warn you,” resumed the other, “that the maid has +left her sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim +be found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know me?” cried the murderer. +</p> + +<p> +The visitor smiled. “You have long been a favourite of mine,” he +said; “and I have long observed and often sought to help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you?” cried Markheim: “the devil?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I may be,” returned the other, “cannot affect the +service I propose to render you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can,” cried Markheim; “it does! Be helped by you? No, +never; not by you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know +me!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you,” replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or +rather firmness. “I know you to the soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know me!” cried Markheim. “Who can do so? My life is but a +travesty and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; +all men are better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them. You +see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and muffled in +a cloak. If they had their own control—if you could see their faces, they +would be altogether different, they would shine out for heroes and saints! I am +worse than most; myself is more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and God. +But, had I the time, I could disclose myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“To me?” inquired the visitant. +</p> + +<p> +“To you before all,” returned the murderer. “I supposed you +were intelligent. I thought—since you exist—you would prove a +reader of the heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of +it; my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants have +dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother—the giants of +circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not look within? +Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you not see within me +the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any wilful sophistry, +although too often disregarded? Can you not read me for a thing that surely +must be common as humanity—the unwilling sinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“All this is very feelingly expressed,” was the reply, “but +it regards me not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I +care not in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, so as +you are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the servant delays, +looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures on the hoardings, but +still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is as if the gallows itself was +striding towards you through the Christmas streets! Shall I help you; I, who +know all? Shall I tell you where to find the money?” +</p> + +<p> +“For what price?” asked Markheim. +</p> + +<p> +“I offer you the service for a Christmas gift,” returned the other. +</p> + +<p> +Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph. +“No,” said he, “I will take nothing at your hands; if I were +dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should +find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing to +commit myself to evil.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,” observed the +visitant. +</p> + +<p> +“Because you disbelieve their efficacy!” Markheim cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not say so,” returned the other; “but I look on these +things from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The +man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of religion, or +to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course of weak compliance with +desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliverance, he can add but one act of +service—to repent, to die smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and +hope the more timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a master. +Try me. Accept my help. Please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; +please yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the night +begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for your greater +comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound your quarrel with your +conscience, and to make a truckling peace with God. I came but now from such a +deathbed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening to the +man’s last words: and when I looked into that face, which had been set as +a flint against mercy, I found it smiling with hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?” asked Markheim. +“Do you think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, +and sin, and, at the last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the thought. Is +this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you find me with red +hands that you presume such baseness? and is this crime of murder indeed so +impious as to dry up the very springs of good?” +</p> + +<p> +“Murder is to me no special category,” replied the other. +“All sins are murder, even as all life is war. I behold your race, like +starving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and +feeding on each other’s lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of their +acting; I find in all that the last consequence is death; and to my eyes, the +pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on a question of a +ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a murderer as yourself. +Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtues also; they differ not by the +thickness of a nail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel of Death. +Evil, for which I live, consists not in action but in character. The bad man is +dear to me; not the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough +down the hurtling cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than +those of the rarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer, +but because you are Markheim, that I offer to forward your escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will lay my heart open to you,” answered Markheim. “This +crime on which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned many +lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been driven +with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond-slave to poverty, driven and +scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in these temptations; mine +was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, and out of this deed, I +pluck both warning and riches—both the power and a fresh resolve to be +myself. I become in all things a free actor in the world; I begin to see myself +all changed, these hands the agents of good, this heart at peace. Something +comes over me out of the past; something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath +evenings to the sound of the church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears +over noble books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my +life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my city of +destination.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?” +remarked the visitor; “and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost +some thousands?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Markheim, “but this time I have a sure +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“This time, again, you will lose,” replied the visitor quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but I keep back the half!” cried Markheim. +</p> + +<p> +“That also you will lose,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +The sweat started upon Markheim’s brow. “Well, then, what +matter?” he exclaimed. “Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in +poverty, shall one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to +override the better? Evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways. I do +not love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, renunciations, +martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as murder, pity is no +stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows their trials better than +myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I love honest laughter; there is no +good thing nor true thing on earth but I love it from my heart. And are my +vices only to direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like some +passive lumber of the mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts.” +</p> + +<p> +But the visitant raised his finger. “For six-and-thirty years that you +have been in this world,” said be, “through many changes of fortune +and varieties of humour, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years ago +you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would have blenched at +the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any cruelty or meanness, from +which you still recoil?—five years from now I shall detect you in the +fact! Downward, downward, lies your way; nor can anything but death avail to +stop you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true,” Markheim said huskily, “I have in some degree +complied with evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere +exercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their +surroundings.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will propound to you one simple question,” said the other; +“and as you answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have +grown in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so—and at any +account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in any one +particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your own conduct, +or do you go in all things with a looser rein?” +</p> + +<p> +“In any one?” repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. +“No,” he added, with despair, “in none! I have gone down in +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said the visitor, “content yourself with what you +are, for you will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are +irrevocably written down.” +</p> + +<p> +Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitor who first +broke the silence. “That being so,” he said, “shall I show +you the money?” +</p> + +<p> +“And grace?” cried Markheim. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you not tried it?” returned the other. “Two or three +years ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not +your voice the loudest in the hymn?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true,” said Markheim; “and I see clearly what remains +for me by way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes are +opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the house; and the +visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for which he had been +waiting, changed at once in his demeanour. +</p> + +<p> +“The maid!” he cried. “She has returned, as I forewarned you, +and there is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you must +say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather serious +countenance—no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success! Once the +girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has already rid you +of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in your path. Thenceforward +you have the whole evening—the whole night, if needful—to ransack +the treasures of the house and to make good your safety. This is help that +comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!” he cried; “up, friend; +your life hangs trembling in the scales: up, and act!” +</p> + +<p> +Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. “If I be condemned to evil +acts,” he said, “there is still one door of freedom open—I +can cease from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I +be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, by one +decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love of good is +damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! But I have still my hatred of +evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you shall see that I can +draw both energy and courage.” +</p> + +<p> +The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely change: +they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, even as they +brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause to watch or +understand the transformation. He opened the door and went downstairs very +slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly before him; he beheld it as +it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, random as chance-medley—a scene +of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the +further side he perceived a quiet haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, +and looked into the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. It +was strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood +gazing. And then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour. +</p> + +<p> +He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“You had better go for the police,” said he: “I have killed +your master.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="tale04"></a>THRAWN JANET</h2> + +<p> +The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish of +Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadful to his +hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without relative or servant or +any human company, in the small and lonely manse under the Hanging Shaw. In +spite of the iron composure of his features, his eye was wild, scared, and +uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private admonitions, on the future of the +impenitent, it seemed as if his eye pierced through the storms of time to the +terrors of eternity. Many young persons, coming to prepare themselves against +the season of the Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk. He had +a sermon on lst Peter, v. and 8th, “The devil as a roaring lion,” +on the Sunday after every seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to +surpass himself upon that text both by the appalling nature of the matter and +the terror of his bearing in the pulpit. The children were frightened into +fits, and the old looked more than usually oracular, and were, all that day, +full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated. The manse itself, where it stood by +the water of Dule among some thick trees, with the Shaw overhanging it on the +one side, and on the other many cold, moorish hilltops rising towards the sky, +had begun, at a very early period of Mr. Soulis’s ministry, to be avoided +in the dusk hours by all who valued themselves upon their prudence; and guidmen +sitting at the clachan alehouse shook their heads together at the thought of +passing late by that uncanny neighbourhood. There was one spot, to be more +particular, which was regarded with especial awe. The manse stood between the +high road and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; its back was towards the +kirk-town of Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in front of it, a bare garden, +hedged with thorn, occupied the land between the river and the road. The house +was two stories high, with two large rooms on each. It opened not directly on +the garden, but on a causewayed path, or passage, giving on the road on the one +hand, and closed on the other by the tall willows and elders that bordered on +the stream. And it was this strip of causeway that enjoyed among the young +parishioners of Balweary so infamous a reputation. The minister walked there +often after dark, sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken +prayers; and when he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more +daring schoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to “follow my +leader” across that legendary spot. +</p> + +<p> +This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of spotless +character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and subject of inquiry +among the few strangers who were led by chance or business into that unknown, +outlying country. But many even of the people of the parish were ignorant of +the strange events which had marked the first year of Mr. Soulis’s +ministrations; and among those who were better informed, some were naturally +reticent, and others shy of that particular topic. Now and again, only, one of +the older folk would warm into courage over his third tumbler, and recount the +cause of the minister’s strange looks and solitary life. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam first into Ba’weary, he was still a +young man—a callant, the folk said—fu’ o’ book +learnin’ and grand at the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a +man, wi’ nae leevin’ experience in religion. The younger sort were +greatly taken wi’ his gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men +and women were moved even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a +self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be sae ill-supplied. It was +before the days o’ the moderates—weary fa’ them; but ill +things are like guid—they baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and +there were folk even then that said the Lord had left the college professors to +their ain devices, an’ the lads that went to study wi’ them wad hae +done mair and better sittin’ in a peat-bog, like their forbears of the +persecution, wi’ a Bible under their oxter and a speerit o’ prayer +in their heart. There was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower +lang at the college. He was careful and troubled for mony things besides the ae +thing needful. He had a feck o’ books wi’ him—mair than had +ever been seen before in a’ that presbytery; and a sair wark the carrier +had wi’ them, for they were a’ like to have smoored in the +Deil’s Hag between this and Kilmackerlie. They were books o’ +divinity, to be sure, or so they ca’d them; but the serious were o’ +opinion there was little service for sae mony, when the hail o’ +God’s Word would gang in the neuk of a plaid. Then he wad sit half the +day and half the nicht forbye, which was scant decent—writin’, nae +less; and first, they were feared he wad read his sermons; and syne it proved +he was writin’ a book himsel’, which was surely no fittin’ +for ane of his years an’ sma’ experience. +</p> + +<p> +Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse for him +an’ see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auld +limmer—Janet M’Clour, they ca’d her—and sae far left to +himsel’ as to be ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to the +contrar, for Janet was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba’weary. +Lang or that, she had had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit<a +name="citation140"></a><a href="#footnote140" class="citation">[140]</a> for +maybe thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin’ to hersel’ up +on Key’s Loan in the gloamin’, whilk was an unco time an’ +place for a God-fearin’ woman. Howsoever, it was the laird himsel’ +that had first tauld the minister o’ Janet; and in thae days he wad have +gane a far gate to pleesure the laird. When folk tauld him that Janet was sib +to the deil, it was a’ superstition by his way of it; an’ when they +cast up the Bible to him an’ the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun +their thrapples that thir days were a’ gane by, and the deil was +mercifully restrained. +</p> + +<p> +Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M’Clour was to be servant +at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi’ her an’ him thegether; and +some o’ the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door +cheeks and chairge her wi’ a’ that was ken’t again her, frae +the sodger’s bairn to John Tamson’s twa kye. She was nae great +speaker; folk usually let her gang her ain gate, an’ she let them gang +theirs, wi’, neither Fair-guid-een nor Fair-guid-day; but when she +buckled to, she had a tongue to deave the miller. Up she got, an’ there +wasnae an auld story in Ba’weary but she gart somebody lowp for it that +day; they couldnae say ae thing but she could say twa to it; till, at the +hinder end, the guidwives up and claught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff +her back, and pu’d her doun the clachan to the water o’ Dule, to +see if she were a witch or no, soum or droun. The carline skirled till ye could +hear her at the Hangin’ Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was mony a +guidwife bure the mark of her neist day an’ mony a lang day after; and +just in the hettest o’ the collieshangie, wha suld come up (for his sins) +but the new minister. +</p> + +<p> +“Women,” said he (and he had a grand voice), “I charge you in +the Lord’s name to let her go.” +</p> + +<p> +Janet ran to him—she was fair wud wi’ terror—an’ clang +to him, an’ prayed him, for Christ’s sake, save her frae the +cummers; an’ they, for their pairt, tauld him a’ that was +ken’t, and maybe mair. +</p> + +<p> +“Woman,” says he to Janet, “is this true?” +</p> + +<p> +“As the Lord sees me,” says she, “as the Lord made me, no a +word o’t. Forbye the bairn,” says she, “I’ve been a +decent woman a’ my days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you,” says Mr. Soulis, “in the name of God, and before +me, His unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?” +</p> + +<p> +Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that fairly +frichtit them that saw her, an’ they could hear her teeth play dirl +thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae way or the +ither; an’ Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil before them +a’. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, “home with ye, +one and all, and pray to God for His forgiveness.” +</p> + +<p> +And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, and took +her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land; an’ her +scrieghin’ and laughin’ as was a scandal to be heard. +</p> + +<p> +There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but when the +morn cam’ there was sic a fear fell upon a’ Ba’weary that the +bairns hid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their doors. +For there was Janet comin’ doun the clachan—her or her likeness, +nane could tell—wi’ her neck thrawn, and her heid on ae side, like +a body that has been hangit, and a girn on her face like an unstreakit corp. By +an’ by they got used wi’ it, and even speered at her to ken what +was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak like a Christian woman, +but slavered and played click wi’ her teeth like a pair o’ shears; +and frae that day forth the name o’ God cam never on her lips. Whiles she +wad try to say it, but it michtnae be. Them that kenned best said least; but +they never gied that Thing the name o’ Janet M’Clour; for the auld +Janet, by their way o’t, was in muckle hell that day. But the minister +was neither to haud nor to bind; he preached about naething but the +folk’s cruelty that had gi’en her a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt +the bairns that meddled her; and he had her up to the manse that same nicht, +and dwalled there a’ his lane wi’ her under the Hangin’ Shaw. +</p> + +<p> +Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtly o’ +that black business. The minister was weel thocht o’; he was aye late at +the writing, folk wad see his can’le doon by the Dule water after +twal’ at e’en; and he seemed pleased wi’ himsel’ and +upsitten as at first, though a’ body could see that he was dwining. As +for Janet she cam an’ she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was +reason she should speak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an eldritch +thing to see, an’ nane wad hae mistrysted wi’ her for +Ba’weary glebe. +</p> + +<p> +About the end o’ July there cam’ a spell o’ weather, the like +o’t never was in that country side; it was lown an’ het an’ +heartless; the herds couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower +weariet to play; an’ yet it was gousty too, wi’ claps o’ het +wund that rumm’led in the glens, and bits o’ shouers that slockened +naething. We aye thocht it but to thun’er on the morn; but the morn cam, +an’ the morn’s morning, and it was aye the same uncanny weather, +sair on folks and bestial. Of a’ that were the waur, nane suffered like +Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, he tauld his elders; an’ when +he wasnae writin’ at his weary book, he wad be stravaguin’ ower +a’ the countryside like a man possessed, when a’ body else was +blythe to keep caller ben the house. +</p> + +<p> +Abune Hangin’ Shaw, in the bield o’ the Black Hill, there’s a +bit enclosed grund wi’ an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, that +was the kirkyaird o’ Ba’weary, and consecrated by the Papists +before the blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff o’ +Mr. Soulis’s, onyway; there he would sit an’ consider his sermons; +and indeed it’s a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam ower the wast end o’ +the Black Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an syne fower, an’ syne seeven +corbie craws fleein’ round an’ round abune the auld kirkyaird. They +flew laigh and heavy, an’ squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was +clear to Mr. Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar. He wasnae +easy fleyed, an’ gaed straucht up to the wa’s; an’ what suld +he find there but a man, or the appearance of a man, sittin’ in the +inside upon a grave. He was of a great stature, an’ black as hell, and +his e’en were singular to see.<a name="citation144"></a><a +href="#footnote144" class="citation">[144]</a> Mr. Soulis had heard tell +o’ black men, mony’s the time; but there was something unco about +this black man that daunted him. Het as he was, he took a kind o’ cauld +grue in the marrow o’ his banes; but up he spak for a’ that; +an’ says he: “My friend, are you a stranger in this place?” +The black man answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an’ begude to +hirsle to the wa’ on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; +an’ the minister stood an’ lookit back; till a’ in a meenute +the black man was ower the wa’ an’ rinnin’ for the bield +o’ the trees. Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was +sair forjaskit wi’ his walk an’ the het, unhalesome weather; and +rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o’ the black man amang the +birks, till he won doun to the foot o’ the hill-side, an’ there he +saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an’ lowp, ower Dule water to the +manse. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak’ sae +free wi’ Ba’weary manse; an’ he ran the harder, an’, +wet shoon, ower the burn, an’ up the walk; but the deil a black man was +there to see. He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he +gaed a’ ower the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, and a +bit feared as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and there +was Janet M’Clour before his een, wi’ her thrawn craig, and nane +sae pleased to see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een +upon her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue. +</p> + +<p> +“Janet,” says he, “have you seen a black man?” +</p> + +<p> +“A black man?” quo’ she. “Save us a’! Ye’re +no wise, minister. There’s nae black man in a Ba’weary.” +</p> + +<p> +But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like a powney +wi’ the bit in its moo. +</p> + +<p> +“Weel,” says he, “Janet, if there was nae black man, I have +spoken with the Accuser of the Brethren.” +</p> + +<p> +And he sat down like ane wi’ a fever, an’ his teeth chittered in +his heid. +</p> + +<p> +“Hoots,” says she, “think shame to yoursel’, +minister;” an’ gied him a drap brandy that she keept aye by her. +</p> + +<p> +Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a’ his books. It’s a +lang, laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin’ cauld in winter, an’ no very +dry even in the tap o’ the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. +Sae doun he sat, and thocht of a’ that had come an’ gane since he +was in Ba’weary, an’ his hame, an’ the days when he was a +bairn an’ ran daffin’ on the braes; and that black man aye ran in +his heid like the ower-come of a sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he +thocht o’ the black man. He tried the prayer, an’ the words +wouldnae come to him; an’ he tried, they say, to write at his book, but +he could nae mak’ nae mair o’ that. There was whiles he thocht the +black man was at his oxter, an’ the swat stood upon him cauld as +well-water; and there was other whiles, when he cam to himsel’ like a +christened bairn and minded naething. +</p> + +<p> +The upshot was that he gaed to the window an’ stood glowrin’ at +Dule water. The trees are unco thick, an’ the water lies deep an’ +black under the manse; an’ there was Janct washin’ the cla’es +wi’ her coats kilted. She had her back to the minister, an’ he, for +his pairt, hardly kenned what he was lookin’ at. Syne she turned round, +an’ shawed her face; Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day +afore, an’ it was borne in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid +lang syne, an’ this was a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a +pickle and he scanned her narrowly. She was tramp-trampin’ in the +cla’es, croonin’ to hersel’; and eh! Gude guide us, but it +was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder, but there was nae man born +o’ woman that could tell the words o’ her sang; an’ whiles +she lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething there for her to look at. +There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon his banes; and that was +Heeven’s advertisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamed himsel’, he +said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld afflicted wife that hadnae a freend +forbye himsel’; an’ he put up a bit prayer for him and her, +an’ drank a little caller water—for his heart rose again the +meat—an’ gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming. +</p> + +<p> +That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba’weary, the nicht +o’ the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun’er’ an +twal’. It had been het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter +than ever. The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin’ clouds; it fell as mirk +as the pit; no a star, no a breath o’ wund; ye couldnae see your +han’ afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their +beds and lay pechin’ for their breath. Wi’ a’ that he had +upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay +an’ he tummled; the gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very +banes; whiles he slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the time +o’ nicht, and whiles a tyke yowlin’ up the muir, as if somebody was +deid; whiles he thocht he heard bogles claverin’ in his lug, an’ +whiles he saw spunkies in the room. He behoved, he judged, to be sick; +an’ sick he was—little he jaloosed the sickness. +</p> + +<p> +At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on the +bed-side, and fell thinkin’ ance mair o’ the black man an’ +Janet. He couldnae weel tell how—maybe it was the cauld to his +feet—but it cam’ in upon him wi’ a spate that there was some +connection between thir twa, an’ that either or baith o’ them were +bogles. And just at that moment, in Janet’s room, which was neist to his, +there cam’ a stramp o’ feet as if men were wars’lin’, +an’ then a loud bang; an’ then a wund gaed reishling round the +fower quarters of the house; an’ then a’ was aince mair as seelent +as the grave. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil. He got his tinder-box, +an’ lit a can’le, an’ made three steps o’t ower to +Janet’s door. It was on the hasp, an’ he pushed it open, an’ +keeked bauldly in. It was a big room, as big as the minister’s ain, +an’ plenished wi’ grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething +else. There was a fower-posted bed wi’ auld tapestry; and a braw cabinet +of aik, that was fu’ o’ the minister’s divinity books, +an’ put there to be out o’ the gate; an’ a wheen duds +o’ Janet’s lying here and there about the floor. But nae Janet +could Mr. Soulis see; nor ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an’ +there’s few that wad ha’e followed him) an’ lookit a’ +round, an’ listened. But there was naethin’ to be heard, neither +inside the manse nor in a’ Ba’weary parish, an’ +naethin’ to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin’ round the +can’le. An’ then a’ at aince, the minister’s heart +played dunt an’ stood stock-still; an’ a cauld wund blew amang the +hairs o’ his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man’s +een! For there was Janat hangin’ frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet: +her heid aye lay on her shoother, her een were steeked, the tongue projekit +frae her mouth, and her heels were twa feet clear abune the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“God forgive us all!” thocht Mr. Soulis; “poor Janet’s +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +He cam’ a step nearer to the corp; an’ then his heart fair whammled +in his inside. For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge, she was +hingin’ frae a single nail an’ by a single wursted thread for +darnin’ hose. +</p> + +<p> +It’s an awfu’ thing to be your lane at nicht wi’ siccan +prodigies o’ darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned +an’ gaed his ways oot o’ that room, and lockit the door ahint him; +and step by step, doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the +can’le on the table at the stairfoot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae +think, he was dreepin’ wi’ caul’ swat, an’ naething +could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin’ o’ his ain heart. He micht +maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, he minded sae little; when +a’ o’ a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny steer upstairs; a foot +gaed to an’ fro in the cha’mer whaur the corp was hingin’; +syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he had lockit it; +an’ syne there was a step upon the landin’, an’ it seemed to +him as if the corp was lookin’ ower the rail and doun upon him whaur he +stood. +</p> + +<p> +He took up the can’le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and as +saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o’ the manse an’ to the +far end o’ the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o’ the +can’le, when he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; +naething moved, but the Dule water seepin’ and sabbin’ doon the +glen, an’ yon unhaly footstep that cam’ ploddin doun the stairs +inside the manse. He kenned the foot over weel, for it was Janet’s; and +at ilka step that cam’ a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his +vitals. He commanded his soul to Him that made an’ keepit him; “and +O Lord,” said he, “give me strength this night to war against the +powers of evil.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time the foot was comin’ through the passage for the door; he +could hear a hand skirt alang the wa’, as if the fearsome thing was +feelin’ for its way. The saughs tossed an’ maned thegether, a lang +sigh cam’ ower the hills, the flame o’ the can’le was blawn +aboot; an’ there stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi’ her grogram +goun an’ her black mutch, wi’ the heid aye upon the shouther, +an’ the girn still upon the face o’t—leevin’, ye wad +hae said—deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned—upon the threshold +o’ the manse. +</p> + +<p> +It’s a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled into his +perishable body; but the minister saw that, an’ his heart didnae break. +</p> + +<p> +She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an’ cam’ +slowly towards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A’ the life +o’ his body, a’ the strength o’ his speerit, were +glowerin’ frae his een. It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted +words, an’ made a sign wi’ the left hand. There cam’ a clap +o’ wund, like a cat’s fuff; oot gaed the can’le, the saughs +skrieghed like folk; an’ Mr. Soulis kenned that, live or die, this was +the end o’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Witch, beldame, devil!” he cried, “I charge you, by the +power of God, begone—if you be dead, to the grave—if you be damned, +to hell.” +</p> + +<p> +An’ at that moment the Lord’s ain hand out o’ the Heevens +struck the Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o’ the +witch-wife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by deils, lowed up +like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the thunder followed, +peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back o’ that; and Mr. +Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi’ skelloch upon +skelloch, for the clachan. +</p> + +<p> +That same mornin’, John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle Cairn +as it was chappin’ six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house at +Knockdow; an’ no lang after, Sandy M’Lellan saw him gaun +linkin’ doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There’s little doubt but +it was him that dwalled sae lang in Janet’s body; but he was awa’ +at last; and sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba’weary. +</p> + +<p> +But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay ravin’ +in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken the day. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="tale05"></a>OLALLA</h2> + +<p> +“Now,” said the doctor, “my part is done, and, I may say, +with some vanity, well done. It remains only to get you out of this cold and +poisonous city, and to give you two months of a pure air and an easy +conscience. The last is your affair. To the first I think I can help you. It +falls indeed rather oddly; it was but the other day the Padre came in from the +country; and as he and I are old friends, although of contrary professions, he +applied to me in a matter of distress among some of his parishioners. This was +a family—but you are ignorant of Spain, and even the names of our +grandees are hardly known to you; suffice it, then, that they were once great +people, and are now fallen to the brink of destitution. Nothing now belongs to +them but the residencia, and certain leagues of desert mountain, in the greater +part of which not even a goat could support life. But the house is a fine old +place, and stands at a great height among the hills, and most salubriously; and +I had no sooner heard my friend’s tale, than I remembered you. I told him +I had a wounded officer, wounded in the good cause, who was now able to make a +change; and I proposed that his friends should take you for a lodger. Instantly +the Padre’s face grew dark, as I had maliciously foreseen it would. It +was out of the question, he said. Then let them starve, said I, for I have no +sympathy with tatterdemalion pride. There-upon we separated, not very content +with one another; but yesterday, to my wonder, the Padre returned and made a +submission: the difficulty, he said, he had found upon enquiry to be less than +he had feared; or, in other words, these proud people had put their pride in +their pocket. I closed with the offer; and, subject to your approval, I have +taken rooms for you in the residencia. The air of these mountains will renew +your blood; and the quiet in which you will there live is worth all the +medicines in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” said I, “you have been throughout my good angel, +and your advice is a command. But tell me, if you please, something of the +family with which I am to reside.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am coming to that,” replied my friend; “and, indeed, there +is a difficulty in the way. These beggars are, as I have said, of very high +descent and swollen with the most baseless vanity; they have lived for some +generations in a growing isolation, drawing away, on either hand, from the rich +who had now become too high for them, and from the poor, whom they still +regarded as too low; and even to-day, when poverty forces them to unfasten +their door to a guest, they cannot do so without a most ungracious stipulation. +You are to remain, they say, a stranger; they will give you attendance, but +they refuse from the first the idea of the smallest intimacy.” +</p> + +<p> +I will not deny that I was piqued, and perhaps the feeling strengthened my +desire to go, for I was confident that I could break down that barrier if I +desired. “There is nothing offensive in such a stipulation,” said +I; “and I even sympathise with the feeling that inspired it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true they have never seen you,” returned the doctor +politely; “and if they knew you were the handsomest and the most pleasant +man that ever came from England (where I am told that handsome men are common, +but pleasant ones not so much so), they would doubtless make you welcome with a +better grace. But since you take the thing so well, it matters not. To me, +indeed, it seems discourteous. But you will find yourself the gainer. The +family will not much tempt you. A mother, a son, and a daughter; an old woman +said to be halfwitted, a country lout, and a country girl, who stands very high +with her confessor, and is, therefore,” chuckled the physician, +“most likely plain; there is not much in that to attract the fancy of a +dashing officer.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you say they are high-born,” I objected. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as to that, I should distinguish,” returned the doctor. +“The mother is; not so the children. The mother was the last +representative of a princely stock, degenerate both in parts and fortune. Her +father was not only poor, he was mad: and the girl ran wild about the +residencia till his death. Then, much of the fortune having died with him, and +the family being quite extinct, the girl ran wilder than ever, until at last +she married, Heaven knows whom, a muleteer some say, others a smuggler; while +there are some who uphold there was no marriage at all, and that Felipe and +Olalla are bastards. The union, such as it was, was tragically dissolved some +years ago; but they live in such seclusion, and the country at that time was in +so much disorder, that the precise manner of the man’s end is known only +to the priest—if even to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I begin to think I shall have strange experiences,” said I. +</p> + +<p> +“I would not romance, if I were you,” replied the doctor; +“you will find, I fear, a very grovelling and commonplace reality. +Felipe, for instance, I have seen. And what am I to say? He is very rustic, +very cunning, very loutish, and, I should say, an innocent; the others are +probably to match. No, no, senor commandante, you must seek congenial society +among the great sights of our mountains; and in these at least, if you are at +all a lover of the works of nature, I promise you will not be +disappointed.” +</p> + +<p> +The next day Felipe came for me in a rough country cart, drawn by a mule; and a +little before the stroke of noon, after I had said farewell to the doctor, the +innkeeper, and different good souls who had befriended me during my sickness, +we set forth out of the city by the Eastern gate, and began to ascend into the +Sierra. I had been so long a prisoner, since I was left behind for dying after +the loss of the convoy, that the mere smell of the earth set me smiling. The +country through which we went was wild and rocky, partially covered with rough +woods, now of the cork-tree, and now of the great Spanish chestnut, and +frequently intersected by the beds of mountain torrents. The sun shone, the +wind rustled joyously; and we had advanced some miles, and the city had already +shrunk into an inconsiderable knoll upon the plain behind us, before my +attention began to be diverted to the companion of my drive. To the eye, he +seemed but a diminutive, loutish, well-made country lad, such as the doctor had +described, mighty quick and active, but devoid of any culture; and this first +impression was with most observers final. What began to strike me was his +familiar, chattering talk; so strangely inconsistent with the terms on which I +was to be received; and partly from his imperfect enunciation, partly from the +sprightly incoherence of the matter, so very difficult to follow clearly +without an effort of the mind. It is true I had before talked with persons of a +similar mental constitution; persons who seemed to live (as he did) by the +senses, taken and possessed by the visual object of the moment and unable to +discharge their minds of that impression. His seemed to me (as I sat, distantly +giving ear) a kind of conversation proper to drivers, who pass much of their +time in a great vacancy of the intellect and threading the sights of a familiar +country. But this was not the case of Felipe; by his own account, he was a +home-keeper; “I wish I was there now,” he said; and then, spying a +tree by the wayside, he broke off to tell me that he had once seen a crow among +its branches. +</p> + +<p> +“A crow?” I repeated, struck by the ineptitude of the remark, and +thinking I had heard imperfectly. +</p> + +<p> +But by this time he was already filled with a new idea; hearkening with a rapt +intentness, his head on one side, his face puckered; and he struck me rudely, +to make me hold my peace. Then he smiled and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you hear?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“O, it is all right,” he said; and began encouraging his mule with +cries that echoed unhumanly up the mountain walls. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him more closely. He was superlatively well-built, light, and lithe +and strong; he was well-featured; his yellow eyes were very large, though, +perhaps, not very expressive; take him altogether, he was a pleasant-looking +lad, and I had no fault to find with him, beyond that he was of a dusky hue, +and inclined to hairyness; two characteristics that I disliked. It was his mind +that puzzled, and yet attracted me. The doctor’s phrase—an +innocent—came back to me; and I was wondering if that were, after all, +the true description, when the road began to go down into the narrow and naked +chasm of a torrent. The waters thundered tumultuously in the bottom; and the +ravine was filled full of the sound, the thin spray, and the claps of wind, +that accompanied their descent. The scene was certainly impressive; but the +road was in that part very securely walled in; the mule went steadily forward; +and I was astonished to perceive the paleness of terror in the face of my +companion. The voice of that wild river was inconstant, now sinking lower as if +in weariness, now doubling its hoarse tones; momentary freshets seemed to swell +its volume, sweeping down the gorge, raving and booming against the barrier +walls; and I observed it was at each of these accessions to the clamour, that +my driver more particularly winced and blanched. Some thoughts of Scottish +superstition and the river Kelpie, passed across my mind; I wondered if +perchance the like were prevalent in that part of Spain; and turning to Felipe, +sought to draw him out. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“O, I am afraid,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what are you afraid?” I returned. “This seems one of the +safest places on this very dangerous road.” +</p> + +<p> +“It makes a noise,” he said, with a simplicity of awe that set my +doubts at rest. +</p> + +<p> +The lad was but a child in intellect; his mind was like his body, active and +swift, but stunted in development; and I began from that time forth to regard +him with a measure of pity, and to listen at first with indulgence, and at last +even with pleasure, to his disjointed babble. +</p> + +<p> +By about four in the afternoon we had crossed the summit of the mountain line, +said farewell to the western sunshine, and began to go down upon the other +side, skirting the edge of many ravines and moving through the shadow of dusky +woods. There rose upon all sides the voice of falling water, not condensed and +formidable as in the gorge of the river, but scattered and sounding gaily and +musically from glen to glen. Here, too, the spirits of my driver mended, and he +began to sing aloud in a falsetto voice, and with a singular bluntness of +musical perception, never true either to melody or key, but wandering at will, +and yet somehow with an effect that was natural and pleasing, like that of the +of birds. As the dusk increased, I fell more and more under the spell of this +artless warbling, listening and waiting for some articulate air, and still +disappointed; and when at last I asked him what it was he +sang—“O,” cried he, “I am just singing!” Above +all, I was taken with a trick he had of unweariedly repeating the same note at +little intervals; it was not so monotonous as you would think, or, at least, +not disagreeable; and it seemed to breathe a wonderful contentment with what +is, such as we love to fancy in the attitude of trees, or the quiescence of a +pool. +</p> + +<p> +Night had fallen dark before we came out upon a plateau, and drew up a little +after, before a certain lump of superior blackness which I could only +conjecture to be the residencia. Here, my guide, getting down from the cart, +hooted and whistled for a long time in vain; until at last an old peasant man +came towards us from somewhere in the surrounding dark, carrying a candle in +his hand. By the light of this I was able to perceive a great arched doorway of +a Moorish character: it was closed by iron-studded gates, in one of the leaves +of which Felipe opened a wicket. The peasant carried off the cart to some +out-building; but my guide and I passed through the wicket, which was closed +again behind us; and by the glimmer of the candle, passed through a court, up a +stone stair, along a section of an open gallery, and up more stairs again, +until we came at last to the door of a great and somewhat bare apartment. This +room, which I understood was to be mine, was pierced by three windows, lined +with some lustrous wood disposed in panels, and carpeted with the skins of many +savage animals. A bright fire burned in the chimney, and shed abroad a +changeful flicker; close up to the blaze there was drawn a table, laid for +supper; and in the far end a bed stood ready. I was pleased by these +preparations, and said so to Felipe; and he, with the same simplicity of +disposition that I held already remarked in him, warmly re-echoed my praises. +“A fine room,” he said; “a very fine room. And fire, too; +fire is good; it melts out the pleasure in your bones. And the bed,” he +continued, carrying over the candle in that direction—“see what +fine sheets—how soft, how smooth, smooth;” and he passed his hand +again and again over their texture, and then laid down his head and rubbed his +cheeks among them with a grossness of content that somehow offended me. I took +the candle from his hand (for I feared he would set the bed on fire) and walked +back to the supper-table, where, perceiving a measure of wine, I poured out a +cup and called to him to come and drink of it. He started to his feet at once +and ran to me with a strong expression of hope; but when he saw the wine, he +visibly shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” he said, “not that; that is for you. I hate +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Senor,” said I; “then I will drink to your good +health, and to the prosperity of your house and family. Speaking of +which,” I added, after I had drunk, “shall I not have the pleasure +of laying my salutations in person at the feet of the Senora, your +mother?” +</p> + +<p> +But at these words all the childishness passed out of his face, and was +succeeded by a look of indescribable cunning and secrecy. He backed away from +me at the same time, as though I were an animal about to leap or some dangerous +fellow with a weapon, and when he had got near the door, glowered at me +sullenly with contracted pupils. “No,” he said at last, and the +next moment was gone noiselessly out of the room; and I heard his footing die +away downstairs as light as rainfall, and silence closed over the house. +</p> + +<p> +After I had supped I drew up the table nearer to the bed and began to prepare +for rest; but in the new position of the light, I was struck by a picture on +the wall. It represented a woman, still young. To judge by her costume and the +mellow unity which reigned over the canvas, she had long been dead; to judge by +the vivacity of the attitude, the eyes and the features, I might have been +beholding in a mirror the image of life. Her figure was very slim and strong, +and of a just proportion; red tresses lay like a crown over her brow; her eyes, +of a very golden brown, held mine with a look; and her face, which was +perfectly shaped, was yet marred by a cruel, sullen, and sensual expression. +Something in both face and figure, something exquisitely intangible, like the +echo of an echo, suggested the features and bearing of my guide; and I stood +awhile, unpleasantly attracted and wondering at the oddity of the resemblance. +The common, carnal stock of that race, which had been originally designed for +such high dames as the one now looking on me from the canvas, had fallen to +baser uses, wearing country clothes, sitting on the shaft and holding the reins +of a mule cart, to bring home a lodger. Perhaps an actual link subsisted; +perhaps some scruple of the delicate flesh that was once clothed upon with the +satin and brocade of the dead lady, now winced at the rude contact of +Felipe’s frieze. +</p> + +<p> +The first light of the morning shone full upon the portrait, and, as I lay +awake, my eyes continued to dwell upon it with growing complacency; its beauty +crept about my heart insidiously, silencing my scruples one after another; and +while I knew that to love such a woman were to sign and seal one’s own +sentence of degeneration, I still knew that, if she were alive, I should love +her. Day after day the double knowledge of her wickedness and of my weakness +grew clearer. She came to be the heroine of many day-dreams, in which her eyes +led on to, and sufficiently rewarded, crimes. She cast a dark shadow on my +fancy; and when I was out in the free air of heaven, taking vigorous exercise +and healthily renewing the current of my blood, it was often a glad thought to +me that my enchantress was safe in the grave, her wand of beauty broken, her +lips closed in silence, her philtre spilt. And yet I had a half-lingering +terror that she might not be dead after all, but re-arisen in the body of some +descendant. +</p> + +<p> +Felipe served my meals in my own apartment; and his resemblance to the portrait +haunted me. At times it was not; at times, upon some change of attitude or +flash of expression, it would leap out upon me like a ghost. It was above all +in his ill tempers that the likeness triumphed. He certainly liked me; he was +proud of my notice, which he sought to engage by many simple and childlike +devices; he loved to sit close before my fire, talking his broken talk or +singing his odd, endless, wordless songs, and sometimes drawing his hand over +my clothes with an affectionate manner of caressing that never failed to cause +in me an embarrassment of which I was ashamed. But for all that, he was capable +of flashes of causeless anger and fits of sturdy sullenness. At a word of +reproof, I have seen him upset the dish of which I was about to eat, and this +not surreptitiously, but with defiance; and similarly at a hint of inquisition. +I was not unnaturally curious, being in a strange place and surrounded by +staring people; but at the shadow of a question, he shrank back, lowering and +dangerous. Then it was that, for a fraction of a second, this rough lad might +have been the brother of the lady in the frame. But these humours were swift to +pass; and the resemblance died along with them. +</p> + +<p> +In these first days I saw nothing of any one but Felipe, unless the portrait is +to be counted; and since the lad was plainly of weak mind, and had moments of +passion, it may be wondered that I bore his dangerous neighbourhood with +equanimity. As a matter of fact, it was for some time irksome; but it happened +before long that I obtained over him so complete a mastery as set my +disquietude at rest. +</p> + +<p> +It fell in this way. He was by nature slothful, and much of a vagabond, and yet +he kept by the house, and not only waited upon my wants, but laboured every day +in the garden or small farm to the south of the residencia. Here he would be +joined by the peasant whom I had seen on the night of my arrival, and who dwelt +at the far end of the enclosure, about half a mile away, in a rude out-house; +but it was plain to me that, of these two, it was Felipe who did most; and +though I would sometimes see him throw down his spade and go to sleep among the +very plants he had been digging, his constancy and energy were admirable in +themselves, and still more so since I was well assured they were foreign to his +disposition and the fruit of an ungrateful effort. But while I admired, I +wondered what had called forth in a lad so shuttle-witted this enduring sense +of duty. How was it sustained? I asked myself, and to what length did it +prevail over his instincts? The priest was possibly his inspirer; but the +priest came one day to the residencia. I saw him both come and go after an +interval of close upon an hour, from a knoll where I was sketching, and all +that time Felipe continued to labour undisturbed in the garden. +</p> + +<p> +At last, in a very unworthy spirit, I determined to debauch the lad from his +good resolutions, and, way-laying him at the gate, easily pursuaded him to join +me in a ramble. It was a fine day, and the woods to which I led him were green +and pleasant and sweet-smelling and alive with the hum of insects. Here he +discovered himself in a fresh character, mounting up to heights of gaiety that +abashed me, and displaying an energy and grace of movement that delighted the +eye. He leaped, he ran round me in mere glee; he would stop, and look and +listen, and seem to drink in the world like a cordial; and then he would +suddenly spring into a tree with one bound, and hang and gambol there like one +at home. Little as he said to me, and that of not much import, I have rarely +enjoyed more stirring company; the sight of his delight was a continual feast; +the speed and accuracy of his movements pleased me to the heart; and I might +have been so thoughtlessly unkind as to make a habit of these wants, had not +chance prepared a very rude conclusion to my pleasure. By some swiftness or +dexterity the lad captured a squirrel in a tree top. He was then some way ahead +of me, but I saw him drop to the ground and crouch there, crying aloud for +pleasure like a child. The sound stirred my sympathies, it was so fresh and +innocent; but as I bettered my pace to draw near, the cry of the squirrel +knocked upon my heart. I have heard and seen much of the cruelty of lads, and +above all of peasants; but what I now beheld struck me into a passion of anger. +I thrust the fellow aside, plucked the poor brute out of his hands, and with +swift mercy killed it. Then I turned upon the torturer, spoke to him long out +of the heat of my indignation, calling him names at which he seemed to wither; +and at length, pointing toward the residencia, bade him begone and leave me, +for I chose to walk with men, not with vermin. He fell upon his knees, and, the +words coming to him with more cleanness than usual, poured out a stream of the +most touching supplications, begging me in mercy to forgive him, to forget what +he had done, to look to the future. “O, I try so hard,” he said. +“O, commandante, bear with Felipe this once; he will never be a brute +again!” Thereupon, much more affected than I cared to show, I suffered +myself to be persuaded, and at last shook hands with him and made it up. But +the squirrel, by way of penance, I made him bury; speaking of the poor +thing’s beauty, telling him what pains it had suffered, and how base a +thing was the abuse of strength. “See, Felipe,” said I, “you +are strong indeed; but in my hands you are as helpless as that poor thing of +the trees. Give me your hand in mine. You cannot remove it. Now suppose that I +were cruel like you, and took a pleasure in pain. I only tighten my hold, and +see how you suffer.” He screamed aloud, his face stricken ashy and dotted +with needle points of sweat; and when I set him free, he fell to the earth and +nursed his hand and moaned over it like a baby. But he took the lesson in good +part; and whether from that, or from what I had said to him, or the higher +notion he now had of my bodily strength, his original affection was changed +into a dog-like, adoring fidelity. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile I gained rapidly in health. The residencia stood on the crown of a +stony plateau; on every side the mountains hemmed it about; only from the roof, +where was a bartizan, there might be seen between two peaks, a small segment of +plain, blue with extreme distance. The air in these altitudes moved freely and +largely; great clouds congregated there, and were broken up by the wind and +left in tatters on the hilltops; a hoarse, and yet faint rumbling of torrents +rose from all round; and one could there study all the ruder and more ancient +characters of nature in something of their pristine force. I delighted from the +first in the vigorous scenery and changeful weather; nor less in the antique +and dilapidated mansion where I dwelt. This was a large oblong, flanked at two +opposite corners by bastion-like projections, one of which commanded the door, +while both were loopholed for musketry. The lower storey was, besides, naked of +windows, so that the building, if garrisoned, could not be carried without +artillery. It enclosed an open court planted with pomegranate trees. From this +a broad flight of marble stairs ascended to an open gallery, running all round +and resting, towards the court, on slender pillars. Thence again, several +enclosed stairs led to the upper storeys of the house, which were thus broken +up into distinct divisions. The windows, both within and without, were closely +shuttered; some of the stone-work in the upper parts had fallen; the roof, in +one place, had been wrecked in one of the flurries of wind which were common in +these mountains; and the whole house, in the strong, beating sunlight, and +standing out above a grove of stunted cork-trees, thickly laden and discoloured +with dust, looked like the sleeping palace of the legend. The court, in +particular, seemed the very home of slumber. A hoarse cooing of doves haunted +about the eaves; the winds were excluded, but when they blew outside, the +mountain dust fell here as thick as rain, and veiled the red bloom of the +pomegranates; shuttered windows and the closed doors of numerous cellars, and +the vacant arches of the gallery, enclosed it; and all day long the sun made +broken profiles on the four sides, and paraded the shadow of the pillars on the +gallery floor. At the ground level there was, however, a certain pillared +recess, which bore the marks of human habitation. Though it was open in front +upon the court, it was yet provided with a chimney, where a wood fire would he +always prettily blazing; and the tile floor was littered with the skins of +animals. +</p> + +<p> +It was in this place that I first saw my hostess. She had drawn one of the +skins forward and sat in the sun, leaning against a pillar. It was her dress +that struck me first of all, for it was rich and brightly coloured, and shone +out in that dusty courtyard with something of the same relief as the flowers of +the pomegranates. At a second look it was her beauty of person that took hold +of me. As she sat back—watching me, I thought, though with invisible +eyes—and wearing at the same time an expression of almost imbecile +good-humour and contentment, she showed a perfectness of feature and a quiet +nobility of attitude that were beyond a statue’s. I took off my hat to +her in passing, and her face puckered with suspicion as swiftly and lightly as +a pool ruffles in the breeze; but she paid no heed to my courtesy. I went forth +on my customary walk a trifle daunted, her idol-like impassivity haunting me; +and when I returned, although she was still in much the same posture, I was +half surprised to see that she had moved as far as the next pillar, following +the sunshine. This time, however, she addressed me with some trivial +salutation, civilly enough conceived, and uttered in the same deep-chested, and +yet indistinct and lisping tones, that had already baffled the utmost niceness +of my hearing from her son. I answered rather at a venture; for not only did I +fail to take her meaning with precision, but the sudden disclosure of her eyes +disturbed me. They were unusually large, the iris golden like Felipe’s, +but the pupil at that moment so distended that they seemed almost black; and +what affected me was not so much their size as (what was perhaps its +consequence) the singular insignificance of their regard. A look more blankly +stupid I have never met. My eyes dropped before it even as I spoke, and I went +on my way upstairs to my own room, at once baffled and embarrassed. Yet, when I +came there and saw the face of the portrait, I was again reminded of the +miracle of family descent. My hostess was, indeed, both older and fuller in +person; her eyes were of a different colour; her face, besides, was not only +free from the ill-significance that offended and attracted me in the painting; +it was devoid of either good or bad—a moral blank expressing literally +naught. And yet there was a likeness, not so much speaking as immanent, not so +much in any particular feature as upon the whole. It should seem, I thought, as +if when the master set his signature to that grave canvas, he had not only +caught the image of one smiling and false-eyed woman, but stamped the essential +quality of a race. +</p> + +<p> +From that day forth, whether I came or went, I was sure to find the Senora +seated in the sun against a pillar, or stretched on a rug before the fire; only +at times she would shift her station to the top round of the stone staircase, +where she lay with the same nonchalance right across my path. In all these +days, I never knew her to display the least spark of energy beyond what she +expended in brushing and re-brushing her copious copper-coloured hair, or in +lisping out, in the rich and broken hoarseness of her voice, her customary idle +salutations to myself. These, I think, were her two chief pleasures, beyond +that of mere quiescence. She seemed always proud of her remarks, as though they +had been witticisms: and, indeed, though they were empty enough, like the +conversation of many respectable persons, and turned on a very narrow range of +subjects, they were never meaningless or incoherent; nay, they had a certain +beauty of their own, breathing, as they did, of her entire contentment. Now she +would speak of the warmth, in which (like her son) she greatly delighted; now +of the flowers of the pomegranate trees, and now of the white doves and +long-winged swallows that fanned the air of the court. The birds excited her. +As they raked the eaves in their swift flight, or skimmed sidelong past her +with a rush of wind, she would sometimes stir, and sit a little up, and seem to +awaken from her doze of satisfaction. But for the rest of her days she lay +luxuriously folded on herself and sunk in sloth and pleasure. Her invincible +content at first annoyed me, but I came gradually to find repose in the +spectacle, until at last it grew to be my habit to sit down beside her four +times in the day, both coming and going, and to talk with her sleepily, I +scarce knew of what. I had come to like her dull, almost animal neighbourhood; +her beauty and her stupidity soothed and amused me. I began to find a kind of +transcendental good sense in her remarks, and her unfathomable good nature +moved me to admiration and envy. The liking was returned; she enjoyed my +presence half-unconsciously, as a man in deep meditation may enjoy the babbling +of a brook. I can scarce say she brightened when I came, for satisfaction was +written on her face eternally, as on some foolish statue’s; but I was +made conscious of her pleasure by some more intimate communication than the +sight. And one day, as I set within reach of her on the marble step, she +suddenly shot forth one of her hands and patted mine. The thing was done, and +she was back in her accustomed attitude, before my mind had received +intelligence of the caress; and when I turned to look her in the face I could +perceive no answerable sentiment. It was plain she attached no moment to the +act, and I blamed myself for my own more uneasy consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +The sight and (if I may so call it) the acquaintance of the mother confirmed +the view I had already taken of the son. The family blood had been +impoverished, perhaps by long inbreeding, which I knew to be a common error +among the proud and the exclusive. No decline, indeed, was to be traced in the +body, which had been handed down unimpaired in shapeliness and strength; and +the faces of to-day were struck as sharply from the mint, as the face of two +centuries ago that smiled upon me from the portrait. But the intelligence (that +more precious heirloom) was degenerate; the treasure of ancestral memory ran +low; and it had required the potent, plebeian crossing of a muleteer or +mountain contrabandista to raise, what approached hebetude in the mother, into +the active oddity of the son. Yet of the two, it was the mother I preferred. Of +Felipe, vengeful and placable, full of starts and shyings, inconstant as a +hare, I could even conceive as a creature possibly noxious. Of the mother I had +no thoughts but those of kindness. And indeed, as spectators are apt ignorantly +to take sides, I grew something of a partisan in the enmity which I perceived +to smoulder between them. True, it seemed mostly on the mother’s part. +She would sometimes draw in her breath as he came near, and the pupils of her +vacant eyes would contract as if with horror or fear. Her emotions, such as +they were, were much upon the surface and readily shared; and this latent +repulsion occupied my mind, and kept me wondering on what grounds it rested, +and whether the son was certainly in fault. +</p> + +<p> +I had been about ten days in the residencia, when there sprang up a high and +harsh wind, carrying clouds of dust. It came out of malarious lowlands, and +over several snowy sierras. The nerves of those on whom it blew were strung and +jangled; their eyes smarted with the dust; their legs ached under the burthen +of their body; and the touch of one hand upon another grew to be odious. The +wind, besides, came down the gullies of the hills and stormed about the house +with a great, hollow buzzing and whistling that was wearisome to the ear and +dismally depressing to the mind. It did not so much blow in gusts as with the +steady sweep of a waterfall, so that there was no remission of discomfort while +it blew. But higher upon the mountain, it was probably of a more variable +strength, with accesses of fury; for there came down at times a far-off +wailing, infinitely grievous to hear; and at times, on one of the high shelves +or terraces, there would start up, and then disperse, a tower of dust, like the +smoke of an explosion. +</p> + +<p> +I no sooner awoke in bed than I was conscious of the nervous tension and +depression of the weather, and the effect grew stronger as the day proceeded. +It was in vain that I resisted; in vain that I set forth upon my customary +morning’s walk; the irrational, unchanging fury of the storm had soon +beat down my strength and wrecked my temper; and I returned to the residencia, +glowing with dry heat, and foul and gritty with dust. The court had a forlorn +appearance; now and then a glimmer of sun fled over it; now and then the wind +swooped down upon the pomegranates, and scattered the blossoms, and set the +window shutters clapping on the wall. In the recess the Senora was pacing to +and fro with a flushed countenance and bright eyes; I thought, too, she was +speaking to herself, like one in anger. But when I addressed her with my +customary salutation, she only replied by a sharp gesture and continued her +walk. The weather had distempered even this impassive creature; and as I went +on upstairs I was the less ashamed of my own discomposure. +</p> + +<p> +All day the wind continued; and I sat in my room and made a feint of reading, +or walked up and down, and listened to the riot overhead. Night fell, and I had +not so much as a candle. I began to long for some society, and stole down to +the court. It was now plunged in the blue of the first darkness; but the recess +was redly lighted by the fire. The wood had been piled high, and was crowned by +a shock of flames, which the draught of the chimney brandished to and fro. In +this strong and shaken brightness the Senora continued pacing from wall to wall +with disconnected gestures, clasping her hands, stretching forth her arms, +throwing back her head as in appeal to heaven. In these disordered movements +the beauty and grace of the woman showed more clearly; but there was a light in +her eye that struck on me unpleasantly; and when I had looked on awhile in +silence, and seemingly unobserved, I turned tail as I had come, and groped my +way back again to my own chamber. +</p> + +<p> +By the time Felipe brought my supper and lights, my nerve was utterly gone; +and, had the lad been such as I was used to seeing him, I should have kept him +(even by force had that been necessary) to take off the edge from my +distasteful solitude. But on Felipe, also, the wind had exercised its +influence. He had been feverish all day; now that the night had come he was +fallen into a low and tremulous humour that reacted on my own. The sight of his +scared face, his starts and pallors and sudden harkenings, unstrung me; and +when he dropped and broke a dish, I fairly leaped out of my seat. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we are all mad to-day,” said I, affecting to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the black wind,” he replied dolefully. “You feel as if +you must do something, and you don’t know what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +I noted the aptness of the description; but, indeed, Felipe had sometimes a +strange felicity in rendering into words the sensations of the body. “And +your mother, too,” said I; “she seems to feel this weather much. Do +you not fear she may be unwell?” +</p> + +<p> +He stared at me a little, and then said, “No,” almost defiantly; +and the next moment, carrying his hand to his brow, cried out lamentably on the +wind and the noise that made his head go round like a millwheel. “Who can +be well?” he cried; and, indeed, I could only echo his question, for I +was disturbed enough myself. +</p> + +<p> +I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restlessness, but the poisonous +nature of the wind, and its ungodly and unintermittent uproar, would not suffer +me to sleep. I lay there and tossed, my nerves and senses on the stretch. At +times I would doze, dream horribly, and wake again; and these snatches of +oblivion confused me as to time. But it must have been late on in the night, +when I was suddenly startled by an outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries. I +leaped from my bed, supposing I had dreamed; but the cries still continued to +fill the house, cries of pain, I thought, but certainly of rage also, and so +savage and discordant that they shocked the heart. It was no illusion; some +living thing, some lunatic or some wild animal, was being foully tortured. The +thought of Felipe and the squirrel flashed into my mind, and I ran to the door, +but it had been locked from the outside; and I might shake it as I pleased, I +was a fast prisoner. Still the cries continued. Now they would dwindle down +into a moaning that seemed to be articulate, and at these times I made sure +they must be human; and again they would break forth and fill the house with +ravings worthy of hell. I stood at the door and gave ear to them, till at, last +they died away. Long after that, I still lingered and still continued to hear +them mingle in fancy with the storming of the wind; and when at last I crept to +my bed, it was with a deadly sickness and a blackness of horror on my heart. +</p> + +<p> +It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I been locked in? What had +passed? Who was the author of these indescribable and shocking cries? A human +being? It was inconceivable. A beast? The cries were scarce quite bestial; and +what animal, short of a lion or a tiger, could thus shake the solid walls of +the residencia? And while I was thus turning over the elements of the mystery, +it came into my mind that I had not yet set eyes upon the daughter of the +house. What was more probable than that the daughter of the Senora, and the +sister of Felipe, should be herself insane? Or, what more likely than that +these ignorant and half-witted people should seek to manage an afflicted +kinswoman by violence? Here was a solution; and yet when I called to mind the +cries (which I never did without a shuddering chill) it seemed altogether +insufficient: not even cruelty could wring such cries from madness. But of one +thing I was sure: I could not live in a house where such a thing was half +conceivable, and not probe the matter home and, if necessary, interfere. +</p> + +<p> +The next day came, the wind had blown itself out, and there was nothing to +remind me of the business of the night. Felipe came to my bedside with obvious +cheerfulness; as I passed through the court, the Senora was sunning herself +with her accustomed immobility; and when I issued from the gateway, I found the +whole face of nature austerely smiling, the heavens of a cold blue, and sown +with great cloud islands, and the mountain-sides mapped forth into provinces of +light and shadow. A short walk restored me to myself, and renewed within me the +resolve to plumb this mystery; and when, from the vantage of my knoll, I had +seen Felipe pass forth to his labours in the garden, I returned at once to the +residencia to put my design in practice. The Senora appeared plunged in +slumber; I stood awhile and marked her, but she did not stir; even if my design +were indiscreet, I had little to fear from such a guardian; and turning away, I +mounted to the gallery and began my exploration of the house. +</p> + +<p> +All morning I went from one door to another, and entered spacious and faded +chambers, some rudely shuttered, some receiving their full charge of daylight, +all empty and unhomely. It was a rich house, on which Time had breathed his +tarnish and dust had scattered disillusion. The spider swung there; the bloated +tarantula scampered on the cornices; ants had their crowded highways on the +floor of halls of audience; the big and foul fly, that lives on carrion and is +often the messenger of death, had set up his nest in the rotten woodwork, and +buzzed heavily about the rooms. Here and there a stool or two, a couch, a bed, +or a great carved chair remained behind, like islets on the bare floors, to +testify of man’s bygone habitation; and everywhere the walls were set +with the portraits of the dead. I could judge, by these decaying effigies, in +the house of what a great and what a handsome race I was then wandering. Many +of the men wore orders on their breasts and had the port of noble offices; the +women were all richly attired; the canvases most of them by famous hands. But +it was not so much these evidences of greatness that took hold upon my mind, +even contrasted, as they were, with the present depopulation and decay of that +great house. It was rather the parable of family life that I read in this +succession of fair faces and shapely bodies. Never before had I so realised the +miracle of the continued race, the creation and recreation, the weaving and +changing and handing down of fleshly elements. That a child should be born of +its mother, that it should grow and clothe itself (we know not how) with +humanity, and put on inherited looks, and turn its head with the manner of one +ascendant, and offer its hand with the gesture of another, are wonders dulled +for us by repetition. But in the singular unity of look, in the common features +and common bearing, of all these painted generations on the walls of the +residencia, the miracle started out and looked me in the face. And an ancient +mirror falling opportunely in my way, I stood and read my own features a long +while, tracing out on either hand the filaments of descent and the bonds that +knit me with my family. +</p> + +<p> +At last, in the course of these investigations, I opened the door of a chamber +that bore the marks of habitation. It was of large proportions and faced to the +north, where the mountains were most wildly figured. The embers of a fire +smouldered and smoked upon the hearth, to which a chair had been drawn close. +And yet the aspect of the chamber was ascetic to the degree of sternness; the +chair was uncushioned; the floor and walls were naked; and beyond the books +which lay here and there in some confusion, there was no instrument of either +work or pleasure. The sight of books in the house of such a family exceedingly +amazed me; and I began with a great hurry, and in momentary fear of +interruption, to go from one to another and hastily inspect their character. +They were of all sorts, devotional, historical, and scientific, but mostly of a +great age and in the Latin tongue. Some I could see to bear the marks of +constant study; others had been torn across and tossed aside as if in petulance +or disapproval. Lastly, as I cruised about that empty chamber, I espied some +papers written upon with pencil on a table near the window. An unthinking +curiosity led me to take one up. It bore a copy of verses, very roughly metred +in the original Spanish, and which I may render somewhat thus— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Pleasure approached with pain and shame,<br /> +Grief with a wreath of lilies came.<br /> +Pleasure showed the lovely sun;<br /> +Jesu dear, how sweet it shone!<br /> +Grief with her worn hand pointed on,<br /> + Jesu dear, to thee! +</p> + +<p> +Shame and confusion at once fell on me; and, laying down the paper, I beat an +immediate retreat from the apartment. Neither Felipe nor his mother could have +read the books nor written these rough but feeling verses. It was plain I had +stumbled with sacrilegious feet into the room of the daughter of the house. God +knows, my own heart most sharply punished me for my indiscretion. The thought +that I had thus secretly pushed my way into the confidence of a girl so +strangely situated, and the fear that she might somehow come to hear of it, +oppressed me like guilt. I blamed myself besides for my suspicions of the night +before; wondered that I should ever have attributed those shocking cries to one +of whom I now conceived as of a saint, spectral of mien, wasted with +maceration, bound up in the practices of a mechanical devotion, and dwelling in +a great isolation of soul with her incongruous relatives; and as I leaned on +the balustrade of the gallery and looked down into the bright close of +pomegranates and at the gaily dressed and somnolent woman, who just then +stretched herself and delicately licked her lips as in the very sensuality of +sloth, my mind swiftly compared the scene with the cold chamber looking +northward on the mountains, where the daughter dwelt. +</p> + +<p> +That same afternoon, as I sat upon my knoll, I saw the Padre enter the gates of +the residencia. The revelation of the daughter’s character had struck +home to my fancy, and almost blotted out the horrors of the night before; but +at sight of this worthy man the memory revived. I descended, then, from the +knoll, and making a circuit among the woods, posted myself by the wayside to +await his passage. As soon as he appeared I stepped forth and introduced myself +as the lodger of the residencia. He had a very strong, honest countenance, on +which it was easy to read the mingled emotions with which he regarded me, as a +foreigner, a heretic, and yet one who had been wounded for the good cause. Of +the family at the residencia he spoke with reserve, and yet with respect. I +mentioned that I had not yet seen the daughter, whereupon he remarked that that +was as it should be, and looked at me a little askance. Lastly, I plucked up +courage to refer to the cries that had disturbed me in the night. He heard me +out in silence, and then stopped and partly turned about, as though to mark +beyond doubt that he was dismissing me. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you take tobacco powder?” said he, offering his snuff-box; and +then, when I had refused, “I am an old man,” he added, “and I +may be allowed to remind you that you are a guest.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have, then, your authority,” I returned, firmly enough, although +I flushed at the implied reproof, “to let things take their course, and +not to interfere?” +</p> + +<p> +He said “yes,” and with a somewhat uneasy salute turned and left me +where I was. But he had done two things: he had set my conscience at rest, and +he had awakened my delicacy. I made a great effort, once more dismissed the +recollections of the night, and fell once more to brooding on my saintly +poetess. At the same time, I could not quite forget that I had been locked in, +and that night when Felipe brought me my supper I attacked him warily on both +points of interest. +</p> + +<p> +“I never see your sister,” said I casually. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said he; “she is a good, good girl,” and his +mind instantly veered to something else. +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister is pious, I suppose?” I asked in the next pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he cried, joining his hands with extreme fervour, “a +saint; it is she that keeps me up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very fortunate,” said I, “for the most of us, I am +afraid, and myself among the number, are better at going down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Senor,” said Felipe earnestly, “I would not say that. You +should not tempt your angel. If one goes down, where is he to stop?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Felipe,” said I, “I had no guess you were a preacher, +and I may say a good one; but I suppose that is your sister’s +doing?” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded at me with round eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” I continued, “she has doubtless reproved you +for your sin of cruelty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twelve times!” he cried; for this was the phrase by which the odd +creature expressed the sense of frequency. “And I told her you had done +so—I remembered that,” he added proudly—“and she was +pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Felipe,” said I, “what were those cries that I heard +last night? for surely they were cries of some creature in suffering.” +</p> + +<p> +“The wind,” returned Felipe, looking in the fire. +</p> + +<p> +I took his hand in mine, at which, thinking it to be a caress, he smiled with a +brightness of pleasure that came near disarming my resolve. But I trod the +weakness down. “The wind,” I repeated; “and yet I think it +was this hand,” holding it up, “that had first locked me in.” +The lad shook visibly, but answered never a word. “Well,” said I, +“I am a stranger and a guest. It is not my part either to meddle or to +judge in your affairs; in these you shall take your sister’s counsel, +which I cannot doubt to be excellent. But in so far as concerns my own I will +be no man’s prisoner, and I demand that key.” Half an hour later my +door was suddenly thrown open, and the key tossed ringing on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +A day or two after I came in from a walk a little before the point of noon. The +Senora was lying lapped in slumber on the threshold of the recess; the pigeons +dozed below the eaves like snowdrifts; the house was under a deep spell of +noontide quiet; and only a wandering and gentle wind from the mountain stole +round the galleries, rustled among the pomegranates, and pleasantly stirred the +shadows. Something in the stillness moved me to imitation, and I went very +lightly across the court and up the marble staircase. My foot was on the +topmost round, when a door opened, and I found myself face to face with Olalla. +Surprise transfixed me; her loveliness struck to my heart; she glowed in the +deep shadow of the gallery, a gem of colour; her eyes took hold upon mine and +clung there, and bound us together like the joining of hands; and the moments +we thus stood face to face, drinking each other in, were sacramental and the +wedding of souls. I know not how long it was before I awoke out of a deep +trance, and, hastily bowing, passed on into the upper stair. She did not move, +but followed me with her great, thirsting eyes; and as I passed out of sight it +seemed to me as if she paled and faded. +</p> + +<p> +In my own room, I opened the window and looked out, and could not think what +change had come upon that austere field of mountains that it should thus sing +and shine under the lofty heaven. I had seen her—Olalla! And the stone +crags answered, Olalla! and the dumb, unfathomable azure answered, Olalla! The +pale saint of my dreams had vanished for ever; and in her place I beheld this +maiden on whom God had lavished the richest colours and the most exuberant +energies of life, whom he had made active as a deer, slender as a reed, and in +whose great eyes he had lighted the torches of the soul. The thrill of her +young life, strung like a wild animal’s, had entered into me; the force +of soul that had looked out from her eyes and conquered mine, mantled about my +heart and sprang to my lips in singing. She passed through my veins: she was +one with me. +</p> + +<p> +I will not say that this enthusiasm declined; rather my soul held out in its +ecstasy as in a strong castle, and was there besieged by cold and sorrowful +considerations. I could not doubt but that I loved her at first sight, and +already with a quivering ardour that was strange to my experience. What then +was to follow? She was the child of an afflicted house, the Senora’s +daughter, the sister of Felipe; she bore it even in her beauty. She had the +lightness and swiftness of the one, swift as an arrow, light as dew; like the +other, she shone on the pale background of the world with the brilliancy of +flowers. I could not call by the name of brother that half-witted lad, nor by +the name of mother that immovable and lovely thing of flesh, whose silly eyes +and perpetual simper now recurred to my mind like something hateful. And if I +could not marry, what then? She was helplessly unprotected; her eyes, in that +single and long glance which had been all our intercourse, had confessed a +weakness equal to my own; but in my heart I knew her for the student of the +cold northern chamber, and the writer of the sorrowful lines; and this was a +knowledge to disarm a brute. To flee was more than I could find courage for; +but I registered a vow of unsleeping circumspection. +</p> + +<p> +As I turned from the window, my eyes alighted on the portrait. It had fallen +dead, like a candle after sunrise; it followed me with eyes of paint. I knew it +to be like, and marvelled at the tenacity of type in that declining race; but +the likeness was swallowed up in difference. I remembered how it had seemed to +me a thing unapproachable in the life, a creature rather of the painter’s +craft than of the modesty of nature, and I marvelled at the thought, and +exulted in the image of Olalla. Beauty I had seen before, and not been charmed, +and I had been often drawn to women, who were not beautiful except to me; but +in Olalla all that I desired and had not dared to imagine was united. +</p> + +<p> +I did not see her the next day, and my heart ached and my eyes longed for her, +as men long for morning. But the day after, when I returned, about my usual +hour, she was once more on the gallery, and our looks once more met and +embraced. I would have spoken, I would have drawn near to her; but strongly as +she plucked at my heart, drawing me like a magnet, something yet more imperious +withheld me; and I could only bow and pass by; and she, leaving my salutation +unanswered, only followed me with her noble eyes. +</p> + +<p> +I had now her image by rote, and as I conned the traits in memory it seemed as +if I read her very heart. She was dressed with something of her mother’s +coquetry, and love of positive colour. Her robe, which I know she must have +made with her own hands, clung about her with a cunning grace. After the +fashion of that country, besides, her bodice stood open in the middle, in a +long slit, and here, in spite of the poverty of the house, a gold coin, hanging +by a ribbon, lay on her brown bosom. These were proofs, had any been needed, of +her inborn delight in life and her own loveliness. On the other hand, in her +eyes that hung upon mine, I could read depth beyond depth of passion and +sadness, lights of poetry and hope, blacknesses of despair, and thoughts that +were above the earth. It was a lovely body, but the inmate, the soul, was more +than worthy of that lodging. Should I leave this incomparable flower to wither +unseen on these rough mountains? Should I despise the great gift offered me in +the eloquent silence of her eyes? Here was a soul immured; should I not burst +its prison? All side considerations fell off from me; were she the child of +Herod I swore I should make her mine; and that very evening I set myself, with +a mingled sense of treachery and disgrace, to captivate the brother. Perhaps I +read him with more favourable eyes, perhaps the thought of his sister always +summoned up the better qualities of that imperfect soul; but he had never +seemed to me so amiable, and his very likeness to Olalla, while it annoyed, yet +softened me. +</p> + +<p> +A third day passed in vain—an empty desert of hours. I would not lose a +chance, and loitered all afternoon in the court where (to give myself a +countenance) I spoke more than usual with the Senora. God knows it was with a +most tender and sincere interest that I now studied her; and even as for +Felipe, so now for the mother, I was conscious of a growing warmth of +toleration. And yet I wondered. Even while I spoke with her, she would doze off +into a little sleep, and presently awake again without embarrassment; and this +composure staggered me. And again, as I marked her make infinitesimal changes +in her posture, savouring and lingering on the bodily pleasure of the movement, +I was driven to wonder at this depth of passive sensuality. She lived in her +body; and her consciousness was all sunk into and disseminated through her +members, where it luxuriously dwelt. Lastly, I could not grow accustomed to her +eyes. Each time she turned on me these great beautiful and meaningless orbs, +wide open to the day, but closed against human inquiry—each time I had +occasion to observe the lively changes of her pupils which expanded and +contracted in a breath—I know not what it was came over me, I can find no +name for the mingled feeling of disappointment, annoyance, and distaste that +jarred along my nerves. I tried her on a variety of subjects, equally in vain; +and at last led the talk to her daughter. But even there she proved +indifferent; said she was pretty, which (as with children) was her highest word +of commendation, but was plainly incapable of any higher thought; and when I +remarked that Olalla seemed silent, merely yawned in my face and replied that +speech was of no great use when you had nothing to say. “People speak +much, very much,” she added, looking at me with expanded pupils; and then +again yawned and again showed me a mouth that was as dainty as a toy. This time +I took the hint, and, leaving her to her repose, went up into my own chamber to +sit by the open window, looking on the hills and not beholding them, sunk in +lustrous and deep dreams, and hearkening in fancy to the note of a voice that I +had never heard. +</p> + +<p> +I awoke on the fifth morning with a brightness of anticipation that seemed to +challenge fate. I was sure of myself, light of heart and foot, and resolved to +put my love incontinently to the touch of knowledge. It should lie no longer +under the bonds of silence, a dumb thing, living by the eye only, like the love +of beasts; but should now put on the spirit, and enter upon the joys of the +complete human intimacy. I thought of it with wild hopes, like a voyager to El +Dorado; into that unknown and lovely country of her soul, I no longer trembled +to adventure. Yet when I did indeed encounter her, the same force of passion +descended on me and at once submerged my mind; speech seemed to drop away from +me like a childish habit; and I but drew near to her as the giddy man draws +near to the margin of a gulf. She drew back from me a little as I came; but her +eyes did not waver from mine, and these lured me forward. At last, when I was +already within reach of her, I stopped. Words were denied me; if I advanced I +could but clasp her to my heart in silence; and all that was sane in me, all +that was still unconquered, revolted against the thought of such an accost. So +we stood for a second, all our life in our eyes, exchanging salvos of +attraction and yet each resisting; and then, with a great effort of the will, +and conscious at the same time of a sudden bitterness of disappointment, I +turned and went away in the same silence. +</p> + +<p> +What power lay upon me that I could not speak? And she, why was she also +silent? Why did she draw away before me dumbly, with fascinated eyes? Was this +love? or was it a mere brute attraction, mindless and inevitable, like that of +the magnet for the steel? We had never spoken, we were wholly strangers: and +yet an influence, strong as the grasp of a giant, swept us silently together. +On my side, it filled me with impatience; and yet I was sure that she was +worthy; I had seen her books, read her verses, and thus, in a sense, divined +the soul of my mistress. But on her side, it struck me almost cold. Of me, she +knew nothing but my bodily favour; she was drawn to me as stones fall to the +earth; the laws that rule the earth conducted her, unconsenting, to my arms; +and I drew back at the thought of such a bridal, and began to be jealous for +myself. It was not thus that I desired to be loved. And then I began to fall +into a great pity for the girl herself. I thought how sharp must be her +mortification, that she, the student, the recluse, Felipe’s saintly +monitress, should have thus confessed an overweening weakness for a man with +whom she had never exchanged a word. And at the coming of pity, all other +thoughts were swallowed up; and I longed only to find and console and reassure +her; to tell her how wholly her love was returned on my side, and how her +choice, even if blindly made, was not unworthy. +</p> + +<p> +The next day it was glorious weather; depth upon depth of blue over-canopied +the mountains; the sun shone wide; and the wind in the trees and the many +falling torrents in the mountains filled the air with delicate and haunting +music. Yet I was prostrated with sadness. My heart wept for the sight of +Olalla, as a child weeps for its mother. I sat down on a boulder on the verge +of the low cliffs that bound the plateau to the north. Thence I looked down +into the wooded valley of a stream, where no foot came. In the mood I was in, +it was even touching to behold the place untenanted; it lacked Olalla; and I +thought of the delight and glory of a life passed wholly with her in that +strong air, and among these rugged and lovely surroundings, at first with a +whimpering sentiment, and then again with such a fiery joy that I seemed to +grow in strength and stature, like a Samson. +</p> + +<p> +And then suddenly I was aware of Olalla drawing near. She appeared out of a +grove of cork-trees, and came straight towards me; and I stood up and waited. +She seemed in her walking a creature of such life and fire and lightness as +amazed me; yet she came quietly and slowly. Her energy was in the slowness; but +for inimitable strength, I felt she would have run, she would have flown to me. +Still, as she approached, she kept her eyes lowered to the ground; and when she +had drawn quite near, it was without one glance that she addressed me. At the +first note of her voice I started. It was for this I had been waiting; this was +the last test of my love. And lo, her enunciation was precise and clear, not +lisping and incomplete like that of her family; and the voice, though deeper +than usual with women, was still both youthful and womanly. She spoke in a rich +chord; golden contralto strains mingled with hoarseness, as the red threads +were mingled with the brown among her tresses. It was not only a voice that +spoke to my heart directly; but it spoke to me of her. And yet her words +immediately plunged me back upon despair. +</p> + +<p> +“You will go away,” she said, “to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +Her example broke the bonds of my speech; I felt as lightened of a weight, or +as if a spell had been dissolved. I know not in what words I answered; but, +standing before her on the cliffs, I poured out the whole ardour of my love, +telling her that I lived upon the thought of her, slept only to dream of her +loveliness, and would gladly forswear my country, my language, and my friends, +to live for ever by her side. And then, strongly commanding myself, I changed +the note; I reassured, I comforted her; I told her I had divined in her a pious +and heroic spirit, with which I was worthy to sympathise, and which I longed to +share and lighten. “Nature,” I told her, “was the voice of +God, which men disobey at peril; and if we were thus humbly drawn together, ay, +even as by a miracle of love, it must imply a divine fitness in our souls; we +must be made,” I said—“made for one another. We should be mad +rebels,” I cried out—“mad rebels against God, not to obey +this instinct.” +</p> + +<p> +She shook her head. “You will go to-day,” she repeated, and then +with a gesture, and in a sudden, sharp note—“no, not to-day,” +she cried, “to-morrow!” +</p> + +<p> +But at this sign of relenting, power came in upon me in a tide. I stretched out +my arms and called upon her name; and she leaped to me and clung to me. The +hills rocked about us, the earth quailed; a shock as of a blow went through me +and left me blind and dizzy. And the next moment she had thrust me back, broken +rudely from my arms, and fled with the speed of a deer among the cork-trees. +</p> + +<p> +I stood and shouted to the mountains; I turned and went back towards the +residencia, waltzing upon air. She sent me away, and yet I had but to call upon +her name and she came to me. These were but the weaknesses of girls, from which +even she, the strangest of her sex, was not exempted. Go? Not I, +Olalla—O, not I, Olalla, my Olalla! A bird sang near by; and in that +season, birds were rare. It bade me be of good cheer. And once more the whole +countenance of nature, from the ponderous and stable mountains down to the +lightest leaf and the smallest darting fly in the shadow of the groves, began +to stir before me and to put on the lineaments of life and wear a face of awful +joy. The sunshine struck upon the hills, strong as a hammer on the anvil, and +the hills shook; the earth, under that vigorous insulation, yielded up heady +scents; the woods smouldered in the blaze. I felt the thrill of travail and +delight run through the earth. Something elemental, something rude, violent, +and savage, in the love that sang in my heart, was like a key to nature’s +secrets; and the very stones that rattled under my feet appeared alive and +friendly. Olalla! Her touch had quickened, and renewed, and strung me up to the +old pitch of concert with the rugged earth, to a swelling of the soul that men +learn to forget in their polite assemblies. Love burned in me like rage; +tenderness waxed fierce; I hated, I adored, I pitied, I revered her with +ecstasy. She seemed the link that bound me in with dead things on the one hand, +and with our pure and pitying God upon the other: a thing brutal and divine, +and akin at once to the innocence and to the unbridled forces of the earth. +</p> + +<p> +My head thus reeling, I came into the courtyard of the residencia, and the +sight of the mother struck me like a revelation. She sat there, all sloth and +contentment, blinking under the strong sunshine, branded with a passive +enjoyment, a creature set quite apart, before whom my ardour fell away like a +thing ashamed. I stopped a moment, and, commanding such shaken tones as I was +able, said a word or two. She looked at me with her unfathomable kindness; her +voice in reply sounded vaguely out of the realm of peace in which she +slumbered, and there fell on my mind, for the first time, a sense of respect +for one so uniformly innocent and happy, and I passed on in a kind of wonder at +myself, that I should be so much disquieted. +</p> + +<p> +On my table there lay a piece of the same yellow paper I had seen in the north +room; it was written on with pencil in the same hand, Olalla’s hand, and +I picked it up with a sudden sinking of alarm, and read, “If you have any +kindness for Olalla, if you have any chivalry for a creature sorely wrought, go +from here to-day; in pity, in honour, for the sake of Him who died, I +supplicate that you shall go.” I looked at this awhile in mere stupidity, +then I began to awaken to a weariness and horror of life; the sunshine darkened +outside on the bare hills, and I began to shake like a man in terror. The +vacancy thus suddenly opened in my life unmanned me like a physical void. It +was not my heart, it was not my happiness, it was life itself that was +involved. I could not lose her. I said so, and stood repeating it. And then, +like one in a dream, I moved to the window, put forth my hand to open the +casement, and thrust it through the pane. The blood spurted from my wrist; and +with an instantaneous quietude and command of myself, I pressed my thumb on the +little leaping fountain, and reflected what to do. In that empty room there was +nothing to my purpose; I felt, besides, that I required assistance. There shot +into my mind a hope that Olalla herself might be my helper, and I turned and +went down stairs, still keeping my thumb upon the wound. +</p> + +<p> +There was no sign of either Olalla or Felipe, and I addressed myself to the +recess, whither the Senora had now drawn quite back and sat dozing close before +the fire, for no degree of heat appeared too much for her. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” said I, “if I disturb you, but I must apply to +you for help.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked up sleepily and asked me what it was, and with the very words I +thought she drew in her breath with a widening of the nostrils and seemed to +come suddenly and fully alive. +</p> + +<p> +“I have cut myself,” I said, “and rather badly. See!” +And I held out my two hands from which the blood was oozing and dripping. +</p> + +<p> +Her great eyes opened wide, the pupils shrank into points; a veil seemed to +fall from her face, and leave it sharply expressive and yet inscrutable. And as +I still stood, marvelling a little at her disturbance, she came swiftly up to +me, and stooped and caught me by the hand; and the next moment my hand was at +her mouth, and she had bitten me to the bone. The pang of the bite, the sudden +spurting of blood, and the monstrous horror of the act, flashed through me all +in one, and I beat her back; and she sprang at me again and again, with bestial +cries, cries that I recognised, such cries as had awakened me on the night of +the high wind. Her strength was like that of madness; mine was rapidly ebbing +with the loss of blood; my mind besides was whirling with the abhorrent +strangeness of the onslaught, and I was already forced against the wall, when +Olalla ran betwixt us, and Felipe, following at a bound, pinned down his mother +on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +A trance-like weakness fell upon me; I saw, heard, and felt, but I was +incapable of movement. I heard the struggle roll to and fro upon the floor, the +yells of that catamount ringing up to Heaven as she strove to reach me. I felt +Olalla clasp me in her arms, her hair falling on my face, and, with the +strength of a man, raise and half drag, half carry me upstairs into my own +room, where she cast me down upon the bed. Then I saw her hasten to the door +and lock it, and stand an instant listening to the savage cries that shook the +residencia. And then, swift and light as a thought, she was again beside me, +binding up my hand, laying it in her bosom, moaning and mourning over it with +dove-like sounds. They were not words that came to her, they were sounds more +beautiful than speech, infinitely touching, infinitely tender; and yet as I lay +there, a thought stung to my heart, a thought wounded me like a sword, a +thought, like a worm in a flower, profaned the holiness of my love. Yes, they +were beautiful sounds, and they were inspired by human tenderness; but was +their beauty human? +</p> + +<p> +All day I lay there. For a long time the cries of that nameless female thing, +as she struggled with her half-witted whelp, resounded through the house, and +pierced me with despairing sorrow and disgust. They were the death-cry of my +love; my love was murdered; was not only dead, but an offence to me; and yet, +think as I pleased, feel as I must, it still swelled within me like a storm of +sweetness, and my heart melted at her looks and touch. This horror that had +sprung out, this doubt upon Olalla, this savage and bestial strain that ran not +only through the whole behaviour of her family, but found a place in the very +foundations and story of our love—though it appalled, though it shocked +and sickened me, was yet not of power to break the knot of my infatuation. +</p> + +<p> +When the cries had ceased, there came a scraping at the door, by which I knew +Felipe was without; and Olalla went and spoke to him—I know not what. +With that exception, she stayed close beside me, now kneeling by my bed and +fervently praying, now sitting with her eyes upon mine. So then, for these six +hours I drank in her beauty, and silently perused the story in her face. I saw +the golden coin hover on her breaths; I saw her eyes darken and brighter, and +still speak no language but that of an unfathomable kindness; I saw the +faultless face, and, through the robe, the lines of the faultless body. Night +came at last, and in the growing darkness of the chamber, the sight of her +slowly melted; but even then the touch of her smooth hand lingered in mine and +talked with me. To lie thus in deadly weakness and drink in the traits of the +beloved, is to reawake to love from whatever shock of disillusion. I reasoned +with myself; and I shut my eyes on horrors, and again I was very bold to accept +the worst. What mattered it, if that imperious sentiment survived; if her eyes +still beckoned and attached me; if now, even as before, every fibre of my dull +body yearned and turned to her? Late on in the night some strength revived in +me, and I spoke:— +</p> + +<p> +“Olalla,” I said, “nothing matters; I ask nothing; I am +content; I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +She knelt down awhile and prayed, and I devoutly respected her devotions. The +moon had begun to shine in upon one side of each of the three windows, and make +a misty clearness in the room, by which I saw her indistinctly. When she +rearose she made the sign of the cross. +</p> + +<p> +“It is for me to speak,” she said, “and for you to listen. I +know; you can but guess. I prayed, how I prayed for you to leave this place. I +begged it of you, and I know you would have granted me even this; or if not, O +let me think so!” +</p> + +<p> +“I love you,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“And yet you have lived in the world,” she said; after a pause, +“you are a man and wise; and I am but a child. Forgive me, if I seem to +teach, who am as ignorant as the trees of the mountain; but those who learn +much do but skim the face of knowledge; they seize the laws, they conceive the +dignity of the design—the horror of the living fact fades from their +memory. It is we who sit at home with evil who remember, I think, and are +warned and pity. Go, rather, go now, and keep me in mind. So I shall have a +life in the cherished places of your memory: a life as much my own, as that +which I lead in this body.” +</p> + +<p> +“I love you,” I said once more; and reaching out my weak hand, took +hers, and carried it to my lips, and kissed it. Nor did she resist, but winced +a little; and I could see her look upon me with a frown that was not unkindly, +only sad and baffled. And then it seemed she made a call upon her resolution; +plucked my hand towards her, herself at the same time leaning somewhat forward, +and laid it on the beating of her heart. “There,” she cried, +“you feel the very footfall of my life. It only moves for you; it is +yours. But is it even mine? It is mine indeed to offer you, as I might take the +coin from my neck, as I might break a live branch from a tree, and give it you. +And yet not mine! I dwell, or I think I dwell (if I exist at all), somewhere +apart, an impotent prisoner, and carried about and deafened by a mob that I +disown. This capsule, such as throbs against the sides of animals, knows you at +a touch for its master; ay, it loves you! But my soul, does my soul? I think +not; I know not, fearing to ask. Yet when you spoke to me your words were of +the soul; it is of the soul that you ask—it is only from the soul that +you would take me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Olalla,” I said, “the soul and the body are one, and mostly +so in love. What the body chooses, the soul loves; where the body clings, the +soul cleaves; body for body, soul to soul, they come together at God’s +signal; and the lower part (if we can call aught low) is only the footstool and +foundation of the highest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you,” she said, “seen the portraits in the house of my +fathers? Have you looked at my mother or at Felipe? Have your eyes never rested +on that picture that hangs by your bed? She who sat for it died ages ago; and +she did evil in her life. But, look again: there is my hand to the least line, +there are my eyes and my hair. What is mine, then, and what am I? If not a +curve in this poor body of mine (which you love, and for the sake of which you +dotingly dream that you love me) not a gesture that I can frame, not a tone of +my voice, not any look from my eyes, no, not even now when I speak to him I +love, but has belonged to others? Others, ages dead, have wooed other men with +my eyes; other men have heard the pleading of the same voice that now sounds in +your ears. The hands of the dead are in my bosom; they move me, they pluck me, +they guide me; I am a puppet at their command; and I but reinform features and +attributes that have long been laid aside from evil in the quiet of the grave. +Is it me you love, friend? or the race that made me? The girl who does not know +and cannot answer for the least portion of herself? or the stream of which she +is a transitory eddy, the tree of which she is the passing fruit? The race +exists; it is old, it is ever young, it carries its eternal destiny in its +bosom; upon it, like waves upon the sea, individual succeeds to individual, +mocked with a semblance of self-control, but they are nothing. We speak of the +soul, but the soul is in the race.” +</p> + +<p> +“You fret against the common law,” I said. “You rebel against +the voice of God, which he has made so winning to convince, so imperious to +command. Hear it, and how it speaks between us! Your hand clings to mine, your +heart leaps at my touch, the unknown elements of which we are compounded awake +and run together at a look; the clay of the earth remembers its independent +life and yearns to join us; we are drawn together as the stars are turned about +in space, or as the tides ebb and flow, by things older and greater than we +ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” she said, “what can I say to you? My fathers, eight +hundred years ago, ruled all this province: they were wise, great, cunning, and +cruel; they were a picked race of the Spanish; their flags led in war; the king +called them his cousin; the people, when the rope was slung for them or when +they returned and found their hovels smoking, blasphemed their name. Presently +a change began. Man has risen; if he has sprung from the brutes, he can descend +again to the same level. The breath of weariness blew on their humanity and the +cords relaxed; they began to go down; their minds fell on sleep, their passions +awoke in gusts, heady and senseless like the wind in the gutters of the +mountains; beauty was still handed down, but no longer the guiding wit nor the +human heart; the seed passed on, it was wrapped in flesh, the flesh covered the +bones, but they were the bones and the flesh of brutes, and their mind was as +the mind of flies. I speak to you as I dare; but you have seen for yourself how +the wheel has gone backward with my doomed race. I stand, as it were, upon a +little rising ground in this desperate descent, and see both before and behind, +both what we have lost and to what we are condemned to go farther downward. And +shall I—I that dwell apart in the house of the dead, my body, loathing +its ways—shall I repeat the spell? Shall I bind another spirit, reluctant +as my own, into this bewitched and tempest-broken tenement that I now suffer +in? Shall I hand down this cursed vessel of humanity, charge it with fresh life +as with fresh poison, and dash it, like a fire, in the faces of posterity? But +my vow has been given; the race shall cease from off the earth. At this hour my +brother is making ready; his foot will soon be on the stair; and you will go +with him and pass out of my sight for ever. Think of me sometimes as one to +whom the lesson of life was very harshly told, but who heard it with courage; +as one who loved you indeed, but who hated herself so deeply that her love was +hateful to her; as one who sent you away and yet would have longed to keep you +for ever; who had no dearer hope than to forget you, and no greater fear than +to be forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +She had drawn towards the door as she spoke, her rich voice sounding softer and +farther away; and with the last word she was gone, and I lay alone in the +moonlit chamber. What I might have done had not I lain bound by my extreme +weakness, I know not; but as it was there fell upon me a great and blank +despair. It was not long before there shone in at the door the ruddy glimmer of +a lantern, and Felipe coming, charged me without a word upon his shoulders, and +carried me down to the great gate, where the cart was waiting. In the moonlight +the hills stood out sharply, as if they were of cardboard; on the glimmering +surface of the plateau, and from among the low trees which swung together and +sparkled in the wind, the great black cube of the residencia stood out bulkily, +its mass only broken by three dimly lighted windows in the northern front above +the gate. They were Olalla’s windows, and as the cart jolted onwards I +kept my eyes fixed upon them till, where the road dipped into a valley, they +were lost to my view forever. Felipe walked in silence beside the shafts, but +from time to time he would cheek the mule and seem to look back upon me; and at +length drew quite near and laid his hand upon my head. There was such kindness +in the touch, and such a simplicity, as of the brutes, that tears broke from me +like the bursting of an artery. +</p> + +<p> +“Felipe,” I said, “take me where they will ask no +questions.” +</p> + +<p> +He said never a word, but he turned his mule about, end for end, retraced some +part of the way we had gone, and, striking into another path, led me to the +mountain village, which was, as we say in Scotland, the kirkton of that thinly +peopled district. Some broken memories dwell in my mind of the day breaking +over the plain, of the cart stopping, of arms that helped me down, of a bare +room into which I was carried, and of a swoon that fell upon me like sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The next day and the days following the old priest was often at my side with +his snuff-box and prayer book, and after a while, when I began to pick up +strength, he told me that I was now on a fair way to recovery, and must as soon +as possible hurry my departure; whereupon, without naming any reason, he took +snuff and looked at me sideways. I did not affect ignorance; I knew he must +have seen Olalla. “Sir,” said I, “you know that I do not ask +in wantonness. What of that family?” +</p> + +<p> +He said they were very unfortunate; that it seemed a declining race, and that +they were very poor and had been much neglected. +</p> + +<p> +“But she has not,” I said. “Thanks, doubtless, to yourself, +she is instructed and wise beyond the use of women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said; “the Senorita is well-informed. But the +family has been neglected.” +</p> + +<p> +“The mother?” I queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the mother too,” said the Padre, taking snuff. “But +Felipe is a well-intentioned lad.” +</p> + +<p> +“The mother is odd?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Very odd,” replied the priest. +</p> + +<p> +“I think, sir, we beat about the bush,” said I. “You must +know more of my affairs than you allow. You must know my curiosity to be +justified on many grounds. Will you not be frank with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“My son,” said the old gentleman, “I will be very frank with +you on matters within my competence; on those of which I know nothing it does +not require much discretion to be silent. I will not fence with you, I take +your meaning perfectly; and what can I say, but that we are all in God’s +hands, and that His ways are not as our ways? I have even advised with my +superiors in the church, but they, too, were dumb. It is a great +mystery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she mad?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I will answer you according to my belief. She is not,” returned +the Padre, “or she was not. When she was young—God help me, I fear +I neglected that wild lamb—she was surely sane; and yet, although it did +not run to such heights, the same strain was already notable; it had been so +before her in her father, ay, and before him, and this inclined me, perhaps, to +think too lightly of it. But these things go on growing, not only in the +individual but in the race.” +</p> + +<p> +“When she was young,” I began, and my voice failed me for a moment, +and it was only with a great effort that I was able to add, “was she like +Olalla?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now God forbid!” exclaimed the Padre. “God forbid that any +man should think so slightingly of my favourite penitent. No, no; the Senorita +(but for her beauty, which I wish most honestly she had less of) has not a +hair’s resemblance to what her mother was at the same age. I could not +bear to have you think so; though, Heaven knows, it were, perhaps, better that +you should.” +</p> + +<p> +At this, I raised myself in bed, and opened my heart to the old man; telling +him of our love and of her decision, owning my own horrors, my own passing +fancies, but telling him that these were at an end; and with something more +than a purely formal submission, appealing to his judgment. +</p> + +<p> +He heard me very patiently and without surprise; and when I had done, he sat +for some time silent. Then he began: “The church,” and instantly +broke off again to apologise. “I had forgotten, my child, that you were +not a Christian,” said he. “And indeed, upon a point so highly +unusual, even the church can scarce be said to have decided. But would you have +my opinion? The Senorita is, in a matter of this kind, the best judge; I would +accept her judgment.” +</p> + +<p> +On the back of that he went away, nor was he thenceforward so assiduous in his +visits; indeed, even when I began to get about again, he plainly feared and +deprecated my society, not as in distaste but much as a man might be disposed +to flee from the riddling sphynx. The villagers, too, avoided me; they were +unwilling to be my guides upon the mountain. I thought they looked at me +askance, and I made sure that the more superstitious crossed themselves on my +approach. At first I set this down to my heretical opinions; but it began at +length to dawn upon me that if I was thus redoubted it was because I had stayed +at the residencia. All men despise the savage notions of such peasantry; and +yet I was conscious of a chill shadow that seemed to fall and dwell upon my +love. It did not conquer, but I may not deny that it restrained my ardour. +</p> + +<p> +Some miles westward of the village there was a gap in the sierra, from which +the eye plunged direct upon the residencia; and thither it became my daily +habit to repair. A wood crowned the summit; and just where the pathway issued +from its fringes, it was overhung by a considerable shelf of rock, and that, in +its turn, was surmounted by a crucifix of the size of life and more than +usually painful in design. This was my perch; thence, day after day, I looked +down upon the plateau, and the great old house, and could see Felipe, no bigger +than a fly, going to and fro about the garden. Sometimes mists would draw +across the view, and be broken up again by mountain winds; sometimes the plain +slumbered below me in unbroken sunshine; it would sometimes be all blotted out +by rain. This distant post, these interrupted sights of the place where my life +had been so strangely changed, suited the indecision of my humour. I passed +whole days there, debating with myself the various elements of our position; +now leaning to the suggestions of love, now giving an ear to prudence, and in +the end halting irresolute between the two. +</p> + +<p> +One day, as I was sitting on my rock, there came by that way a somewhat gaunt +peasant wrapped in a mantle. He was a stranger, and plainly did not know me +even by repute; for, instead of keeping the other side, he drew near and sat +down beside me, and we had soon fallen in talk. Among other things he told me +he had been a muleteer, and in former years had much frequented these +mountains; later on, he had followed the army with his mules, had realised a +competence, and was now living retired with his family. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know that house?” I inquired, at last, pointing to the +residencia, for I readily wearied of any talk that kept me from the thought of +Olalla. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me darkly and crossed himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Too well,” he said, “it was there that one of my comrades +sold himself to Satan; the Virgin shield us from temptations! He has paid the +price; he is now burning in the reddest place in Hell!” +</p> + +<p> +A fear came upon me; I could answer nothing; and presently the man resumed, as +if to himself: “Yes,” he said, “O yes, I know it. I have +passed its doors. There was snow upon the pass, the wind was driving it; sure +enough there was death that night upon the mountains, but there was worse +beside the hearth. I took him by the arm, Senor, and dragged him to the gate; I +conjured him, by all he loved and respected, to go forth with me; I went on my +knees before him in the snow; and I could see he was moved by my entreaty. And +just then she came out on the gallery, and called him by his name; and he +turned, and there was she standing with a lamp in her hand and smiling on him +to come back. I cried out aloud to God, and threw my arms about him, but he put +me by, and left me alone. He had made his choice; God help us. I would pray for +him, but to what end? there are sins that not even the Pope can loose.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your friend,” I asked, “what became of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, God knows,” said the muleteer. “If all be true that we +hear, his end was like his sin, a thing to raise the hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that he was killed?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure enough, he was killed,” returned the man. “But how? Ay, +how? But these are things that it is sin to speak of.” +</p> + +<p> +“The people of that house . . . ” I began. +</p> + +<p> +But he interrupted me with a savage outburst. “The people?” he +cried. “What people? There are neither men nor women in that house of +Satan’s! What? have you lived here so long, and never heard?” And +here he put his mouth to my ear and whispered, as if even the fowls of the +mountain might have over-heard and been stricken with horror. +</p> + +<p> +What he told me was not true, nor was it even original; being, indeed, but a +new edition, vamped up again by village ignorance and superstition, of stories +nearly as ancient as the race of man. It was rather the application that +appalled me. In the old days, he said, the church would have burned out that +nest of basilisks; but the arm of the church was now shortened; his friend +Miguel had been unpunished by the hands of men, and left to the more awful +judgment of an offended God. This was wrong; but it should be so no more. The +Padre was sunk in age; he was even bewitched himself; but the eyes of his flock +were now awake to their own danger; and some day—ay, and before +long—the smoke of that house should go up to heaven. +</p> + +<p> +He left me filled with horror and fear. Which way to turn I knew not; whether +first to warn the Padre, or to carry my ill-news direct to the threatened +inhabitants of the residencia. Fate was to decide for me; for, while I was +still hesitating, I beheld the veiled figure of a woman drawing near to me up +the pathway. No veil could deceive my penetration; by every line and every +movement I recognised Olalla; and keeping hidden behind a corner of the rock, I +suffered her to gain the summit. Then I came forward. She knew me and paused, +but did not speak; I, too, remained silent; and we continued for some time to +gaze upon each other with a passionate sadness. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you had gone,” she said at length. “It is all that +you can do for me—to go. It is all I ever asked of you. And you still +stay. But do you know, that every day heaps up the peril of death, not only on +your head, but on ours? A report has gone about the mountain; it is thought you +love me, and the people will not suffer it.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw she was already informed of her danger, and I rejoiced at it. +“Olalla,” I said, “I am ready to go this day, this very hour, +but not alone.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped aside and knelt down before the crucifix to pray, and I stood by +and looked now at her and now at the object of her adoration, now at the living +figure of the penitent, and now at the ghastly, daubed countenance, the painted +wounds, and the projected ribs of the image. The silence was only broken by the +wailing of some large birds that circled sidelong, as if in surprise or alarm, +about the summit of the hills. Presently Olalla rose again, turned towards me, +raised her veil, and, still leaning with one hand on the shaft of the crucifix, +looked upon me with a pale and sorrowful countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“I have laid my hand upon the cross,” she said. “The Padre +says you are no Christian; but look up for a moment with my eyes, and behold +the face of the Man of Sorrows. We are all such as He was—the inheritors +of sin; we must all bear and expiate a past which was not ours; there is in all +of us—ay, even in me—a sparkle of the divine. Like Him, we must +endure for a little while, until morning returns bringing peace. Suffer me to +pass on upon my way alone; it is thus that I shall be least lonely, counting +for my friend Him who is the friend of all the distressed; it is thus that I +shall be the most happy, having taken my farewell of earthly happiness, and +willingly accepted sorrow for my portion.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at the face of the crucifix, and, though I was no friend to images, +and despised that imitative and grimacing art of which it was a rude example, +some sense of what the thing implied was carried home to my intelligence. The +face looked down upon me with a painful and deadly contraction; but the rays of +a glory encircled it, and reminded me that the sacrifice was voluntary. It +stood there, crowning the rock, as it still stands on so many highway sides, +vainly preaching to passers-by, an emblem of sad and noble truths; that +pleasure is not an end, but an accident; that pain is the choice of the +magnanimous; that it is best to suffer all things and do well. I turned and +went down the mountain in silence; and when I looked back for the last time +before the wood closed about my path, I saw Olalla still leaning on the +crucifix. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="tale06"></a>THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD.</h2> + +<h3><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK.</h3> + +<p> +They had sent for the doctor from Bourron before six. About eight some +villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters stood. It +seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real people, and they made +off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was gravely alarmed, and had +sent down the street for Doctor Desprez. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the little +dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in another, when the +messenger arrived. +</p> + +<p> +“Sapristi!” said the Doctor, “you should have sent for me +before. It was a case for hurry.” And he followed the messenger as he +was, in his slippers and skull-cap. +</p> + +<p> +The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop there; he +went in at one door and out by another into the court, and then led the way by +a flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft where the mountebank lay sick. +If Doctor Desprez were to live a thousand years, he would never forget his +arrival in that room; for not only was the scene picturesque, but the moment +made a date in his existence. We reckon our lives, I hardly know why, from the +date of our first sorry appearance in society, as if from a first humiliation; +for no actor can come upon the stage with a worse grace. Not to go further +back, which would be judged too curious, there are subsequently many moving and +decisive accidents in the lives of all, which would make as logical a period as +this of birth. And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, who +had made what is called a failure in life, and was moreover married, found +himself at a new point of departure when he opened the door of the loft above +Tentaillon’s stable. +</p> + +<p> +It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set upon the floor. The +mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man, with a Quixotic nose +inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying a hot +water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a chair close by sat a little +fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet dangling. These three were the only +occupants, except the shadows. But the shadows were a company in themselves; +the extent of the room exaggerated them to a gigantic size, and from the low +position of the candle the light struck upwards and produced deformed +foreshortenings. The mountebank’s profile was enlarged upon the wall in +caricature, and it was strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the +flame was blown about by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no +more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. +The chair legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy set perched +atop of them, like a cloud, in the corner of the roof. +</p> + +<p> +It was the boy who took the Doctor’s fancy. He had a great arched skull, +the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes. It was +not merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the softest ruddy brown. +There was a look in them, besides, which thrilled the Doctor, and made him half +uneasy. He was sure he had seen such a look before, and yet he could not +remember how or where. It was as if this boy, who was quite a stranger to him, +had the eyes of an old friend or an old enemy. And the boy would give him no +peace; he seemed profoundly indifferent to what was going on, or rather +abstracted from it in a superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet +against the bars of the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But, +for all that, his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room with a +thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether he was fascinating +the boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He busied himself over the sick man: +he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot and swore: +and still, whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes waiting for his +with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze. +</p> + +<p> +At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered the look now. +The little fellow, although he was as straight as a dart, had the eyes that go +usually with a crooked back; he was not at all deformed, and yet a deformed +person seemed to be looking at you from below his brows. The Doctor drew a long +breath, he was so much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to +explain away his interest. +</p> + +<p> +For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, still kneeling +with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked the boy over at +his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but looked placidly back at +the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this your father?” asked Desprez. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” returned the boy; “my master.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you fond of him?” continued the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances. +</p> + +<p> +“That is bad, my man,” resumed the latter, with a shade of +sternness. “Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their +sentiments; and your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little +while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappointment when he flies +away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and vanish. How +much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with +faculties! When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the +breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who never saw +him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are touched with some +affection.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting. +</p> + +<p> +“You did not know him,” he replied at last, “he was a bad +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a little pagan,” said the landlady. “For that matter, +they are all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what not. They +have no interior.” +</p> + +<p> +But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his eyebrows knotted +and uplifted. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Jean-Marie,” said the lad. +</p> + +<p> +Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of excitement, and felt +his head all over from an ethnological point of view. +</p> + +<p> +“Celtic, Celtic!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Celtic!” cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the +word with hydrocephalous. “Poor lad! is it dangerous?” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends,” returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more +addressing the boy: “And what do you do for your living, +Jean-Marie?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I tumble,” was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“So! Tumble?” repeated Desprez. “Probably healthful. I hazard +the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And +have you never done anything else but tumble?” +</p> + +<p> +“Before I learned that, I used to steal,” answered Jean-Marie +gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word!” cried the doctor. “You are a nice little man +for your age. Madame, when my <i>confrère</i> comes from Bourron, you +will communicate my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his hands; but of +course, on any alarming symptom, above all if there should be a sign of rally, +do not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I thank God; but I +have been one. Good night, madame. Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie.” +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +MORNING TALK</h3> + +<p> +Doctor Desprez always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before the first cart +rattled over the bridge to the day’s labour in the fields, he was to be +found wandering in his garden. Now he would pick a bunch of grapes; now he +would eat a big pear under the trellice; now he would draw all sorts of fancies +on the path with the end of his cane; now he would go down and watch the river +running endlessly past the timber landing-place at which he moored his boat. +There was no time, he used to say, for making theories like the early morning. +“I rise earlier than any one else in the village,” he once boasted. +“It is a fair consequence that I know more and wish to do less with my +knowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a good theatrical effect to +usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by which he could predict the +weather. Indeed, most things served him to that end: the sound of the bells +from all the neighbouring villages, the smell of the forest, the visits and the +behaviour of both birds and fishes, the look of the plants in his garden, the +disposition of cloud, the colour of the light, and last, although not least, +the arsenal of meteorological instruments in a louvre-boarded hutch upon the +lawn. Ever since he had settled at Gretz, he had been growing more and more +into the local meteorologist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He +thought at first there was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the +end of the second year, he protested there was none so wholesome in the whole +department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had been prepared to +challenge all France and the better part of Europe for a rival to his chosen +spot. +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” he would say—“doctor is a foul word. It +should not be used to ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our +civilisation, that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now I, for my +part, have washed my hands of it; I have renounced my laureation; I am no +doctor; I am only a worshipper of the true goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe me, it +is she who has the cestus! And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she placed +her shrine: here she dwells and lavishes her gifts; here I walk with her in the +early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made the peasants, how +fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow up tall and comely under +her eyes, and the fishes in the river become clean and agile at her +presence.—Rheumatism!” he would cry, on some malapert interruption, +“O, yes, I believe we do have a little rheumatism. That could hardly be +avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the place stands a little low; and +the meadows are marshy, there’s no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at +Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to the forest; plenty of ozone +there, you would say. Well, compared with Gretz, Bourron is a perfect +shambles.” +</p> + +<p> +The morning after he had been summoned to the dying mountebank, the Doctor +visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long look at the running +water. This he called prayer; but whether his adorations were addressed to the +goddess Hygieia or some more orthodox deity, never plainly appeared. For he had +uttered doubtful oracles, sometimes declaring that a river was the type of +bodily health, sometimes extolling it as the great moral preacher, continually +preaching peace, continuity, and diligence to man’s tormented spirits. +After he had watched a mile or so of the clear water running by before his +eyes, seen a fish or two come to the surface with a gleam of silver, and +sufficiently admired the long shadows of the trees falling half across the +river from the opposite bank, with patches of moving sunlight in between, he +strolled once more up the garden and through his house into the street, feeling +cool and renovated. +</p> + +<p> +The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the business of the day; for the +village was still sound asleep. The church tower looked very airy in the +sunlight; a few birds that turned about it, seemed to swim in an atmosphere of +more than usual rarity; and the Doctor, walking in long transparent shadows, +filled his lungs amply, and proclaimed himself well contented with the morning. +</p> + +<p> +On one of the posts before Tentaillon’s carriage entry he espied a little +dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, and immediately recognised +Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand on +either knee. “So we rise early in the morning, do we? It appears to me +that we have all the vices of a philosopher.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation. +</p> + +<p> +“And how is our patient?” asked Desprez. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared the patient was about the same. +</p> + +<p> +“And why do you rise early in the morning?” he pursued. +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly knew. +</p> + +<p> +“You hardly know?” repeated Desprez. “We hardly know +anything, my man, until we try to learn. Interrogate your consciousness. Come, +push me this inquiry home. Do you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the boy slowly; “yes, I like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why do you like it?” continued the Doctor. “(We are now +pursuing the Socratic method.) Why do you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is quiet,” answered Jean-Marie; “and I have nothing to +do; and then I feel as if I were good.” +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite side. He was beginning +to take an interest in the talk, for the boy plainly thought before he spoke, +and tried to answer truly. “It appears you have a taste for feeling +good,” said the Doctor. “Now, there you puzzle me extremely; for I +thought you said you were a thief; and the two are incompatible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it very bad to steal?” asked Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“Such is the general opinion, little boy,” replied the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“No; but I mean as I stole,” explained the other. “For I had +no choice. I think it is surely right to have bread; it must be right to have +bread, there comes so plain a want of it. And then they beat me cruelly if I +returned with nothing,” he added. “I was not ignorant of right and +wrong; for before that I had been well taught by a priest, who was very kind to +me.” (The Doctor made a horrible grimace at the word +“priest.”) “But it seemed to me, when one had nothing to eat +and was beaten, it was a different affair. I would not have stolen for +tartlets, I believe; but any one would steal for baker’s bread.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so I suppose,” said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, +“you prayed God to forgive you, and explained the case to Him at +length.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sir?” asked Jean-Marie. “I do not see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your priest would see, however,” retorted Desprez. +</p> + +<p> +“Would he?” asked the boy, troubled for the first time. “I +should have thought God would have known.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” snarled the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“I should have thought God would have understood me,” replied the +other. “You do not, I see; but then it was God that made me think so, was +it not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Little boy, little boy,” said Dr. Desprez, “I told you +already you had the vices of philosophy; if you display the virtues also, I +must go. I am a student of the blessed laws of health, an observer of plain and +temperate nature in her common walks; and I cannot preserve my equanimity in +presence of a monster. Do you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“I will make my meaning clear to you,” replied the doctor. +“Look there at the sky—behind the belfry first, where it is so +light, and then up and up, turning your chin back, right to the top of the +dome, where it is already as blue as at noon. Is not that a beautiful colour? +Does it not please the heart? We have seen it all our lives, until it has grown +in with our familiar thoughts. Now,” changing his tone, “suppose +that sky to become suddenly of a live and fiery amber, like the colour of clear +coals, and growing scarlet towards the top—I do not say it would be any +the less beautiful; but would you like it as well?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose not,” answered Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither do I like you,” returned the Doctor, roughly. “I +hate all odd people, and you are the most curious little boy in all the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then he raised his head again and +looked over at the Doctor with an air of candid inquiry. “But are not you +a very curious gentleman?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the boy, clasped him to his bosom, +and kissed him on both cheeks. “Admirable, admirable imp!” he +cried. “What a morning, what an hour for a theorist of forty-two! +No,” he continued, apostrophising heaven, “I did not know such boys +existed; I was ignorant they made them so; I had doubted of my race; and now! +It is like,” he added, picking up his stick, “like a lovers’ +meeting. I have bruised my favourite staff in that moment of enthusiasm. The +injury, however, is not grave.” He caught the boy looking at him in +obvious wonder, embarrassment, and alarm. “Hullo!” said he, +“why do you look at me like that? Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do +you despise me, boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“O, no,” replied Jean-Marie, seriously; “only I do not +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must excuse me, sir,” returned the Doctor, with gravity; +“I am still so young. O, hang him!” he added to himself. And he +took his seat again and observed the boy sardonically. “He has spoiled +the quiet of my morning,” thought he. “I shall be nervous all day, +and have a febricule when I digest. Let me compose myself.” And so he +dismissed his pre-occupations by an effort of the will which he had long +practised, and let his soul roam abroad in the contemplation of the morning. He +inhaled the air, tasting it critically as a connoisseur tastes a vintage, and +prolonging the expiration with hygienic gusto. He counted the little flecks of +cloud along the sky. He followed the movements of the birds round the church +tower—making long sweeps, hanging poised, or turning airy somersaults in +fancy, and beating the wind with imaginary pinions. And in this way he regained +peace of mind and animal composure, conscious of his limbs, conscious of the +sight of his eyes, conscious that the air had a cool taste, like a fruit, at +the top of his throat; and at last, in complete abstraction, he began to sing. +The Doctor had but one air—, “Malbrouck s’en va-t-en +guerre;” even with that he was on terms of mere politeness; and his +musical exploits were always reserved for moments when he was alone and +entirely happy. +</p> + +<p> +He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on the boy’s face. +“What do you think of my singing?” he inquired, stopping in the +middle of a note; and then, after he had waited some little while and received +no answer, “What do you think of my singing?” he repeated, +imperiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not like it,” faltered Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come!” cried the Doctor. “Possibly you are a performer +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“I sing better than that,” replied the boy. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction. He was aware that he was +angry, and blushed for himself in consequence, which made him angrier. +“If this is how you address your master!” he said at last, with a +shrug and a flourish of his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not speak to him at all,” returned the boy. “I do not +like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you like me?” snapped Doctor Desprez, with unusual eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know,” answered Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor rose. “I shall wish you a good morning,” he said. +“You are too much for me. Perhaps you have blood in your veins, perhaps +celestial ichor, or perhaps you circulate nothing more gross than respirable +air; but of one thing I am inexpugnably assured:—that you are no human +being. No, boy”—shaking his stick at him—“you are not a +human being. Write, write it in your memory—‘I am not a human +being—I have no pretension to be a human being—I am a dive, a +dream, an angel, an acrostic, an illusion—what you please, but not a +human being.’ And so accept my humble salutations and farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +And with that the Doctor made off along the street in some emotion, and the boy +stood, mentally gaping, where he left him. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +THE ADOPTION.</h3> + +<p> +Madame Desprez, who answered to the Christian name of Anastasie, presented an +agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly wholesome to look upon, a stout +<i>brune</i>, with cool smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, and hands that +neither art nor nature could improve. She was the sort of person over whom +adversity passes like a summer cloud; she might, in the worst of conjunctions, +knit her brows into one vertical furrow for a moment, but the next it would be +gone. She had much of the placidity of a contented nun; with little of her +piety, however; for Anastasie was of a very mundane nature, fond of oysters and +old wine, and somewhat bold pleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her +own sake rather than for his. She was imperturbably good-natured, but had no +idea of self-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden +behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best, to +gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear stays or a +dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to be kept in a continual +supply of racy novels, and to be married to Doctor Desprez and have no ground +of jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim. Those who had known the +Doctor in bachelor days, when he had aired quite as many theories, but of a +different order, attributed his present philosophy to the study of Anastasie. +It was her brute enjoyment that he rationalised and perhaps vainly imitated. +</p> + +<p> +Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a nicety. She +had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected the Doctor; everything was +in its place; everything capable of polish shone gloriously; and dust was a +thing banished from her empire. Aline, their single servant, had no other +business in the world but to scour and burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his +house like a fatted calf, warmed and cosseted to his heart’s content. +</p> + +<p> +The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from the river in +a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a dish of +asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a bottle <i>plus</i> +one glass, the wife half a bottle <i>minus</i> the same quantity, which was a +marital privilege, of an excellent Côte-Rôtie, seven years old. +Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse for madame, for the +Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; and then Aline left the wedded +pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,” observed +the Doctor—“this coffee is adorable—a very fortunate +circumstance upon the whole—Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that +poison for to-day; only one day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my +reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?” inquired +Anastasie, not heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence. +</p> + +<p> +“That we have no children, my beautiful,” replied the Doctor. +“I think of it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more +gratitude towards the Power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health, my +darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they would all +have suffered, how they would all have been sacrificed! And for what? Children +are the last word of human imperfection. Health flees before their face. They +cry, my dear; they put vexatious questions; they demand to be fed, to be +washed, to be educated, to have their noses blown; and then, when the time +comes, they break our hearts, as I break this piece of sugar. A pair of +professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid offspring, like an +infidelity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said she; and she laughed. “Now, that is like +you—to take credit for the thing you could not help.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” returned the Doctor, solemnly, “we might have +adopted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” cried madame. “Never, Doctor, with my consent. If +the child were my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take another +person’s indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have too much +sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely,” replied the Doctor. “We both had. And I am all +the better pleased with our wisdom, because—because—” He +looked at her sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Because what?” she asked, with a faint premonition of danger. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I have found the right person,” said the Doctor firmly, +“and shall adopt him this afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. “You have lost your reason,” +she said; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed to threaten trouble. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, my dear,” he replied; “I retain its complete +exercise. To the proof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I +have, by way of preparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will there, I +think, recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to call you wife. The fact +is, I have been reckoning all this while without an accident. I never thought +to find a son of my own. Now, last night, I found one. Do not unnecessarily +alarm yourself, my dear; he is not a drop of blood to me that I know. It is his +mind, darling, his mind that calls me father.” +</p> + +<p> +“His mind!” she repeated with a titter between scorn and hysterics. +“His mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are you mad? +His mind! And what of my mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly,” replied the Doctor with a shrug, “you have your +finger on the hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautiful +Anastasie. She will never understand him; he will never understand her. You +married the animal side of my nature, dear and it is on the spiritual side that +I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much so, that, to be perfectly frank, I +stand in some awe of him myself. You will easily perceive that I am announcing +a calamity for you. Do not,” he broke out in tones of real +solicitude—“do not give way to tears after a meal, Anastasie. You +will certainly give yourself a false digestion.” +</p> + +<p> +Anastasie controlled herself. “You know how willing I am to humour +you,” she said, “in all reasonable matters. But on this +point—” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear love,” interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal, +“who wished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the opera, and +the boulevard, and my social relations, and all that was my life before I knew +you? Have I been faithful? Have I been obedient? Have I not borne my doom with +cheerfulness? In all honesty, Anastasie, have I not a right to a stipulation on +my side? I have, and you know it. I stipulate my son.” +</p> + +<p> +Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly. “You +will break my heart,” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the least,” said he. “You will feel a trifling +inconvenience for a month, just as I did when I was first brought to this vile +hamlet; then your admirable sense and temper will prevail, and I see you +already as content as ever, and making your husband the happiest of men.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know I can refuse you nothing,” she said, with a last flicker +of resistance; “nothing that will make you truly happier. But will this? +Are you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found him! He may be the +worst of humbugs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think not,” replied the Doctor. “But do not suppose me so +unwary as to adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a finished man of +the world; I have had all possibilities in view; my plan is contrived to meet +them all. I take the lad as stable boy. If he pilfer, if he grumble, if he +desire to change, I shall see I was mistaken; I shall recognise him for no son +of mine, and send him tramping.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will never do so when the time comes,” said his wife; “I +know your good heart.” +</p> + +<p> +She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as he took it +and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with greater ease than he +had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth time he had proved the efficacy of +his trusty argument, his Excalibur, the hint of a return to Paris. Six months +in the capital, for a man of the Doctor’s antecedents and relations, +implied no less a calamity than total ruin. Anastasie had saved the remainder +of his fortune by keeping him strictly in the country. The very name of Paris +put her in a blue fear; and she would have allowed her husband to keep a +menagerie in the back garden, let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather than +permit the question of return to be discussed. +</p> + +<p> +About four of the afternoon, the mountebank rendered up his ghost; he had never +been conscious since his seizure. Doctor Desprez was present at his last +passage, and declared the farce over. Then he took Jean-Marie by the shoulder +and led him out into the inn garden where there was a convenient bench beside +the river. Here he sat him down and made the boy place himself on his left. +</p> + +<p> +“Jean-Marie,” he said very gravely, “this world is +exceedingly vast; and even France, which is only a small corner of it, is a +great place for a little lad like you. Unfortunately it is full of eager, +shouldering people moving on; and there are very few bakers’ shops for so +many eaters. Your master is dead; you are not fit to gain a living by yourself; +you do not wish to steal? No. Your situation then is undesirable; it is, for +the moment, critical. On the other hand, you behold in me a man not old, though +elderly, still enjoying the youth of the heart and the intelligence; a man of +instruction; easily situated in this world’s affairs; keeping a good +table:—a man, neither as friend nor host, to be despised. I offer you +your food and clothes, and to teach you lessons in the evening, which will be +infinitely more to the purpose for a lad of your stamp than those of all the +priests in Europe. I propose no wages, but if ever you take a thought to leave +me, the door shall be open, and I will give you a hundred francs to start the +world upon. In return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you would very +speedily learn to clean and keep in order. Do not hurry yourself to answer, and +take it or leave it as you judge aright. Only remember this, that I am no +sentimentalist or charitable person, but a man who lives rigorously to himself; +and that if I make the proposal, it is for my own ends—it is because I +perceive clearly an advantage to myself. And now, reflect.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can do. I thank you, sir, +most kindly, and I will try to be useful,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the Doctor warmly, rising at the same time and +wiping his brow, for he had suffered agonies while the thing hung in the wind. +A refusal, after the scene at noon, would have placed him in a ridiculous light +before Anastasie. “How hot and heavy is the evening, to be sure! I have +always had a fancy to be a fish in summer, Jean-Marie, here in the Loing beside +Gretz. I should lie under a water-lily and listen to the bells, which must +sound most delicately down below. That would be a life—do you not think +so too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God you have imagination!” cried the Doctor, embracing the +boy with his usual effusive warmth, though it was a proceeding that seemed to +disconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had been an English schoolboy +of the same age. “And now,” he added, “I will take you to my +wife.” +</p> + +<p> +Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool wrapper. All the blinds were +down, and the tile floor had been recently sprinkled with water; her eyes were +half shut, but she affected to be reading a novel as the they entered. Though +she was a bustling woman, she enjoyed repose between whiles and had a +remarkable appetite for sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor went through a solemn form of introduction, adding, for the benefit +of both parties, “You must try to like each other for my sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very pretty,” said Anastasie. “Will you kiss me, my +pretty little fellow?” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the passage. “Are you a +fool, Anastasie?” he said. “What is all this I hear about the tact +of women? Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my experience. You address my +little philosopher as if he were an infant. He must be spoken to with more +respect, I tell you; he must not be kissed and Georgy-porgy’d like an +ordinary child.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only did it to please you, I am sure,” replied Anastasie; +“but I will try to do better.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor apologised for his warmth. “But I do wish him,” he +continued, “to feel at home among us. And really your conduct was so +idiotic, my cherished one, and so utterly and distantly out of place, that a +saint might have been pardoned a little vehemence in disapproval. Do, do +try—if it is possible for a woman to understand young people—but of +course it is not, and I waste my breath. Hold your tongue as much as possible +at least, and observe my conduct narrowly; it will serve you for a +model.” +</p> + +<p> +Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered the Doctor’s behaviour. +She observed that he embraced the boy three times in the course of the evening, +and managed generally to confound and abash the little fellow out of speech and +appetite. But she had the true womanly heroism in little affairs. Not only did +she refrain from the cheap revenge of exposing the Doctor’s errors to +himself, but she did her best to remove their ill-effect on Jean-Marie. When +Desprez went out for his last breath of air before retiring for the night, she +came over to the boy’s side and took his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You must not be surprised nor frightened by my husband’s +manners,” she said. “He is the kindest of men, but so clever that +he is sometimes difficult to understand. You will soon grow used to him, and +then you will love him, for that nobody can help. As for me, you may be sure, I +shall try to make you happy, and will not bother you at all. I think we should +be excellent friends, you and I. I am not clever, but I am very good-natured. +Will you give me a kiss?” +</p> + +<p> +He held up his face, and she took him in her arms and then began to cry. The +woman had spoken in complaisance; but she had warmed to her own words, and +tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering, found them enlaced: he concluded +that his wife was in fault; and he was just beginning, in an awful voice, +“Anastasie—,” when she looked up at him, smiling, with an +upraised finger; and he held his peace, wondering, while she led the boy to his +attic. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER.</h3> + +<p> +The installation of the adopted stable-boy was thus happily effected, and the +wheels of life continued to run smoothly in the Doctor’s house. +Jean-Marie did his horse and carriage duty in the morning; sometimes helped in +the housework; sometimes walked abroad with the Doctor, to drink wisdom from +the fountain-head; and was introduced at night to the sciences and the dead +tongues. He retained his singular placidity of mind and manner; he was rarely +in fault; but he made only a very partial progress in his studies, and remained +much of a stranger in the family. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was a pattern of regularity. All forenoon he worked on his great +book, the “Comparative Pharmacopoeia, or Historical Dictionary of all +Medicines,” which as yet consisted principally of slips of paper and +pins. When finished, it was to fill many personable volumes, and to combine +antiquarian interest with professional utility. But the Doctor was studious of +literary graces and the picturesque; an anecdote, a touch of manners, a moral +qualification, or a sounding epithet was sure to be preferred before a piece of +science; a little more, and he would have written the “Comparative +Pharmacopoeia’ in verse! The article “Mummia,” for instance, +was already complete, though the remainder of the work had not progressed +beyond the letter A. It was exceedingly copious and entertaining, written with +quaintness and colour, exact, erudite, a literary article; but it would hardly +have afforded guidance to a practising physician of to-day. The feminine good +sense of his wife had led her to point this out with uncompromising sincerity; +for the Dictionary was duly read aloud to her, betwixt sleep and waning, as it +proceeded towards an infinitely distant completion; and the Doctor was a little +sore on the subject of mummies, and sometimes resented an allusion with +asperity. +</p> + +<p> +After the midday meal and a proper period of digestion, he walked, sometimes +alone, sometimes accompanied by Jean-Marie; for madame would have preferred any +hardship rather than walk. +</p> + +<p> +She was, as I have said, a very busy person, continually occupied about +material comforts, and ready to drop asleep over a novel the instant she was +disengaged. This was the less objectionable, as she never snored or grew +distempered in complexion when she slept. On the contrary, she looked the very +picture of luxurious and appetising ease, and woke without a start to the +perfect possession of her faculties. I am afraid she was greatly an animal, but +she was a very nice animal to have about. In this way, she had little to do +with Jean-Marie; but the sympathy which had been established between them on +the first night remained unbroken; they held occasional conversations, mostly +on household matters; to the extreme disappointment of the Doctor, they +occasionally sallied off together to that temple of debasing superstition, the +village church; madame and he, both in their Sunday’s best, drove twice a +month to Fontainebleau and returned laden with purchases; and in short, +although the Doctor still continued to regard them as irreconcilably +anti-pathetic, their relation was as intimate, friendly, and confidential as +their natures suffered. +</p> + +<p> +I fear, however, that in her heart of hearts, madame kindly despised and pitied +the boy. She had no admiration for his class of virtues; she liked a smart, +polite, forward, roguish sort of boy, cap in hand, light of foot, meeting the +eye; she liked volubility, charm, a little vice—the promise of a second +Doctor Desprez. And it was her indefeasible belief that Jean-Marie was dull. +“Poor dear boy,” she had said once, “how sad it is that he +should be so stupid!” She had never repeated that remark, for the Doctor +had raged like a wild bull, denouncing the brutal bluntness of her mind, +bemoaning his own fate to be so unequally mated with an ass, and, what touched +Anastasie more nearly, menacing the table china by the fury of his +gesticulations. But she adhered silently to her opinion; and when Jean-Marie +was sitting, stolid, blank, but not unhappy, over his unfinished tasks, she +would snatch her opportunity in the Doctor’s absence, go over to him, put +her arms about his neck, lay her cheek to his, and communicate her sympathy +with his distress. “Do not mind,” she would say; “I, too, am +not at all clever, and I can assure you that it makes no difference in +life.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor’s view was naturally different. That gentleman never wearied +of the sound of his own voice, which was, to say the truth, agreeable enough to +hear. He now had a listener, who was not so cynically indifferent as Anastasie, +and who sometimes put him on his mettle by the most relevant objections. +Besides, was he not educating the boy? And education, philosophers are agreed, +is the most philosophical of duties. What can be more heavenly to poor mankind +than to have one’s hobby grow into a duty to the State? Then, indeed, do +the ways of life become ways of pleasantness. Never had the Doctor seen reason +to be more content with his endowments. Philosophy flowed smoothly from his +lips. He was so agile a dialectician that he could trace his nonsense, when +challenged, back to some root in sense, and prove it to be a sort of flower +upon his system. He slipped out of antinomies like a fish, and left his +disciple marvelling at the rabbi’s depth. +</p> + +<p> +Moreover, deep down in his heart the Doctor was disappointed with the +ill-success of his more formal education. A boy, chosen by so acute an observer +for his aptitude, and guided along the path of learning by so philosophic an +instructor, was bound, by the nature of the universe, to make a more obvious +and lasting advance. Now Jean-Marie was slow in all things, impenetrable in +others; and his power of forgetting was fully on a level with his power to +learn. Therefore the Doctor cherished his peripatetic lectures, to which the +boy attended, which he generally appeared to enjoy, and by which he often +profited. +</p> + +<p> +Many and many were the talks they had together; and health and moderation +proved the subject of the Doctor’s divagations. To these he lovingly +returned. +</p> + +<p> +“I lead you,” he would say, “by the green pastures. My +system, my beliefs, my medicines, are resumed in one phrase—to avoid +excess. Blessed nature, healthy, temperate nature, abhors and exterminates +excess. Human law, in this matter, imitates at a great distance her provisions; +and we must strive to supplement the efforts of the law. Yes, boy, we must be a +law to ourselves and for ourselves and for our neighbours—lex +armata—armed, emphatic, tyrannous law. If you see a crapulous human ruin +snuffing, dash from him his box! The judge, though in a way an admission of +disease, is less offensive to me than either the doctor or the priest. Above +all the doctor—the doctor and the purulent trash and garbage of his +pharmacopoeia! Pure air—from the neighbourhood of a pinetum for the sake +of the turpentine—unadulterated wine, and the reflections of an +unsophisticated spirit in the presence of the works of nature—these, my +boy, are the best medical appliances and the best religious comforts. Devote +yourself to these. Hark! there are the bells of Bourron (the wind is in the +north, it will be fair). How clear and airy is the sound! The nerves are +harmonised and quieted; the mind attuned to silence; and observe how easily and +regularly beats the heart! Your unenlightened doctor would see nothing in these +sensations; and yet you yourself perceive they are a part of health.—Did +you remember your cinchona this morning? Good. Cinchona also is a work of +nature; it is, after all, only the bark of a tree which we might gather for +ourselves if we lived in the locality.—What a world is this! Though a +professed atheist, I delight to bear my testimony to the world. Look at the +gratuitous remedies and pleasures that surround our path! The river runs by the +garden end, our bath, our fishpond, our natural system of drainage. There is a +well in the court which sends up sparkling water from the earth’s very +heart, clean, cool, and, with a little wine, most wholesome. The district is +notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is the only prevalent complaint, and I +myself have never had a touch of it. I tell you—and my opinion is based +upon the coldest, clearest processes of reason—if I, if you, desired to +leave this home of pleasures, it would be the duty, it would be the privilege, +of our best friend to prevent us with a pistol bullet.” +</p> + +<p> +One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside the village. The river, +as blue as heaven, shone here and there among the foliage. The indefatigable +birds turned and flickered about Gretz church tower. A healthy wind blew from +over the forest, and the sound of innumerable thousands of tree-tops and +innumerable millions on millions of green leaves was abroad in the air, and +filled the ear with something between whispered speech and singing. It seemed +as if every blade of grass must hide a cigale; and the fields rang merrily with +their music, jingling far and near as with the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. +From their station on the slope the eye embraced a large space of +poplar’d plain upon the one hand, the waving hill-tops of the forest on +the other, and Gretz itself in the middle, a handful of roofs. Under the +bestriding arch of the blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It +seemed incredible that people dwelt, and could find room to turn or air to +breathe, in such a corner of the world. The thought came home to the boy, +perhaps for the first time, and he gave it words. +</p> + +<p> +“How small it looks!” he sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” replied the Doctor, “small enough now. Yet it was once +a walled city; thriving, full of furred burgesses and men in armour, humming +with affairs;—with tall spires, for aught that I know, and portly towers +along the battlements. A thousand chimneys ceased smoking at the curfew bell. +There were gibbets at the gate as thick as scarecrows. In time of war, the +assault swarmed against it with ladders, the arrows fell like leaves, the +defenders sallied hotly over the drawbridge, each side uttered its cry as they +plied their weapons. Do you know that the walls extended as far as the +Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas, what a long way off is all this +confusion—nothing left of it but my quiet words spoken in your +ear—and the town itself shrunk to the hamlet underneath us! By-and-by +came the English wars—you shall hear more of the English, a stupid +people, who sometimes blundered into good—and Gretz was taken, sacked, +and burned. It is the history of many towns; but Gretz never rose again; it was +never rebuilt; its ruins were a quarry to serve the growth of rivals; and the +stones of Gretz are now erect along the streets of Nemours. It gratifies me +that our old house was the first to rise after the calamity; when the town had +come to an end, it inaugurated the hamlet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I, too, am glad of that,” said Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“It should be the temple of the humbler virtues,” responded the +Doctor with a savoury gusto. “Perhaps one of the reasons why I love my +little hamlet as I do, is that we have a similar history, she and I. Have I +told you that I was once rich?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think so,” answered Jean-Marie. “I do not think I +should have forgotten. I am sorry you should have lost your fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry?” cried the Doctor. “Why, I find I have scarce begun +your education after all. Listen to me! Would you rather live in the old Gretz +or in the new, free from the alarms of war, with the green country at the door, +without noise, passports, the exactions of the soldiery, or the jangle of the +curfew-bell to send us off to bed by sundown?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I should prefer the new,” replied the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely,” returned the Doctor; “so do I. And, in the same +way, I prefer my present moderate fortune to my former wealth. Golden +mediocrity! cried the adorable ancients; and I subscribe to their enthusiasm. +Have I not good wine, good food, good air, the fields and the forest for my +walk, a house, an admirable wife, a boy whom I protest I cherish like a son? +Now, if I were still rich, I should indubitably make my residence in +Paris—you know Paris—Paris and Paradise are not convertible terms. +This pleasant noise of the wind streaming among leaves changed into the +grinding Babel of the street, the stupid glare of plaster substituted for this +quiet pattern of greens and greys, the nerves shattered, the digestion +falsified—picture the fall! Already you perceive the consequences; the +mind is stimulated, the heart steps to a different measure, and the man is +himself no longer. I have passionately studied myself—the true business +of philosophy. I know my character as the musician knows the ventages of his +flute. Should I return to Paris, I should ruin myself gambling; nay, I go +further—I should break the heart of my Anastasie with +infidelities.” +</p> + +<p> +This was too much for Jean-Marie. That a place should so transform the most +excellent of men transcended his belief. Paris, he protested, was even an +agreeable place of residence. “Nor when I lived in that city did I feel +much difference,” he pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried the Doctor. “Did you not steal when you were +there?” +</p> + +<p> +But the boy could never be brought to see that he had done anything wrong when +he stole. Nor, indeed, did the Doctor think he had; but that gentleman was +never very scrupulous when in want of a retort. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” he concluded, “do you begin to understand? My only +friends were those who ruined me. Gretz has been my academy, my sanatorium, my +heaven of innocent pleasures. If millions are offered me, I wave them back: +<i>Retro</i>, <i>Sathanas</i>!—Evil one, begone! Fix your mind on my +example; despise riches, avoid the debasing influence of cities. +Hygiene—hygiene and mediocrity of fortune—these be your watchwords +during life!” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor’s system of hygiene strikingly coincided with his tastes; and +his picture of the perfect life was a faithful description of the one he was +leading at the time. But it is easy to convince a boy, whom you supply with all +the facts for the discussion. And besides, there was one thing admirable in the +philosophy, and that was the enthusiasm of the philosopher. There was never any +one more vigorously determined to be pleased; and if he was not a great +logician, and so had no right to convince the intellect, he was certainly +something of a poet, and had a fascination to seduce the heart. What he could +not achieve in his customary humour of a radiant admiration of himself and his +circumstances, he sometimes effected in his fits of gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“Boy,” he would say, “avoid me to-day. If I were +superstitious, I should even beg for an interest in your prayers. I am in the +black fit; the evil spirit of King Saul, the hag of the merchant Abudah, the +personal devil of the mediæval monk, is with me—is in me,” +tapping on his breast. “The vices of my nature are now uppermost; +innocent pleasures woo me in vain; I long for Paris, for my wallowing in the +mire. See,” he would continue, producing a handful of silver, “I +denude myself, I am not to be trusted with the price of a fare. Take it, keep +it for me, squander it on deleterious candy, throw it in the deepest of the +river—I will homologate your action. Save me from that part of myself +which I disown. If you see me falter, do not hesitate; if necessary, wreck the +train! I speak, of course, by a parable. Any extremity were better than for me +to reach Paris alive.” +</p> + +<p> +Doubtless the Doctor enjoyed these little scenes, as a variation in his part; +they represented the Byronic element in the somewhat artificial poetry of his +existence; but to the boy, though he was dimly aware of their theatricality, +they represented more. The Doctor made perhaps too little, the boy possibly too +much, of the reality and gravity of these temptations. +</p> + +<p> +One day a great light shone for Jean-Marie. “Could not riches be used +well?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In theory, yes,” replied the Doctor. “But it is found in +experience that no one does so. All the world imagine they will be exceptional +when they grow wealthy; but possession is debasing, new desires spring up; and +the silly taste for ostentation eats out the heart of pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you might be better if you had less,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” replied the Doctor; but his voice quavered as he +spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” demanded pitiless innocence. +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Desprez saw all the colours of the rainbow in a moment; the stable +universe appeared to be about capsizing with him. “Because,” said +he—affecting deliberation after an obvious pause—“because I +have formed my life for my present income. It is not good for men of my years +to be violently dissevered from their habits.” +</p> + +<p> +That was a sharp brush. The Doctor breathed hard, and fell into taciturnity for +the afternoon. As for the boy, he was delighted with the resolution of his +doubts; even wondered that he had not foreseen the obvious and conclusive +answer. His faith in the Doctor was a stout piece of goods. Desprez was +inclined to be a sheet in the wind’s eye after dinner, especially after +Rhone wine, his favourite weakness. He would then remark on the warmth of his +feeling for Anastasie, and with inflamed cheeks and a loose, flustered smile, +debate upon all sorts of topics, and be feebly and indiscreetly witty. But the +adopted stable-boy would not permit himself to entertain a doubt that savoured +of ingratitude. It is quite true that a man may be a second father to you, and +yet take too much to drink; but the best natures are ever slow to accept such +truths. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor thoroughly possessed his heart, but perhaps he exaggerated his +influence over his mind. Certainly Jean-Marie adopted some of his +master’s opinions, but I have yet to learn that he ever surrendered one +of his own. Convictions existed in him by divine right; they were virgin, +unwrought, the brute metal of decision. He could add others indeed, but he +could not put away; neither did he care if they were perfectly agreed among +themselves; and his spiritual pleasures had nothing to do with turning them +over or justifying them in words. Words were with him a mere accomplishment, +like dancing. When he was by himself, his pleasures were almost vegetable. He +would slip into the woods towards Acheres, and sit in the mouth of a cave among +grey birches. His soul stared straight out of his eyes; he did not move or +think; sunlight, thin shadows moving in the wind, the edge of firs against the +sky, occupied and bound his faculties. He was pure unity, a spirit wholly +abstracted. A single mood filled him, to which all the objects of sense +contributed, as the colours of the spectrum merge and disappear in white light. +</p> + +<p> +So while the Doctor made himself drunk with words, the adopted stable-boy +bemused himself with silence. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +TREASURE TROVE.</h3> + +<p> +The Doctor’s carriage was a two-wheeled gig with a hood; a kind of +vehicle in much favour among country doctors. On how many roads has one not +seen it, a great way off between the poplars!—in how many village +streets, tied to a gate-post! This sort of chariot is +affected—particularly at the trot—by a kind of pitching movement to +and fro across the axle, which well entitles it to the style of a Noddy. The +hood describes a considerable arc against the landscape, with a solemnly absurd +effect on the contemplative pedestrian. To ride in such a carriage cannot be +numbered among the things that appertain to glory; but I have no doubt it may +be useful in liver complaint. Thence, perhaps, its wide popularity among +physicians. +</p> + +<p> +One morning early, Jean-Marie led forth the Doctor’s noddy, opened the +gate, and mounted to the driving-seat. The Doctor followed, arrayed from top to +toe in spotless linen, armed with an immense flesh-coloured umbrella, and girt +with a botanical case on a baldric; and the equipage drove off smartly in a +breeze of its own provocation. They were bound for Franchard, to collect +plants, with an eye to the “Comparative Pharmacopoeia.” +</p> + +<p> +A little rattling on the open roads, and they came to the borders of the forest +and struck into an unfrequented track; the noddy yawed softly over the sand, +with an accompaniment of snapping twigs. There was a great, green, softly +murmuring cloud of congregated foliage overhead. In the arcades of the forest +the air retained the freshness of the night. The athletic bearing of the trees, +each carrying its leafy mountain, pleased the mind like so many statues; and +the lines of the trunk led the eye admiringly upward to where the extreme +leaves sparkled in a patch of azure. Squirrels leaped in mid air. It was a +proper spot for a devotee of the goddess Hygieia. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been to Franchard, Jean-Marie?” inquired the Doctor. +“I fancy not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” replied the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“It is ruin in a gorge,” continued Desprez, adopting his expository +voice; “the ruin of a hermitage and chapel. History tells us much of +Franchard; how the recluse was often slain by robbers; how he lived on a most +insufficient diet; how he was expected to pass his days in prayer. A letter is +preserved, addressed to one of these solitaries by the superior of his order, +full of admirable hygienic advice; bidding him go from his book to praying, and +so back again, for variety’s sake, and when he was weary of both to +stroll about his garden and observe the honey bees. It is to this day my own +system. You must often have remarked me leaving the +‘Pharmacopoeia’—often even in the middle of a phrase—to +come forth into the sun and air. I admire the writer of that letter from my +heart; he was a man of thought on the most important subjects. But, indeed, had +I lived in the Middle Ages (I am heartily glad that I did not) I should have +been an eremite myself—if I had not been a professed buffoon, that is. +These were the only philosophical lives yet open: laughter or prayer; sneers, +we might say, and tears. Until the sun of the Positive arose, the wise man had +to make his choice between these two.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been a buffoon, of course,” observed Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your profession,” said +the Doctor, admiring the boy’s gravity. “Do you ever laugh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” replied the other. “I laugh often. I am very fond +of jokes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Singular being!” said Desprez. “But I divagate (I perceive +in a thousand ways that I grow old). Franchard was at length destroyed in the +English wars, the same that levelled Gretz. But—here is the +point—the hermits (for there were already more than one) had foreseen the +danger and carefully concealed the sacrificial vessels. These vessels were of +monstrous value, Jean-Marie—monstrous value—priceless, we may say; +exquisitely worked, of exquisite material. And now, mark me, they have never +been found. In the reign of Louis Quatorze some fellows were digging hard by +the ruins. Suddenly—tock!—the spade hit upon an obstacle. Imagine +the men fooling one to another; imagine how their hearts bounded, how their +colour came and went. It was a coffer, and in Franchard the place of buried +treasure! They tore it open like famished beasts. Alas! it was not the +treasure; only some priestly robes, which, at the touch of the eating air, fell +upon themselves and instantly wasted into dust. The perspiration of these good +fellows turned cold upon them, Jean-Marie. I will pledge my reputation, if +there was anything like a cutting wind, one or other had a pneumonia for his +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to have seen them turning into dust,” said +Jean-Marie. “Otherwise, I should not have cared so greatly.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have no imagination,” cried the Doctor. “Picture to +yourself the scene. Dwell on the idea—a great treasure lying in the earth +for centuries: the material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence not +employed; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen; the swiftest galloping horses +not stirring a hoof, arrested by a spell; women with the beautiful faculty of +smiles, not smiling; cards, dice, opera singing, orchestras, castles, beautiful +parks and gardens, big ships with a tower of sailcloth, all lying unborn in a +coffin—and the stupid trees growing overhead in the sunlight, year after +year. The thought drives one frantic.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is only money,” replied Jean-Marie. “It would do +harm.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, come!” cried Desprez, “that is philosophy; it is all very +fine, but not to the point just now. And besides, it is not ‘only +money,’ as you call it; there are works of art in the question; the +vessels were carved. You speak like a child. You weary me exceedingly, quoting +my words out of all logical connection, like a parroquet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And at any rate, we have nothing to do with it,” returned the boy +submissively. +</p> + +<p> +They struck the Route Ronde at that moment; and the sudden change to the +rattling causeway combined, with the Doctor’s irritation, to keep him +silent. The noddy jigged along; the trees went by, looking on silently, as if +they had something on their minds. The Quadrilateral was passed; then came +Franchard. They put up the horse at the little solitary inn, and went forth +strolling. The gorge was dyed deeply with heather; the rocks and birches +standing luminous in the sun. A great humming of bees about the flowers +disposed Jean-Marie to sleep, and he sat down against a clump of heather, while +the Doctor went briskly to and fro, with quick turns, culling his simples. +</p> + +<p> +The boy’s head had fallen a little forward, his eyes were closed, his +fingers had fallen lax about his knees, when a sudden cry called him to his +feet. It was a strange sound, thin and brief; it fell dead, and silence +returned as though it had never been interrupted. He had not recognised the +Doctor’s voice; but, as there was no one else in all the valley, it was +plainly the Doctor who had given utterance to the sound. He looked right and +left, and there was Desprez, standing in a niche between two boulders, and +looking round on his adopted son with a countenance as white as paper. +</p> + +<p> +“A viper!” cried Jean-Marie, running towards him. “A viper! +You are bitten!” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and, advanced in silence to meet +the boy, whom he took roughly by the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I have found it,” he said, with a gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“A plant?” asked Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +Desprez had a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the rocks took up and mimicked. +“A plant!” he repeated scornfully. “Well—yes—a +plant. And here,” he added suddenly, showing his right hand, which he had +hitherto concealed behind his back—“here is one of the +bulbs.” +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth. +</p> + +<p> +“That?” said he. “It is a plate!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a coach and horses,” cried the Doctor. “Boy,” he +continued, growing warmer, “I plucked away a great pad of moss from +between these boulders, and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what do +you suppose I saw? I saw a house in Paris with a court and garden, I saw my +wife shining with diamonds, I saw myself a deputy, I saw you—well, +I—I saw your future,” he concluded, rather feebly. “I have +just discovered America,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“But what is it?” asked the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“The Treasure of Franchard,” cried the Doctor; and, throwing his +brown straw hat upon the ground, he whooped like an Indian and sprang upon +Jean-Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and bedewed with tears. Then he +flung himself down among the heather and once more laughed until the valley +rang. +</p> + +<p> +But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy’s interest. No sooner +was he released from the Doctor’s accolade than he ran to the boulders, +sprang into the niche, and, thrusting his hand into the crevice, drew forth one +after another, encrusted with the earth of ages, the flagons, candlesticks, and +patens of the hermitage of Franchard. A casket came last, tightly shut and very +heavy. +</p> + +<p> +“O what fun!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had followed close behind and was +silently observing, the words died from his lips. Desprez was once more the +colour of ashes; his lip worked and trembled; a sort of bestial greed possessed +him. +</p> + +<p> +“This is childish,” he said. “We lose precious time. Back to +the inn, harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your life, and +remember—not one whisper. I stay here to watch.” +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The noddy was +brought round to the spot indicated; and the two gradually transported the +treasure from its place of concealment to the boot below the driving seat. Once +it was all stored the Doctor recovered his gaiety. +</p> + +<p> +“I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,” he said. +“O, for a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in the +vein for sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at +Franchard. English pale ale is to be had—not classical, indeed, but +excellent. Boy, we shall drink ale.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought it was so unwholesome,” said Jean-Marie, “and +very dear besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fiddle-de-dee!” exclaimed the Doctor gaily. “To the +inn!” +</p> + +<p> +And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head, with an elastic, youthful air. +The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew up beside the palings of +the inn garden. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said Desprez—“here, near the table, so that we +may keep an eye upon things.” +</p> + +<p> +They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, now in +fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from his chest. He took +a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter with witticisms; and +when the bottle of Bass was at length produced, far more charged with gas than +the most delirious champagne, he filled out a long glassful of froth and pushed +it over to Jean-Marie. “Drink,” he said; “drink deep.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather not,” faltered the boy, true to his training. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” thundered Desprez. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid of it,” said Jean-Marie: “my +stomach—” +</p> + +<p> +“Take it or leave it,” interrupted Desprez fiercely; “but +understand it once for all—there is nothing so contemptible as a +precisian.” +</p> + +<p> +Here was a new lesson! The boy sat bemused, looking at the glass but not +tasting it, while the Doctor emptied and refilled his own, at first with +clouded brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the heady, prickling beverage, +and his own predisposition to be happy. +</p> + +<p> +“Once in a way,” he said at last, by way of a concession to the +boy’s more rigorous attitude, “once in a way, and at so critical a +moment, this ale is a nectar for the gods. The habit, indeed, is debasing; +wine, the juice of the grape, is the true drink of the Frenchman, as I have +often had occasion to point out; and I do not know that I can blame you for +refusing this outlandish stimulant. You can have some wine and cakes. Is the +bottle empty? Well, we will not be proud; we will have pity on your +glass.” +</p> + +<p> +The beer being done, the Doctor chafed bitterly while Jean-Marie finished his +cakes. “I burn to be gone,” he said, looking at his watch. +“Good God, how slow you eat!” And yet to eat slowly was his own +particular prescription, the main secret of longevity! +</p> + +<p> +His martyrdom, however, reached an end at last; the pair resumed their places +in the buggy, and Desprez, leaning luxuriously back, announced his intention of +proceeding to Fontainebleau. +</p> + +<p> +“To Fontainebleau?” repeated Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“My words are always measured,” said the Doctor. “On!” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was driven through the glades of paradise; the air, the light, the +shining leaves, the very movements of the vehicle, seemed to fall in tune with +his golden meditations; with his head thrown back, he dreamed a series of sunny +visions, ale and pleasure dancing in his veins. At last he spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall telegraph for Casimir,” he said. “Good Casimir! a +fellow of the lower order of intelligence, Jean-Marie, distinctly not creative, +not poetic; and yet he will repay your study; his fortune is vast, and is +entirely due to his own exertions. He is the very fellow to help us to dispose +of our trinkets, find us a suitable house in Paris, and manage the details of +our installation. Admirable Casimir, one of my oldest comrades! It was on his +advice, I may add, that I invested my little fortune in Turkish bonds; when we +have added these spoils of the mediæval church to our stake in the +Mahometan empire, little boy, we shall positively roll among doubloons, +positively roll! Beautiful forest,” he cried, “farewell! Though +called to other scenes, I will not forget thee. Thy name is graven in my heart. +Under the influence of prosperity I become dithyrambic, Jean-Marie. Such is the +impulse of the natural soul; such was the constitution of primæval man. +And I—well, I will not refuse the credit—I have preserved my youth +like a virginity; another, who should have led the same snoozing, countryfied +existence for these years, another had become rusted, become stereotype; but I, +I praise my happy constitution, retain the spring unbroken. Fresh opulence and +a new sphere of duties find me unabated in ardour and only more mature by +knowledge. For this prospective change, Jean-Marie—it may probably have +shocked you. Tell me now, did it not strike you as an inconsistency? +Confess—it is useless to dissemble—it pained you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” returned the Doctor, with sublime fatuity, “I read +your thoughts! Nor am I surprised—your education is not yet complete; the +higher duties of men have not been yet presented to you fully. A +hint—till we have leisure—must suffice. Now that I am once more in +possession of a modest competence; now that I have so long prepared myself in +silent meditation, it becomes my superior duty to proceed to Paris. My +scientific training, my undoubted command of language, mark me out for the +service of my country. Modesty in such a case would be a snare. If sin were a +philosophical expression, I should call it sinful. A man must not deny his +manifest abilities, for that is to evade his obligations. I must be up and +doing; I must be no skulker in life’s battle.” +</p> + +<p> +So he rattled on, copiously greasing the joint of his inconsistency with words; +while the boy listened silently, his eyes fixed on the horse, his mind +seething. It was all lost eloquence; no array of words could unsettle a belief +of Jean-Marie’s; and he drove into Fontainebleau filled with pity, +horror, indignation, and despair. +</p> + +<p> +In the town Jean-Marie was kept a fixture on the driving-seat, to guard the +treasure; while the Doctor, with a singular, slightly tipsy airiness of manner, +fluttered in and out of cafés, where he shook hands with garrison +officers, and mixed an absinthe with the nicety of old experience; in and out +of shops, from which he returned laden with costly fruits, real turtle, a +magnificent piece of silk for his wife, a preposterous cane for himself, and a +kepi of the newest fashion for the boy; in and out of the telegraph office, +whence he despatched his telegram, and where three hours later he received an +answer promising a visit on the morrow; and generally pervaded Fontainebleau +with the first fine aroma of his divine good humour. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was very low when they set forth again; the shadows of the forest trees +extended across the broad white road that led them home; the penetrating odour +of the evening wood had already arisen, like a cloud of incense, from that +broad field of tree-tops; and even in the streets of the town, where the air +had been baked all day between white walls, it came in whiffs and pulses, like +a distant music. Half-way home, the last gold flicker vanished from a great oak +upon the left; and when they came forth beyond the borders of the wood, the +plain was already sunken in pearly greyness, and a great, pale moon came +swinging skyward through the filmy poplars. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor talked. He spoke of the woods, +and the wars, and the deposition of dew; he brightened and babbled of Paris; he +soared into cloudy bombast on the glories of the political arena. All was to be +changed; as the day departed, it took with it the vestiges of an outworn +existence, and to-morrow’s sun was to inaugurate the new. +“Enough,” he cried, “of this life of maceration!” His +wife (still beautiful, or he was sadly partial) was to be no longer buried; she +should now shine before society. Jean-Marie would find the world at his feet; +the roads open to success, wealth, honour, and post-humous renown. “And +O, by the way,” said he, “for God’s sake keep your tongue +quiet! You are, of course, a very silent fellow; it is a quality I gladly +recognise in you—silence, golden silence! But this is a matter of +gravity. No word must get abroad; none but the good Casimir is to be trusted; +we shall probably dispose of the vessels in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are they not even ours?” the boy said, almost with a +sob—it was the only time he had spoken. +</p> + +<p> +“Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else’s,” replied +the Doctor. “But the State would have some claim. If they were stolen, +for instance, we should be unable to demand their restitution; we should have +no title; we should be unable even to communicate with the police. Such is the +monstrous condition of the law.<a name="citation263"></a><a +href="#footnote263" class="citation">[263]</a> It is a mere instance of what +remains to be done, of the injustices that may yet be righted by an ardent, +active, and philosophical deputy.” +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and as they drove forward down the +road from Bourron, between the rustling poplars, he prayed in his teeth, and +whipped up the horse to an unusual speed. Surely, as soon as they arrived, +madame would assert her character, and bring this waking nightmare to an end. +</p> + +<p> +Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and accompanied by a most furious +barking; all the dogs in the village seemed to smell the treasure in the noddy. +But there was no one in the street, save three lounging landscape painters at +Tentaillon’s door. Jean-Marie opened the green gate and led in the horse +and carriage; and almost at the same moment Madame Desprez came to the kitchen +threshold with a lighted lantern; for the moon was not yet high enough to clear +the garden walls. +</p> + +<p> +“Close the gates, Jean-Marie!” cried the Doctor, somewhat +unsteadily alighting. “Anastasie, where is Aline?” +</p> + +<p> +“She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,” said madame. +</p> + +<p> +“All is for the best!” exclaimed the Doctor fervently. “Here, +quick, come near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud,” he continued. +“Darling, we are wealthy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wealthy!” repeated the wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I have found the treasure of Franchard,” replied her husband. +“See, here are the first fruits; a pineapple, a dress for my +ever-beautiful—it will suit her—trust a husband’s, trust a +lover’s, taste! Embrace me, darling! This grimy episode is over; the +butterfly unfolds its painted wings. To-morrow Casimir will come; in a week we +may be in Paris—happy at last! You shall have diamonds. Jean-Marie, take +it out of the boot, with religious care, and bring it piece by piece into the +dining-room. We shall have plate at table! Darling, hasten and prepare this +turtle; it will be a whet—it will be an addition to our meagre ordinary. +I myself will proceed to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that little +Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage; there are still three +bottles left. Worthy wine for a worthy occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my husband; you put me in a whirl,” she cried. “I do +not comprehend.” +</p> + +<p> +“The turtle, my adored, the turtle!” cried the doctor; and he +pushed her towards the kitchen, lantern and all. +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured to himself a different +scene—a more immediate protest, and his hope began to dwindle on the +spot. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps, and now and +then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long since he had tasted +absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that the absinthe had been a +misconception. Not that he regretted excess on such a glorious day, but he made +a mental memorandum to beware; he must not, a second time, become the victim of +a deleterious habit. He had his wine out of the cellar in a twinkling; he +arranged the sacrificial vessels, some on the white table-cloth, some on the +sideboard, still crusted with historic earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, +plying Anastasie with vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, +estimating their new wealth at ever larger figures; and before they sat down to +supper, the lady’s virtue had melted in the fire of his enthusiasm, her +timidity had disappeared; she, too, had begun to speak disparagingly of the +life at Gretz; and as she took her place and helped the soup, her eyes shone +with the glitter of prospective diamonds. +</p> + +<p> +All through the meal, she and the Doctor made and unmade fairy plans. They +bobbed and bowed and pledged each other. Their faces ran over with smiles; +their eyes scattered sparkles, as they projected the Doctor’s political +honours and the lady’s drawing-room ovations. +</p> + +<p> +“But you will not be a Red!” cried Anastasie. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Left Centre to the core,” replied the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Madame Gastein will present us—we shall find ourselves +forgotten,” said the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” protested the Doctor. “Beauty and talent leave a +mark.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have positively forgotten how to dress,” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Darling, you make me blush,” cried he. “Yours has been a +tragic marriage!” +</p> + +<p> +“But your success—to see you appreciated, honoured, your name in +all the papers, that will be more than pleasure—it will be heaven!” +she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“And once a week,” said the Doctor, archly scanning the syllables, +“once a week—one good little game of baccarat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only once a week?” she questioned, threatening him with a finger. +</p> + +<p> +“I swear it by my political honour,” cried he. +</p> + +<p> +“I spoil you,” she said, and gave him her hand. +</p> + +<p> +He covered it with kisses. +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon swung high over Gretz. He went down +to the garden end and sat on the jetty. The river ran by with eddies of oily +silver, and a low, monotonous song. Faint veils of mist moved among the poplars +on the farther side. The reeds were quietly nodding. A hundred times already +had the boy sat, on such a night, and watched the streaming river with +untroubled fancy. And this perhaps was to be the last. He was to leave this +familiar hamlet, this green, rustling country, this bright and quiet stream; he +was to pass into the great city; his dear lady mistress was to move bedizened +in saloons; his good, garrulous, kind-hearted master to become a brawling +deputy; and both be lost for ever to Jean-Marie and their better selves. He +knew his own defects; he knew he must sink into less and less consideration in +the turmoil of a city life, sink more and more from the child into the servant. +And he began dimly to believe the Doctor’s prophecies of evil. He could +see a change in both. His generous incredulity failed him for this once; a +child must have perceived that the Hermitage had completed what the absinthe +had begun. If this were the first day, what would be the last? “If +necessary, wreck the train,” thought he, remembering the Doctor’s +parable. He looked round on the delightful scene; he drank deep of the charmed +night air, laden with the scent of hay. “If necessary, wreck the +train,” he repeated. And he rose and returned to the house. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS.</h3> + +<p> +The next morning there was a most unusual outcry, in the Doctor’s house. +The last thing before going to bed, the Doctor had locked up some valuables in +the dining-room cupboard; and behold, when he rose again, as he did about four +o’clock, the cupboard had been broken open, and the valuables in question +had disappeared. Madame and Jean-Marie were summoned from their rooms, and +appeared in hasty toilets; they found the Doctor raving, calling the heavens to +witness and avenge his injury, pacing the room bare-footed, with the tails of +his night-shirt flirting as he turned. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” he said; “the things are gone, the fortune gone! We +are paupers once more. Boy! what do you know of this? Speak up, sir, speak up. +Do you know of it? Where are they?” He had him by the arm, shaking him +like a bag, and the boy’s words, if he had any, were jolted forth in +inarticulate murmurs. The Doctor, with a revulsion from his own violence, set +him down again. He observed Anastasie in tears. “Anastasie,” he +said, in quite an altered voice, “compose yourself, command your +feelings. I would not have you give way to passion like the vulgar. +This—this trifling accident must be lived down. Jean-Marie, bring me my +smaller medicine chest. A gentle laxative is indicated.” +</p> + +<p> +And he dosed the family all round, leading the way himself with a double +quantity. The wretched Anastasie, who had never been ill in the whole course of +her existence, and whose soul recoiled from remedies, wept floods of tears as +she sipped, and shuddered, and protested, and then was bullied and shouted at +until she sipped again. As for Jean-Marie, he took his portion down with +stoicism. +</p> + +<p> +“I have given him a less amount,” observed the Doctor, “his +youth protecting him against emotion. And now that we have thus parried any +morbid consequences, let us reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am so cold,” wailed Anastasie. +</p> + +<p> +“Cold!” cried the Doctor. “I give thanks to God that I am +made of fierier material. Why, madam, a blow like this would set a frog into a +transpiration. If you are cold, you can retire; and, by the way, you might +throw me down my trousers. It is chilly for the legs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” protested Anastasie; “I will stay with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, madam, you shall not suffer for your devotion,” said the +Doctor. “I will myself fetch you a shawl.” And he went upstairs and +returned more fully clad and with an armful of wraps for the shivering +Anastasie. “And now,” he resumed, “to investigate this crime. +Let us proceed by induction. Anastasie, do you know anything that can help +us?” Anastasie knew nothing. “Or you, Jean-Marie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I,” replied the boy steadily. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” returned the Doctor. “We shall now turn our attention +to the material evidences. (I was born to be a detective; I have the eye and +the systematic spirit.) First, violence has been employed. The door was broken +open; and it may be observed, in passing, that the lock was dear indeed at what +I paid for it: a crow to pluck with Master Goguelat. Second, here is the +instrument employed, one of our own table-knives, one of our best, my dear; +which seems to indicate no preparation on the part of the gang—if gang it +was. Thirdly, I observe that nothing has been removed except the Franchard +dishes and the casket; our own silver has been minutely respected. This is +wily; it shows intelligence, a knowledge of the code, a desire to avoid legal +consequences. I argue from this fact that the gang numbers persons of +respectability—outward, of course, and merely outward, as the robbery +proves. But I argue, second, that we must have been observed at Franchard +itself by some occult observer, and dogged throughout the day with a skill and +patience that I venture to qualify as consummate. No ordinary man, no +occasional criminal, would have shown himself capable of this combination. We +have in our neighbourhood, it is far from improbable, a retired bandit of the +highest order of intelligence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heaven!” cried the horrified Anastasie. “Henri, how can +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My cherished one, this is a process of induction,” said the +Doctor. “If any of my steps are unsound, correct me. You are silent? Then +do not, I beseech you, be so vulgarly illogical as to revolt from my +conclusion. We have now arrived,” he resumed, “at some idea of the +composition of the gang—for I incline to the hypothesis of more than +one—and we now leave this room, which can disclose no more, and turn our +attention to the court and garden. (Jean-Marie, I trust you are observantly +following my various steps; this is an excellent piece of education for you.) +Come with me to the door. No steps on the court; it is unfortunate our court +should be paved. On what small matters hang the destiny of these delicate +investigations! Hey! What have we here? I have led on to the very spot,” +he said, standing grandly backward and indicating the green gate. “An +escalade, as you can now see for yourselves, has taken place.” +</p> + +<p> +Sure enough, the green paint was in several places scratched and broken; and +one of the panels preserved the print of a nailed shoe. The foot had slipped, +however, and it was difficult to estimate the size of the shoe, and impossible +to distinguish the pattern of the nails. +</p> + +<p> +“The whole robbery,” concluded the Doctor, “step by step, has +been reconstituted. Inductive science can no further go.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is wonderful,” said his wife. “You should indeed have +been a detective, Henri. I had no idea of your talents.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” replied Desprez, condescendingly, “a man of +scientific imagination combines the lesser faculties; he is a detective just as +he is a publicist or a general; these are but local applications of his special +talent. But now,” he continued, “would you have me go further? +Would you have me lay my finger on the culprits—or rather, for I cannot +promise quite so much, point out to you the very house where they consort? It +may be a satisfaction, at least it is all we are likely to get, since we are +denied the remedy of law. I reach the further stage in this way. In order to +fill my outline of the robbery, I require a man likely to be in the forest +idling, I require a man of education, I require a man superior to +considerations of morality. The three requisites all centre in +Tentaillon’s boarders. They are painters, therefore they are continually +lounging in the forest. They are painters, therefore they are not unlikely to +have some smattering of education. Lastly, because they are painters, they are +probably immoral. And this I prove in two ways. First, painting is an art which +merely addresses the eye; it does not in any particular exercise the moral +sense. And second, painting, in common with all the other arts, implies the +dangerous quality of imagination. A man of imagination is never moral; he +outsoars literal demarcations and reviews life under too many shifting lights +to rest content with the invidious distinctions of the law!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you always say—at least, so I understood you”—said +madame, “that these lads display no imagination whatever.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, they displayed imagination, and of a very fantastic order, +too,” returned the Doctor, “when they embraced their beggarly +profession. Besides—and this is an argument exactly suited to your +intellectual level—many of them are English and American. Where else +should we expect to find a thief?—And now you had better get your coffee. +Because we have lost a treasure, there is no reason for starving. For my part, +I shall break my fast with white wine. I feel unaccountably heated and thirsty +to-day. I can only attribute it to the shock of the discovery. And yet, you +will bear me out, I supported the emotion nobly.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor had now talked himself back into an admirable humour; and as he sat +in the arbour and slowly imbibed a large allowance of white wine and picked a +little bread and cheese with no very impetuous appetite, if a third of his +meditations ran upon the missing treasure, the other two-thirds were more +pleasingly busied in the retrospect of his detective skill. +</p> + +<p> +About eleven Casimir arrived; he had caught an early train to Fontainebleau, +and driven over to save time; and now his cab was stabled at +Tentaillon’s, and he remarked, studying his watch, that he could spare an +hour and a half. He was much the man of business, decisively spoken, given to +frowning in an intellectual manner. Anastasie’s born brother, he did not +waste much sentiment on the lady, gave her an English family kiss, and demanded +a meal without delay. +</p> + +<p> +“You can tell me your story while we eat,” he observed. +“Anything good to-day, Stasie?” +</p> + +<p> +He was promised something good. The trio sat down to table in the arbour, +Jean-Marie waiting as well as eating, and the Doctor recounted what had +happened in his richest narrative manner. Casimir heard it with explosions of +laughter. +</p> + +<p> +“What a streak of luck for you, my good brother,” he observed, when +the tale was over. “If you had gone to Paris, you would have played +dick-duck-drake with the whole consignment in three months. Your own would have +followed; and you would have come to me in a procession like the last time. But +I give you warning—Stasie may weep and Henri ratiocinate—it will +not serve you twice. Your next collapse will be fatal. I thought I had told you +so, Stasie? Hey? No sense?” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor winced and looked furtively at Jean-Marie; but the boy seemed +apathetic. +</p> + +<p> +“And then again,” broke out Casimir, “what children you +are—vicious children, my faith! How could you tell the value of this +trash? It might have been worth nothing, or next door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” said the Doctor. “You have your usual flow of +spirits, I perceive, but even less than your usual deliberation. I am not +entirely ignorant of these matters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard of,” interrupted +Casimir, bowing, and raising his glass with a sort of pert politeness. +</p> + +<p> +“At least,” resumed the Doctor, “I gave my mind to the +subject—that you may be willing to believe—and I estimated that our +capital would be doubled.” And he described the nature of the find. +</p> + +<p> +“My word of honour!” said Casimir, “I half believe you! But +much would depend on the quality of the gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“The quality, my dear Casimir, was—” And the Doctor, in +default of language, kissed his finger-tips. +</p> + +<p> +“I would not take your word for it, my good friend,” retorted the +man of business. “You are a man of very rosy views. But this +robbery,” he continued—“this robbery is an odd thing. Of +course I pass over your nonsense about gangs and landscape-painters. For me, +that is a dream. Who was in the house last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“None but ourselves,” replied the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“And this young gentleman?” asked Casimir, jerking a nod in the +direction of Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“He too’—the Doctor bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well; and if it is a fair question, who is he?” pursued the +brother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“Jean-Marie,” answered the Doctor, “combines the functions of +a son and stable-boy. He began as the latter, but he rose rapidly to the more +honourable rank in our affections. He is, I may say, the greatest comfort in +our lives.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” said Casimir. “And previous to becoming one of +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jean-Marie has lived a remarkable existence; his experience his been +eminently formative,” replied Desprez. “If I had had to choose an +education for my son, I should have chosen such another. Beginning life with +mountebanks and thieves, passing onward to the society and friendship of +philosophers, he may be said to have skimmed the volume of human life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thieves?” repeated the brother-in-law, with a meditative air. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor could have bitten his tongue out. He foresaw what was coming, and +prepared his mind for a vigorous defence. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever steal yourself?” asked Casimir, turning suddenly on +Jean-Marie, and for the first time employing a single eyeglass which hung round +his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied the boy, with a deep blush. +</p> + +<p> +Casimir turned to the others with pursed lips, and nodded to them meaningly. +“Hey?” said he; “how is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth,” returned the Doctor, +throwing out his bust. +</p> + +<p> +“He has never told a lie,” added madame. “He is the best of +boys.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never told a lie, has he not?” reflected Casimir. “Strange, +very strange. Give me your attention, my young friend,” he continued. +“You knew about this treasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“He helped to bring it home,” interposed the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your tongue,” returned +Casimir. “I mean to question this stable-boy of yours; and if you are so +certain of his innocence, you can afford to let him answer for himself. Now, +sir,” he resumed, pointing his eyeglass straight at Jean-Marie. +“You knew it could be stolen with impunity? You knew you could not be +prosecuted? Come! Did you, or did you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable whisper. He sat there +changing colour like a revolving pharos, twisting his fingers hysterically, +swallowing air, the picture of guilt. +</p> + +<p> +“You knew where it was put?” resumed the inquisitor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” from Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“You say you have been a thief before,” continued Casimir. +“Now how am I to know that you are not one still? I suppose you could +climb the green gate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” still lower, from the culprit. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, it was you who stole these things. You know it, and you dare +not deny it. Look me in the face! Raise your sneak’s eyes, and +answer!” +</p> + +<p> +But in place of anything of that sort Jean-Marie broke into a dismal howl and +fled from the arbour. Anastasie, as she pursued to capture and reassure the +victim, found time to send one Parthian arrow—“Casimir, you are a +brute!” +</p> + +<p> +“My brother,” said Desprez, with the greatest dignity, “you +take upon yourself a licence—” +</p> + +<p> +“Desprez,” interrupted Casimir, “for Heaven’s sake be a +man of the world. You telegraph me to leave my business and come down here on +yours. I come, I ask the business, you say ‘Find me this thief!’ +Well, I find him; I say ‘There he is!’ You need not like it, but +you have no manner of right to take offence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned the Doctor, “I grant that; I will even thank +you for your mistaken zeal. But your hypothesis was so extravagantly +monstrous—” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” interrupted Casimir; “was it you or +Stasie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” answered the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well; then it was the boy. Say no more about it,” said the +brother-in-law, and he produced his cigar-case. +</p> + +<p> +“I will say this much more,” returned Desprez: “if that boy +came and told me so himself, I should not believe him; and if I did believe +him, so implicit is my trust, I should conclude that he had acted for the +best.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said Casimir, indulgently. “Have you a light? I +must be going. And by the way, I wish you would let me sell your Turks for you. +I always told you, it meant smash. I tell you so again. Indeed, it was partly +that that brought me down. You never acknowledge my letters—a most +unpardonable habit.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good brother,” replied the Doctor blandly, “I have never +denied your ability in business; but I can perceive your limitations.” +</p> + +<p> +“Egad, my friend, I can return the compliment,” observed the man of +business. “Your limitation is to be downright irrational.” +</p> + +<p> +“Observe the relative position,” returned the Doctor with a smile. +“It is your attitude to believe through thick and thin in one man’s +judgment—your own. I follow the same opinion, but critically and with +open eyes. Which is the more irrational?—I leave it to yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, my dear fellow!” cried Casimir, “stick to your Turks, +stick to your stable-boy, go to the devil in general in your own way and be +done with it. But don’t ratiocinate with me—I cannot bear it. And +so, ta-ta. I might as well have stayed away for any good I’ve done. Say +good-bye from me to Stasie, and to the sullen hang-dog of a stable-boy, if you +insist on it; I’m off.” +</p> + +<p> +And Casimir departed. The Doctor, that night, dissected his character before +Anastasie. “One thing, my beautiful,” he said, “he has +learned one thing from his lifelong acquaintance with your husband: the word +<i>ratiocinate</i>. It shines in his vocabulary, like a jewel in a muck-heap. +And, even so, he continually misapplies it. For you must have observed he uses +it as a sort of taunt, in the sense of to <i>ergotise</i>, implying, as it +were—the poor, dear fellow!—a vein of sophistry. As for his cruelty +to Jean-Marie, it must be forgiven him—it is not his nature, it is the +nature of his life. A man who deals with money, my dear, is a man lost.” +</p> + +<p> +With Jean-Marie the process of reconciliation had been somewhat slow. At first +he was inconsolable, insisted on leaving the family, went from paroxysm to +paroxysm of tears; and it was only after Anastasie had been closeted for an +hour with him, alone, that she came forth, sought out the Doctor, and, with +tears in her eyes, acquainted that gentleman with what had passed. +</p> + +<p> +“At first, my husband, he would hear of nothing,” she said. +“Imagine! if he had left us! what would the treasure be to that? Horrible +treasure, it has brought all this about! At last, after he has sobbed his very +heart out, he agrees to stay on a condition—we are not to mention this +matter, this infamous suspicion, not even to mention the robbery. On that +agreement only, the poor, cruel boy will consent to remain among his +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this inhibition,” said the Doctor, “this +embargo—it cannot possibly apply to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“To all of us,” Anastasie assured him. +</p> + +<p> +“My cherished one,” Desprez protested, “you must have +misunderstood. It cannot apply to me. He would naturally come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henri,” she said, “it does; I swear to you it does.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a painful, a very painful circumstance,” the Doctor said, +looking a little black. “I cannot affect, Anastasie, to be anything but +justly wounded. I feel this, I feel it, my wife, acutely.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you would,” she said. “But if you had seen his +distress! We must make allowances, we must sacrifice our feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust, my dear, you have never found me averse to sacrifices,” +returned the Doctor very stiffly. +</p> + +<p> +“And you will let me go and tell him that you have agreed? It will be +like your noble nature,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +So it would, he perceived—it would be like his noble nature! Up jumped +his spirits, triumphant at the thought. “Go, darling,” he said +nobly, “reassure him. The subject is buried; more—I make an effort, +I have accustomed my will to these exertions—and it is forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +A little after, but still with swollen eyes and looking mortally sheepish, +Jean-Marie reappeared and went ostentatiously about his business. He was the +only unhappy member of the party that sat down that night to supper. As for the +Doctor, he was radiant. He thus sang the requiem of the treasure:— +</p> + +<p> +“This has been, on the whole, a most amusing episode,” he said. +“We are not a penny the worse—nay, we are immensely gainers. Our +philosophy has been exercised; some of the turtle is still left—the most +wholesome of delicacies; I have my staff, Anastasie has her new dress, +Jean-Marie is the proud possessor of a fashionable kepi. Besides, we had a +glass of Hermitage last night; the glow still suffuses my memory. I was growing +positively niggardly with that Hermitage, positively niggardly. Let me take the +hint: we had one bottle to celebrate the appearance of our visionary fortune; +let us have a second to console us for its occultation. The third I hereby +dedicate to Jean-Marie’s wedding breakfast.” +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ.</h3> + +<p> +The Doctor’s house has not yet received the compliment of a description, +and it is now high time that the omission were supplied, for the house is +itself an actor in the story, and one whose part is nearly at an end. Two +stories in height, walls of a warm yellow, tiles of an ancient ruddy brown +diversified with moss and lichen, it stood with one wall to the street in the +angle of the Doctor’s property. It was roomy, draughty, and inconvenient. +The large rafters were here and there engraven with rude marks and patterns; +the handrail of the stair was carved in countrified arabesque; a stout timber +pillar, which did duty to support the dining-room roof, bore mysterious +characters on its darker side, runes, according to the Doctor; nor did he fail, +when he ran over the legendary history of the house and its possessors, to +dwell upon the Scandinavian scholar who had left them. Floors, doors, and +rafters made a great variety of angles; every room had a particular +inclination; the gable had tilted towards the garden, after the manner of a +leaning tower, and one of the former proprietors had buttressed the building +from that side with a great strut of wood, like the derrick of a crane. +Altogether, it had many marks of ruin; it was a house for the rats to desert; +and nothing but its excellent brightness—the window-glass polished and +shining, the paint well scoured, the brasses radiant, the very prop all +wreathed about with climbing flowers—nothing but its air of a +well-tended, smiling veteran, sitting, crutch and all, in the sunny corner of a +garden, marked it as a house for comfortable people to inhabit. In poor or idle +management it would soon have hurried into the blackguard stages of decay. As +it was, the whole family loved it, and the Doctor was never better inspired +than when he narrated its imaginary story and drew the character of its +successive masters, from the Hebrew merchant who had re-edified its walls after +the sack of the town, and past the mysterious engraver of the runes, down to +the long-headed, dirty-handed boor from whom he had himself acquired it at a +ruinous expense. As for any alarm about its security, the idea had never +presented itself. What had stood four centuries might well endure a little +longer. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding and losing of the +treasure, the Desprez’ had an anxiety of a very different order, and one +which lay nearer their hearts. Jean-Marie was plainly not himself. He had fits +of hectic activity, when he made unusual exertions to please, spoke more and +faster, and redoubled in attention to his lessons. But these were interrupted +by spells of melancholia and brooding silence, when the boy was little better +than unbearable. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence,” the Doctor moralised—“you see, Anastasie, +what comes of silence. Had the boy properly unbosomed himself, the little +disappointment about the treasure, the little annoyance about Casimir’s +incivility, would long ago have been forgotten. As it is, they prey upon him +like a disease. He loses flesh, his appetite is variable and, on the whole, +impaired. I keep him on the strictest regimen, I exhibit the most powerful +tonics; both in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you drug him too much?” asked madame, with +an irrepressible shudder. +</p> + +<p> +“Drug?” cried the Doctor; “I drug? Anastasie, you are +mad!” +</p> + +<p> +Time went on, and the boy’s health still slowly declined. The Doctor +blamed the weather, which was cold and boisterous. He called in his +<i>confrère</i> from Bourron, took a fancy for him, magnified his +capacity, and was pretty soon under treatment himself—it scarcely +appeared for what complaint. He and Jean-Marie had each medicine to take at +different periods of the day. The Doctor used to lie in wait for the exact +moment, watch in hand. “There is nothing like regularity,” he would +say, fill out the doses, and dilate on the virtues of the draught; and if the +boy seemed none the better, the Doctor was not at all the worse. +</p> + +<p> +Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It was scowling, squally weather. +Huge broken companies of cloud sailed swiftly overhead; raking gleams of +sunlight swept the village, and were followed by intervals of darkness and +white, flying rain. At times the wind lifted up its voice and bellowed. The +trees were all scourging themselves along the meadows, the last leaves flying +like dust. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was in his element; he had a +theory to prove. He sat with his watch out and a barometer in front of him, +waiting for the squalls and noting their effect upon the human pulse. +“For the true philosopher,” he remarked delightedly, “every +fact in nature is a toy.” A letter came to him; but, as its arrival +coincided with the approach of another gust, he merely crammed it into his +pocket, gave the time to Jean-Marie, and the next moment they were both +counting their pulses as if for a wager. +</p> + +<p> +At nightfall the wind rose into a tempest. It besieged the hamlet, apparently +from every side, as if with batteries of cannon; the houses shook and groaned; +live coals were blown upon the floor. The uproar and terror of the night kept +people long awake, sitting with pallid faces giving ear. +</p> + +<p> +It was twelve before the Desprez family retired. By half-past one, when the +storm was already somewhat past its height, the Doctor was awakened from a +troubled slumber, and sat up. A noise still rang in his ears, but whether of +this world or the world of dreams he was not certain. Another clap of wind +followed. It was accompanied by a sickening movement of the whole house, and in +the subsequent lull Desprez could hear the tiles pouring like a cataract into +the loft above his head. He plucked Anastasie bodily out of bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Run!” he cried, thrusting some wearing apparel into her hands; +“the house is falling! To the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +She did not pause to be twice bidden; she was down the stair in an instant. She +had never before suspected herself of such activity. The Doctor meanwhile, with +the speed of a piece of pantomime business, and undeterred by broken shins, +proceeded to rout out Jean-Marie, tore Aline from her virgin slumbers, seized +her by the hand, and tumbled downstairs and into the garden, with the girl +tumbling behind him, still not half awake. +</p> + +<p> +The fugitives rendezvous’d in the arbour by some common instinct. Then +came a bull’s-eye flash of struggling moonshine, which disclosed their +four figures standing huddled from the wind in a raffle of flying drapery, and +not without a considerable need for more. At the humiliating spectacle +Anastasie clutched her nightdress desperately about her and burst loudly into +tears. The Doctor flew to console her; but she elbowed him away. She suspected +everybody of being the general public, and thought the darkness was alive with +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Another gleam and another violent gust arrived together; the house was seen to +rock on its foundation, and, just as the light was once more eclipsed, a crash +which triumphed over the shouting of the wind announced its fall, and for a +moment the whole garden was alive with skipping tiles and brickbats. One such +missile grazed the Doctor’s ear; another descended on the bare foot of +Aline, who instantly made night hideous with her shrieks. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the hamlet was alarmed, lights flashed from the windows, hails +reached the party, and the Doctor answered, nobly contending against Aline and +the tempest. But this prospect of help only awakened Anastasie to a more active +stage of terror. +</p> + +<p> +“Henri, people will be coming,” she screamed in her husband’s +ear. +</p> + +<p> +“I trust so,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“They cannot. I would rather die,” she wailed. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” said the Doctor reprovingly, “you are excited. I +gave you some clothes. What have you done with them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know—I must have thrown them away! Where are +they?” she sobbed. +</p> + +<p> +Desprez groped about in the darkness. “Admirable!” he remarked; +“my grey velveteen trousers! This will exactly meet your +necessities.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give them to me!” she cried fiercely; but as soon as she had them +in her hands her mood appeared to alter—she stood silent for a moment, +and then pressed the garment back upon the Doctor. “Give it to +Aline,” she said—“poor girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” said the Doctor. “Aline does not know what she is +about. Aline is beside herself with terror; and at any rate, she is a peasant. +Now I am really concerned at this exposure for a person of your housekeeping +habits; my solicitude and your fantastic modesty both point to the same +remedy—the pantaloons.” He held them ready. +</p> + +<p> +“It is impossible. You do not understand,” she said with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +By this time rescue was at hand. It had been found impracticable to enter by +the street, for the gate was blocked with masonry, and the nodding ruin still +threatened further avalanches. But between the Doctor’s garden and the +one on the right hand there was that very picturesque contrivance—a +common well; the door on the Desprez’ side had chanced to be unbolted, +and now, through the arched aperture a man’s bearded face and an arm +supporting a lantern were introduced into the world of windy darkness, where +Anastasie concealed her woes. The light struck here and there among the tossing +apple boughs, it glinted on the grass; but the lantern and the glowing face +became the centre of the world. Anastasie crouched back from the intrusion. +</p> + +<p> +“This way!” shouted the man. “Are you all safe?” Aline, +still screaming, ran to the new comer, and was presently hauled head-foremost +through the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Anastasie, come on; it is your turn,” said the husband. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we all to die of exposure, madame?” thundered Doctor Desprez. +</p> + +<p> +“You can go!” she cried. “Oh, go, go away! I can stay here; I +am quite warm.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor took her by the shoulders with an oath. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” she screamed. “I will put them on.” +</p> + +<p> +She took the detested lendings in her hand once more; but her repulsion was +stronger than shame. “Never!” she cried, shuddering, and flung them +far away into the night. +</p> + +<p> +Next moment the Doctor had whirled her to the well. The man was there and the +lantern; Anastasie closed her eyes and appeared to herself to be about to die. +How she was transported through the arch she knew not; but once on the other +side she was received by the neighbour’s wife, and enveloped in a +friendly blanket. +</p> + +<p> +Beds were made ready for the two women, clothes of very various sizes for the +Doctor and Jean-Marie; and for the remainder of the night, while madame dozed +in and out on the borderland of hysterics, her husband sat beside the fire and +held forth to the admiring neighbours. He showed them, at length, the causes of +the accident; for years, he explained, the fall had been impending; one sign +had followed another, the joints had opened, the plaster had cracked, the old +walls bowed inward; last, not three weeks ago, the cellar door had begun to +work with difficulty in its grooves. “The cellar!” he said, gravely +shaking his head over a glass of mulled wine. “That reminds me of my poor +vintages. By a manifest providence the Hermitage was nearly at an end. One +bottle—I lose but one bottle of that incomparable wine. It had been set +apart against Jean-Marie’s wedding. Well, I must lay down some more; it +will be an interest in life. I am, however, a man somewhat advanced in years. +My great work is now buried in the fall of my humble roof; it will never be +completed—my name will have been writ in water. And yet you find me +calm—I would say cheerful. Can your priest do more?” +</p> + +<p> +By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth from the fireside into the +street. The wind had fallen, but still charioted a world of troubled clouds; +the air bit like frost; and the party, as they stood about the ruins in the +rainy twilight of the morning, beat upon their breasts and blew into their +hands for warmth. The house had entirely fallen, the walls outward, the roof +in; it was a mere heap of rubbish, with here and there a forlorn spear of +broken rafter. A sentinel was placed over the ruins to protect the property, +and the party adjourned to Tentaillon’s to break their fast at the +Doctor’s expense. The bottle circulated somewhat freely; and before they +left the table it had begun to snow. +</p> + +<p> +For three days the snow continued to fall, and the ruins, covered with +tarpaulin and watched by sentries, were left undisturbed. The Desprez’ +meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon’s. Madame spent her time +in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, with the admiring aid of Madame +Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire in thoughtful abstraction. The fall of the +house affected her wonderfully little; that blow had been parried by another; +and in her mind she was continually fighting over again the battle of the +trousers. Had she done right? Had she done wrong? And now she would applaud her +determination; and anon, with a horrid flush of unavailing penitence, she would +regret the trousers. No juncture in her life had so much exercised her +judgment. In the meantime the Doctor had become vastly pleased with his +situation. Two of the summer boarders still lingered behind the rest, prisoners +for lack of a remittance; they were both English, but one of them spoke French +pretty fluently, and was, besides, a humorous, agile-minded fellow, with whom +the Doctor could reason by the hour, secure of comprehension. Many were the +glasses they emptied, many the topics they discussed. +</p> + +<p> +“Anastasie,” the Doctor said on the third morning, “take an +example from your husband, from Jean-Marie! The excitement has done more for +the boy than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with positive gusto. As +for me, you behold me. I have made friends with the Egyptians; and my Pharaoh +is, I swear it, a most agreeable companion. You alone are hipped. About a +house—a few dresses? What are they in comparison to the +‘Pharmacopoeia’—the labour of years lying buried below stones +and sticks in this depressing hamlet? The snow falls; I shake it from my cloak! +Imitate me. Our income will be impaired, I grant it, since we must rebuild; but +moderation, patience, and philosophy will gather about the hearth. In the +meanwhile, the Tentaillons are obliging; the table, with your additions, will +pass; only the wine is execrable—well, I shall send for some to-day. My +Pharaoh will be gratified to drink a decent glass; aha! and I shall see if he +possesses that acme of organisation—a palate. If he has a palate, he is +perfect.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henri,” she said, shaking her head, “you are a man; you +cannot understand my feelings; no woman could shake off the memory of so public +a humiliation.” The Doctor could not restrain a titter. “Pardon me, +darling,” he said; “but really, to the philosophical intelligence, +the incident appears so small a trifle. You looked extremely well—” +</p> + +<p> +“Henri!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, I will say no more,” he replied. “Though, to be +sure, if you had consented to indue—<i>À propos</i>,” he +broke off, “and my trousers! They are lying in the snow—my +favourite trousers!” And he dashed in quest of Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under one arm and +a curious sop of clothing under the other. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands. “They have been!” he +said. “Their tense is past. Excellent pantaloons, you are no more! Stay, +something in the pocket,” and he produced a piece of paper. “A +letter! ay, now I mind me; it was received on the morning of the gale, when I +was absorbed in delicate investigations. It is still legible. From poor, dear +Casimir! It is as well,” he chuckled, “that I have educated him to +patience. Poor Casimir and his correspondence—his infinitesimal, +timorous, idiotic correspondence!” +</p> + +<p> +He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he bent himself +to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bigre</i>!” he cried, with a galvanic start. +</p> + +<p> +And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor’s cap was +on his head in the turn of a hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten minutes! I can catch it, if I run,” he cried. “It is +always late. I go to Paris. I shall telegraph.” +</p> + +<p> +“Henri! what is wrong?” cried his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“Ottoman Bonds!” came from the disappearing Doctor; and Anastasie +and Jean-Marie were left face to face with the wet trousers. Desprez had gone +to Paris, for the second time in seven years; he had gone to Paris with a pair +of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer, a black blouse, a country nightcap, and +twenty francs in his pocket. The fall of the house was but a secondary marvel; +the whole world might have fallen and scarce left his family more petrified. +</p> + +<h3><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY.</h3> + +<p> +On the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of himself, was +brought back in the custody of Casimir. They found Anastasie and the boy +sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, who had exchanged his toilette for a +ready-made rig-out of poor materials, waved his hand as he entered, and sank +speechless on the nearest chair. Madame turned direct to Casimir. +</p> + +<p> +“What is wrong?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Casimir, “what have I told you all along? It +has come. It is a clean shave, this time; so you may as well bear up and make +the best of it. House down, too, eh? Bad luck, upon my soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are we—are we—ruined?” she gasped. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor stretched out his arms to her. “Ruined,” he replied, +“you are ruined by your sinister husband.” +</p> + +<p> +Casimir observed the consequent embrace through his eyeglass; then he turned to +Jean-Marie. “You hear?” he said. “They are ruined; no more +pickings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes me, my friend, that +you had best be packing; the present speculation is about worked out.” +And he nodded to him meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” cried Desprez, springing up. “Jean-Marie, if you +prefer to leave me, now that I am poor, you can go; you shall receive your +hundred francs, if so much remains to me. But if you will consent to +stay”—the Doctor wept a little—“Casimir offers me a +place—as clerk,” he resumed. “The emoluments are slender, but +they will be enough for three. It is too much already to have lost my fortune; +must I lose my son?” +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie sobbed bitterly, but without a word. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like boys who cry,” observed Casimir. “This +one is always crying. Here! you clear out of this for a little; I have business +with your master and mistress, and these domestic feelings may be settled after +I am gone. March!” and he held the door open. +</p> + +<p> +Jean-Marie slunk out, like a detected thief. +</p> + +<p> +By twelve they were all at table but Jean-Marie. +</p> + +<p> +“Hey?” said Casimir. “Gone, you see. Took the hint at +once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not, I confess,” said Desprez, “I do not seek to excuse +his absence. It speaks a want of heart that disappoints me sorely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Want of manners,” corrected Casimir. “Heart, he never had. +Why, Desprez, for a clever fellow, you are the most gullible mortal in +creation. Your ignorance of human nature and human business is beyond belief. +You are swindled by heathen Turks, swindled by vagabond children, swindled +right and left, upstairs and downstairs. I think it must be your imagination. I +thank my stars I have none.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” replied Desprez, still humbly, but with a return of +spirit at sight of a distinction to be drawn; “pardon me, Casimir. You +possess, even to an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. It was the lack +of that in me—it appears it is my weak point—that has led to these +repeated shocks. By the commercial imagination the financier forecasts the +destiny of his investments, marks the falling house—” +</p> + +<p> +“Egad,” interrupted Casimir: “our friend the stable-boy +appears to have his share of it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was continued and finished principally to +the tune of the brother-in-law’s not very consolatory conversation. He +entirely ignored the two young English painters, turning a blind eyeglass to +their salutations, and continuing his remarks as if he were alone in the bosom +of his family; and with every second word he ripped another stitch out of the +air balloon of Desprez’s vanity. By the time coffee was over the poor +Doctor was as limp as a napkin. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us go and see the ruins,” said Casimir. +</p> + +<p> +They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the house, like the loss of a +front tooth, had quite transformed the village. Through the gap the eye +commanded a great stretch of open snowy country, and the place shrank in +comparison. It was like a room with an open door. The sentinel stood by the +green gate, looking very red and cold, but he had a pleasant word for the +Doctor and his wealthy kinsman. +</p> + +<p> +Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the quality of the tarpaulin. +“H’m,” he said, “I hope the cellar arch has stood. If +it has, my good brother, I will give you a good price for the wines.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall start digging to-morrow,” said the sentry. “There +is no more fear of snow.” +</p> + +<p> +“My friend,” returned Casimir sententiously, “you had better +wait till you get paid.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offensive brother-in-law towards +Tentaillon’s. In the house there would be fewer auditors, and these +already in the secret of his fall. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” cried Casimir, “there goes the stable-boy with his +luggage; no, egad, he is taking it into the inn.” +</p> + +<p> +And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the snowy street and enter +Tentaillon’s, staggering under a large hamper. +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope. +</p> + +<p> +“What can he have?” he said. “Let us go and see.” And +he hurried on. +</p> + +<p> +“His luggage, to be sure,” answered Casimir. “He is on the +move—thanks to the commercial imagination.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not seen that hamper for—for ever so long,” remarked +the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor will you see it much longer,” chuckled Casimir; “unless, +indeed, we interfere. And by the way, I insist on an examination.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not require,” said Desprez, positively with a sob; and, +casting a moist, triumphant glance at Casimir, he began to run. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil is up with him, I wonder?” Casimir reflected; and +then, curiosity taking the upper hand, he followed the Doctor’s example +and took to his heels. +</p> + +<p> +The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-Marie himself so little and so +weary, that it had taken him a great while to bundle it upstairs to the +Desprez’ private room; and he had just set it down on the floor in front +of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and was closely followed by the man of +business. Boy and hamper were both in a most sorry plight; for the one had +passed four months underground in a certain cave on the way to Acheres, and the +other had run about five miles as hard as his legs would carry him, half that +distance under a staggering weight. +</p> + +<p> +“Jean-Marie,” cried the Doctor, in a voice that was only too +seraphic to be called hysterical, “is it—? It is!” he cried. +“O, my son, my son!” And he sat down upon the hamper and sobbed +like a little child. +</p> + +<p> +“You will not go to Paris now,” said Jean-Marie sheepishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Casimir,” said Desprez, raising his wet face, “do you see +that boy, that angel boy? He is the thief; he took the treasure from a man +unfit to be entrusted with its use; he brings it back to me when I am sobered +and humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits of my Teaching, and this moment is +the Reward of my Life.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tiens</i>,” said Casimir. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">printed by</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">spottiswoode and co. ltd.</span>, <span +class="smcap">new-street square</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">london</span> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Footnotes</h2> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" class="footnote">[5]</a> Boggy. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" class="footnote">[15]</a> Clock +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" class="footnote">[16]</a> Enjoy. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="footnote140"></a><a href="#citation140" class="footnote">[140]</a> To +come forrit—to offer oneself as a communicant. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="footnote144"></a><a href="#citation144" class="footnote">[144]</a> It +was a common belief in Scotland that the devil appeared as a black man. This +appears in several witch trials and I think in Law’s <i>Memorials</i>, +that delightful store-house of the quaint and grisly. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="footnote263"></a><a href="#citation263" class="footnote">[263]</a> Let +it be so, for my tale! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY MEN ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 344-h.htm or 344-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/344/</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..295049b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #344 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/344) diff --git a/old/344.txt b/old/344.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa787a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/344.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8089 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Merry Men, by Robert Louis Stevenson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Merry Men + and Other Tales and Fables + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + + + +Release Date: February 28, 2007 [eBook #344] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY MEN*** + + + + +Transcribed from the 1904 edition Chatto & Windus edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +THE MERRY MEN +AND +Other Tales and Fables + + +BY +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + +TENTH EDITION + +LONDON +CHATTO & WINDUS +1904 + +Three of the following Tales have appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_; +one in _Longman's_; one in Mr. Henry Norman's Christmas Annual; and one +in the _Court and Society Review_. The Author desires to make proper +acknowledgements to the Publishers concerned. + + + + +Dedication + + +_MY DEAR LADY TAYLOR_, + +_To your name_, _if I wrote on brass_, _I could add nothing_; _it has +been already written higher than I could dream to reach_, _by a strong +and dear hand_; _and if I now dedicate to you these tales_, _it is not as +the writer who brings you his work_, _but as the friend who would remind +you of his affection_. + +_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON_ + +SKERRYVORE, BOURNEMOUTH. + + + + +Contents + + +The Merry Men + + i. Eilean Aros + + ii. What the wreck had brought to Aros + + iii. Land and sea in Sandag Bay + + iv. The gale + + v. A man out of the sea + +Will o' the Mill + +Markheim + +Thrawn Janet + +Olalla + +The Treasure of Franchard + + i. By the dying Mountebank + + ii. Morning tale + + iii. The adoption + + iv. The education of the philosopher + + v. Treasure trove + + vi. A criminal investigation, in two parts + + vii. The fall of the House of Desprez + + viii. The wages of philosophy + + + + +THE MERRY MEN + + +CHAPTER I. EILEAN AROS. + + +It was a beautiful morning in the late July when I set forth on foot for +the last time for Aros. A boat had put me ashore the night before at +Grisapol; I had such breakfast as the little inn afforded, and, leaving +all my baggage till I had an occasion to come round for it by sea, struck +right across the promontory with a cheerful heart. + +I was far from being a native of these parts, springing, as I did, from +an unmixed lowland stock. But an uncle of mine, Gordon Darnaway, after a +poor, rough youth, and some years at sea, had married a young wife in the +islands; Mary Maclean she was called, the last of her family; and when +she died in giving birth to a daughter, Aros, the sea-girt farm, had +remained in his possession. It brought him in nothing but the means of +life, as I was well aware; but he was a man whom ill-fortune had pursued; +he feared, cumbered as he was with the young child, to make a fresh +adventure upon life; and remained in Aros, biting his nails at destiny. +Years passed over his head in that isolation, and brought neither help +nor contentment. Meantime our family was dying out in the lowlands; +there is little luck for any of that race; and perhaps my father was the +luckiest of all, for not only was he one of the last to die, but he left +a son to his name and a little money to support it. I was a student of +Edinburgh University, living well enough at my own charges, but without +kith or kin; when some news of me found its way to Uncle Gordon on the +Ross of Grisapol; and he, as he was a man who held blood thicker than +water, wrote to me the day he heard of my existence, and taught me to +count Aros as my home. Thus it was that I came to spend my vacations in +that part of the country, so far from all society and comfort, between +the codfish and the moorcocks; and thus it was that now, when I had done +with my classes, I was returning thither with so light a heart that July +day. + +The Ross, as we call it, is a promontory neither wide nor high, but as +rough as God made it to this day; the deep sea on either hand of it, full +of rugged isles and reefs most perilous to seamen--all overlooked from +the eastward by some very high cliffs and the great peals of Ben Kyaw. +_The Mountain of the Mist_, they say the words signify in the Gaelic +tongue; and it is well named. For that hill-top, which is more than +three thousand feet in height, catches all the clouds that come blowing +from the seaward; and, indeed, I used often to think that it must make +them for itself; since when all heaven was clear to the sea level, there +would ever be a streamer on Ben Kyaw. It brought water, too, and was +mossy {5} to the top in consequence. I have seen us sitting in broad +sunshine on the Ross, and the rain falling black like crape upon the +mountain. But the wetness of it made it often appear more beautiful to +my eyes; for when the sun struck upon the hill sides, there were many wet +rocks and watercourses that shone like jewels even as far as Aros, +fifteen miles away. + +The road that I followed was a cattle-track. It twisted so as nearly to +double the length of my journey; it went over rough boulders so that a +man had to leap from one to another, and through soft bottoms where the +moss came nearly to the knee. There was no cultivation anywhere, and not +one house in the ten miles from Grisapol to Aros. Houses of course there +were--three at least; but they lay so far on the one side or the other +that no stranger could have found them from the track. A large part of +the Ross is covered with big granite rocks, some of them larger than a +two-roomed house, one beside another, with fern and deep heather in +between them where the vipers breed. Anyway the wind was, it was always +sea air, as salt as on a ship; the gulls were as free as moorfowl over +all the Ross; and whenever the way rose a little, your eye would kindle +with the brightness of the sea. From the very midst of the land, on a +day of wind and a high spring, I have heard the Roost roaring, like a +battle where it runs by Aros, and the great and fearful voices of the +breakers that we call the Merry Men. + +Aros itself--Aros Jay, I have heard the natives call it, and they say it +means _the House of God_--Aros itself was not properly a piece of the +Ross, nor was it quite an islet. It formed the south-west corner of the +land, fitted close to it, and was in one place only separated from the +coast by a little gut of the sea, not forty feet across the narrowest. +When the tide was full, this was clear and still, like a pool on a land +river; only there was a difference in the weeds and fishes, and the water +itself was green instead of brown; but when the tide went out, in the +bottom of the ebb, there was a day or two in every month when you could +pass dryshod from Aros to the mainland. There was some good pasture, +where my uncle fed the sheep he lived on; perhaps the feed was better +because the ground rose higher on the islet than the main level of the +Ross, but this I am not skilled enough to settle. The house was a good +one for that country, two storeys high. It looked westward over a bay, +with a pier hard by for a boat, and from the door you could watch the +vapours blowing on Ben Kyaw. + +On all this part of the coast, and especially near Aros, these great +granite rocks that I have spoken of go down together in troops into the +sea, like cattle on a summer's day. There they stand, for all the world +like their neighbours ashore; only the salt water sobbing between them +instead of the quiet earth, and clots of sea-pink blooming on their sides +instead of heather; and the great sea conger to wreathe about the base of +them instead of the poisonous viper of the land. On calm days you can go +wandering between them in a boat for hours, echoes following you about +the labyrinth; but when the sea is up, Heaven help the man that hears +that cauldron boiling. + +Off the south-west end of Aros these blocks are very many, and much +greater in size. Indeed, they must grow monstrously bigger out to sea, +for there must be ten sea miles of open water sown with them as thick as +a country place with houses, some standing thirty feet above the tides, +some covered, but all perilous to ships; so that on a clear, westerly +blowing day, I have counted, from the top of Aros, the great rollers +breaking white and heavy over as many as six-and-forty buried reefs. But +it is nearer in shore that the danger is worst; for the tide, here +running like a mill race, makes a long belt of broken water--a _Roost_ we +call it--at the tail of the land. I have often been out there in a dead +calm at the slack of the tide; and a strange place it is, with the sea +swirling and combing up and boiling like the cauldrons of a linn, and now +and again a little dancing mutter of sound as though the _Roost_ were +talking to itself. But when the tide begins to run again, and above all +in heavy weather, there is no man could take a boat within half a mile of +it, nor a ship afloat that could either steer or live in such a place. +You can hear the roaring of it six miles away. At the seaward end there +comes the strongest of the bubble; and it's here that these big breakers +dance together--the dance of death, it may be called--that have got the +name, in these parts, of the Merry Men. I have heard it said that they +run fifty feet high; but that must be the green water only, for the spray +runs twice as high as that. Whether they got the name from their +movements, which are swift and antic, or from the shouting they make +about the turn of the tide, so that all Aros shakes with it, is more than +I can tell. + +The truth is, that in a south-westerly wind, that part of our archipelago +is no better than a trap. If a ship got through the reefs, and weathered +the Merry Men, it would be to come ashore on the south coast of Aros, in +Sandag Bay, where so many dismal things befell our family, as I propose +to tell. The thought of all these dangers, in the place I knew so long, +makes me particularly welcome the works now going forward to set lights +upon the headlands and buoys along the channels of our iron-bound, +inhospitable islands. + +The country people had many a story about Aros, as I used to hear from my +uncle's man, Rorie, an old servant of the Macleans, who had transferred +his services without afterthought on the occasion of the marriage. There +was some tale of an unlucky creature, a sea-kelpie, that dwelt and did +business in some fearful manner of his own among the boiling breakers of +the Roost. A mermaid had once met a piper on Sandag beach, and there +sang to him a long, bright midsummer's night, so that in the morning he +was found stricken crazy, and from thenceforward, till the day he died, +said only one form of words; what they were in the original Gaelic I +cannot tell, but they were thus translated: 'Ah, the sweet singing out of +the sea.' Seals that haunted on that coast have been known to speak to +man in his own tongue, presaging great disasters. It was here that a +certain saint first landed on his voyage out of Ireland to convert the +Hebrideans. And, indeed, I think he had some claim to be called saint; +for, with the boats of that past age, to make so rough a passage, and +land on such a ticklish coast, was surely not far short of the +miraculous. It was to him, or to some of his monkish underlings who had +a cell there, that the islet owes its holy and beautiful name, the House +of God. + +Among these old wives' stories there was one which I was inclined to hear +with more credulity. As I was told, in that tempest which scattered the +ships of the Invincible Armada over all the north and west of Scotland, +one great vessel came ashore on Aros, and before the eyes of some +solitary people on a hill-top, went down in a moment with all hands, her +colours flying even as she sank. There was some likelihood in this tale; +for another of that fleet lay sunk on the north side, twenty miles from +Grisapol. It was told, I thought, with more detail and gravity than its +companion stories, and there was one particularity which went far to +convince me of its truth: the name, that is, of the ship was still +remembered, and sounded, in my ears, Spanishly. The _Espirito Santo_ +they called it, a great ship of many decks of guns, laden with treasure +and grandees of Spain, and fierce soldadoes, that now lay fathom deep to +all eternity, done with her wars and voyages, in Sandag bay, upon the +west of Aros. No more salvos of ordnance for that tall ship, the 'Holy +Spirit,' no more fair winds or happy ventures; only to rot there deep in +the sea-tangle and hear the shoutings of the Merry Men as the tide ran +high about the island. It was a strange thought to me first and last, +and only grew stranger as I learned the more of Spain, from which she had +set sail with so proud a company, and King Philip, the wealthy king, that +sent her on that voyage. + +And now I must tell you, as I walked from Grisapol that day, the +_Espirito Santo_ was very much in my reflections. I had been favourably +remarked by our then Principal in Edinburgh College, that famous writer, +Dr. Robertson, and by him had been set to work on some papers of an +ancient date to rearrange and sift of what was worthless; and in one of +these, to my great wonder, I found a note of this very ship, the +_Espirito Santo_, with her captain's name, and how she carried a great +part of the Spaniard's treasure, and had been lost upon the Ross of +Grisapol; but in what particular spot, the wild tribes of that place and +period would give no information to the king's inquiries. Putting one +thing with another, and taking our island tradition together with this +note of old King Jamie's perquisitions after wealth, it had come strongly +on my mind that the spot for which he sought in vain could be no other +than the small bay of Sandag on my uncle's land; and being a fellow of a +mechanical turn, I had ever since been plotting how to weigh that good +ship up again with all her ingots, ounces, and doubloons, and bring back +our house of Darnaway to its long-forgotten dignity and wealth. + +This was a design of which I soon had reason to repent. My mind was +sharply turned on different reflections; and since I became the witness +of a strange judgment of God's, the thought of dead men's treasures has +been intolerable to my conscience. But even at that time I must acquit +myself of sordid greed; for if I desired riches, it was not for their own +sake, but for the sake of a person who was dear to my heart--my uncle's +daughter, Mary Ellen. She had been educated well, and had been a time to +school upon the mainland; which, poor girl, she would have been happier +without. For Aros was no place for her, with old Rorie the servant, and +her father, who was one of the unhappiest men in Scotland, plainly bred +up in a country place among Cameronians, long a skipper sailing out of +the Clyde about the islands, and now, with infinite discontent, managing +his sheep and a little 'long shore fishing for the necessary bread. If +it was sometimes weariful to me, who was there but a month or two, you +may fancy what it was to her who dwelt in that same desert all the year +round, with the sheep and flying sea-gulls, and the Merry Men singing and +dancing in the Roost! + + + +CHAPTER II. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS. + + +It was half-flood when I got the length of Aros; and there was nothing +for it but to stand on the far shore and whistle for Rorie with the boat. +I had no need to repeat the signal. At the first sound, Mary was at the +door flying a handkerchief by way of answer, and the old long-legged +serving-man was shambling down the gravel to the pier. For all his +hurry, it took him a long while to pull across the bay; and I observed +him several times to pause, go into the stern, and look over curiously +into the wake. As he came nearer, he seemed to me aged and haggard, and +I thought he avoided my eye. The coble had been repaired, with two new +thwarts and several patches of some rare and beautiful foreign wood, the +name of it unknown to me. + +'Why, Rorie,' said I, as we began the return voyage, 'this is fine wood. +How came you by that?' + +'It will be hard to cheesel,' Rorie opined reluctantly; and just then, +dropping the oars, he made another of those dives into the stern which I +had remarked as he came across to fetch me, and, leaning his hand on my +shoulder, stared with an awful look into the waters of the bay. + +'What is wrong?' I asked, a good deal startled. + +'It will be a great feesh,' said the old man, returning to his oars; and +nothing more could I get out of him, but strange glances and an ominous +nodding of the head. In spite of myself, I was infected with a measure +of uneasiness; I turned also, and studied the wake. The water was still +and transparent, but, out here in the middle of the bay, exceeding deep. +For some time I could see naught; but at last it did seem to me as if +something dark--a great fish, or perhaps only a shadow--followed +studiously in the track of the moving coble. And then I remembered one +of Rorie's superstitions: how in a ferry in Morven, in some great, +exterminating feud among the clans; a fish, the like of it unknown in all +our waters, followed for some years the passage of the ferry-boat, until +no man dared to make the crossing. + +'He will be waiting for the right man,' said Rorie. + +Mary met me on the beach, and led me up the brae and into the house of +Aros. Outside and inside there were many changes. The garden was fenced +with the same wood that I had noted in the boat; there were chairs in the +kitchen covered with strange brocade; curtains of brocade hung from the +window; a clock stood silent on the dresser; a lamp of brass was swinging +from the roof; the table was set for dinner with the finest of linen and +silver; and all these new riches were displayed in the plain old kitchen +that I knew so well, with the high-backed settle, and the stools, and the +closet bed for Rorie; with the wide chimney the sun shone into, and the +clear-smouldering peats; with the pipes on the mantelshelf and the three- +cornered spittoons, filled with sea-shells instead of sand, on the floor; +with the bare stone walls and the bare wooden floor, and the three +patchwork rugs that were of yore its sole adornment--poor man's +patchwork, the like of it unknown in cities, woven with homespun, and +Sunday black, and sea-cloth polished on the bench of rowing. The room, +like the house, had been a sort of wonder in that country-side, it was so +neat and habitable; and to see it now, shamed by these incongruous +additions, filled me with indignation and a kind of anger. In view of +the errand I had come upon to Aros, the feeling was baseless and unjust; +but it burned high, at the first moment, in my heart. + +'Mary, girl,' said I, 'this is the place I had learned to call my home, +and I do not know it.' + +'It is my home by nature, not by the learning,' she replied; 'the place I +was born and the place I'm like to die in; and I neither like these +changes, nor the way they came, nor that which came with them. I would +have liked better, under God's pleasure, they had gone down into the sea, +and the Merry Men were dancing on them now.' + +Mary was always serious; it was perhaps the only trait that she shared +with her father; but the tone with which she uttered these words was even +graver than of custom. + +'Ay,' said I, 'I feared it came by wreck, and that's by death; yet when +my father died, I took his goods without remorse.' + +'Your father died a clean strae death, as the folk say,' said Mary. + +'True,' I returned; 'and a wreck is like a judgment. What was she +called?' + +'They ca'd her the _Christ-Anna_,' said a voice behind me; and, turning +round, I saw my uncle standing in the doorway. + +He was a sour, small, bilious man, with a long face and very dark eyes; +fifty-six years old, sound and active in body, and with an air somewhat +between that of a shepherd and that of a man following the sea. He never +laughed, that I heard; read long at the Bible; prayed much, like the +Cameronians he had been brought up among; and indeed, in many ways, used +to remind me of one of the hill-preachers in the killing times before the +Revolution. But he never got much comfort, nor even, as I used to think, +much guidance, by his piety. He had his black fits when he was afraid of +hell; but he had led a rough life, to which he would look back with envy, +and was still a rough, cold, gloomy man. + +As he came in at the door out of the sunlight, with his bonnet on his +head and a pipe hanging in his button-hole, he seemed, like Rorie, to +have grown older and paler, the lines were deeplier ploughed upon his +face, and the whites of his eyes were yellow, like old stained ivory, or +the bones of the dead. + +'Ay' he repeated, dwelling upon the first part of the word, 'the _Christ- +Anna_. It's an awfu' name.' + +I made him my salutations, and complimented him upon his look of health; +for I feared he had perhaps been ill. + +'I'm in the body,' he replied, ungraciously enough; 'aye in the body and +the sins of the body, like yoursel'. Denner,' he said abruptly to Mary, +and then ran on to me: 'They're grand braws, thir that we hae gotten, are +they no? Yon's a bonny knock {15}, but it'll no gang; and the napery's +by ordnar. Bonny, bairnly braws; it's for the like o' them folk sells +the peace of God that passeth understanding; it's for the like o' them, +an' maybe no even sae muckle worth, folk daunton God to His face and burn +in muckle hell; and it's for that reason the Scripture ca's them, as I +read the passage, the accursed thing. Mary, ye girzie,' he interrupted +himself to cry with some asperity, 'what for hae ye no put out the twa +candlesticks?' + +'Why should we need them at high noon?' she asked. + +But my uncle was not to be turned from his idea. 'We'll bruik {16} them +while we may,' he said; and so two massive candlesticks of wrought silver +were added to the table equipage, already so unsuited to that rough sea- +side farm. + +'She cam' ashore Februar' 10, about ten at nicht,' he went on to me. +'There was nae wind, and a sair run o' sea; and she was in the sook o' +the Roost, as I jaloose. We had seen her a' day, Rorie and me, beating +to the wind. She wasnae a handy craft, I'm thinking, that _Christ-Anna_; +for she would neither steer nor stey wi' them. A sair day they had of +it; their hands was never aff the sheets, and it perishin' cauld--ower +cauld to snaw; and aye they would get a bit nip o' wind, and awa' again, +to pit the emp'y hope into them. Eh, man! but they had a sair day for +the last o't! He would have had a prood, prood heart that won ashore +upon the back o' that.' + +'And were all lost?' I cried. 'God held them!' + +'Wheesht!' he said sternly. 'Nane shall pray for the deid on my hearth- +stane.' + +I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation; and he seemed to accept +my disclaimer with unusual facility, and ran on once more upon what had +evidently become a favourite subject. + +'We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an' me, and a' thae braws in the inside +of her. There's a kittle bit, ye see, about Sandag; whiles the sook rins +strong for the Merry Men; an' whiles again, when the tide's makin' hard +an' ye can hear the Roost blawin' at the far-end of Aros, there comes a +back-spang of current straucht into Sandag Bay. Weel, there's the thing +that got the grip on the _Christ-Anna_. She but to have come in ram-stam +an' stern forrit; for the bows of her are aften under, and the back-side +of her is clear at hie-water o' neaps. But, man! the dunt that she cam +doon wi' when she struck! Lord save us a'! but it's an unco life to be a +sailor--a cauld, wanchancy life. Mony's the gliff I got mysel' in the +great deep; and why the Lord should hae made yon unco water is mair than +ever I could win to understand. He made the vales and the pastures, the +bonny green yaird, the halesome, canty land-- + + And now they shout and sing to Thee, + For Thou hast made them glad, + +as the Psalms say in the metrical version. No that I would preen my +faith to that clink neither; but it's bonny, and easier to mind. "Who go +to sea in ships," they hae't again-- + + And in + Great waters trading be, + Within the deep these men God's works + And His great wonders see. + +Weel, it's easy sayin' sae. Maybe Dauvit wasnae very weel acquant wi' +the sea. But, troth, if it wasnae prentit in the Bible, I wad whiles be +temp'it to think it wasnae the Lord, but the muckle, black deil that made +the sea. There's naething good comes oot o't but the fish; an' the +spentacle o' God riding on the tempest, to be shure, whilk would be what +Dauvit was likely ettling at. But, man, they were sair wonders that God +showed to the _Christ-Anna_--wonders, do I ca' them? Judgments, rather: +judgments in the mirk nicht among the draygons o' the deep. And their +souls--to think o' that--their souls, man, maybe no prepared! The sea--a +muckle yett to hell!' + +I observed, as my uncle spoke, that his voice was unnaturally moved and +his manner unwontedly demonstrative. He leaned forward at these last +words, for example, and touched me on the knee with his spread fingers, +looking up into my face with a certain pallor, and I could see that his +eyes shone with a deep-seated fire, and that the lines about his mouth +were drawn and tremulous. + +Even the entrance of Rorie, and the beginning of our meal, did not detach +him from his train of thought beyond a moment. He condescended, indeed, +to ask me some questions as to my success at college, but I thought it +was with half his mind; and even in his extempore grace, which was, as +usual, long and wandering, I could find the trace of his preoccupation, +praying, as he did, that God would 'remember in mercy fower puir, +feckless, fiddling, sinful creatures here by their lee-lane beside the +great and dowie waters.' + +Soon there came an interchange of speeches between him and Rorie. + +'Was it there?' asked my uncle. + +'Ou, ay!' said Rorie. + +I observed that they both spoke in a manner of aside, and with some show +of embarrassment, and that Mary herself appeared to colour, and looked +down on her plate. Partly to show my knowledge, and so relieve the party +from an awkward strain, partly because I was curious, I pursued the +subject. + +'You mean the fish?' I asked. + +'Whatten fish?' cried my uncle. 'Fish, quo' he! Fish! Your een are fu' +o' fatness, man; your heid dozened wi' carnal leir. Fish! it's a bogle!' + +He spoke with great vehemence, as though angry; and perhaps I was not +very willing to be put down so shortly, for young men are disputatious. +At least I remember I retorted hotly, crying out upon childish +superstitions. + +'And ye come frae the College!' sneered Uncle Gordon. 'Gude kens what +they learn folk there; it's no muckle service onyway. Do ye think, man, +that there's naething in a' yon saut wilderness o' a world oot wast +there, wi' the sea grasses growin', an' the sea beasts fechtin', an' the +sun glintin' down into it, day by day? Na; the sea's like the land, but +fearsomer. If there's folk ashore, there's folk in the sea--deid they +may be, but they're folk whatever; and as for deils, there's nane that's +like the sea deils. There's no sae muckle harm in the land deils, when +a's said and done. Lang syne, when I was a callant in the south country, +I mind there was an auld, bald bogle in the Peewie Moss. I got a glisk +o' him mysel', sittin' on his hunkers in a hag, as gray's a tombstane. +An', troth, he was a fearsome-like taed. But he steered naebody. Nae +doobt, if ane that was a reprobate, ane the Lord hated, had gane by there +wi' his sin still upon his stamach, nae doobt the creature would hae +lowped upo' the likes o' him. But there's deils in the deep sea would +yoke on a communicant! Eh, sirs, if ye had gane doon wi' the puir lads +in the _Christ-Anna_, ye would ken by now the mercy o' the seas. If ye +had sailed it for as lang as me, ye would hate the thocht of it as I do. +If ye had but used the een God gave ye, ye would hae learned the +wickedness o' that fause, saut, cauld, bullering creature, and of a' +that's in it by the Lord's permission: labsters an' partans, an' sic +like, howking in the deid; muckle, gutsy, blawing whales; an' fish--the +hale clan o' them--cauld-wamed, blind-eed uncanny ferlies. O, sirs,' he +cried, 'the horror--the horror o' the sea!' + +We were all somewhat staggered by this outburst; and the speaker himself, +after that last hoarse apostrophe, appeared to sink gloomily into his own +thoughts. But Rorie, who was greedy of superstitious lore, recalled him +to the subject by a question. + +'You will not ever have seen a teevil of the sea?' he asked. + +'No clearly,' replied the other. 'I misdoobt if a mere man could see ane +clearly and conteenue in the body. I hae sailed wi' a lad--they ca'd him +Sandy Gabart; he saw ane, shure eneueh, an' shure eneueh it was the end +of him. We were seeven days oot frae the Clyde--a sair wark we had +had--gaun north wi' seeds an' braws an' things for the Macleod. We had +got in ower near under the Cutchull'ns, an' had just gane about by soa, +an' were off on a lang tack, we thocht would maybe hauld as far's +Copnahow. I mind the nicht weel; a mune smoored wi' mist; a fine gaun +breeze upon the water, but no steedy; an'--what nane o' us likit to +hear--anither wund gurlin' owerheid, amang thae fearsome, auld stane +craigs o' the Cutchull'ns. Weel, Sandy was forrit wi' the jib sheet; we +couldnae see him for the mains'l, that had just begude to draw, when a' +at ance he gied a skirl. I luffed for my life, for I thocht we were ower +near Soa; but na, it wasnae that, it was puir Sandy Gabart's deid +skreigh, or near hand, for he was deid in half an hour. A't he could +tell was that a sea deil, or sea bogle, or sea spenster, or sic-like, had +clum up by the bowsprit, an' gi'en him ae cauld, uncanny look. An', or +the life was oot o' Sandy's body, we kent weel what the thing betokened, +and why the wund gurled in the taps o' the Cutchull'ns; for doon it +cam'--a wund do I ca' it! it was the wund o' the Lord's anger--an' a' +that nicht we foucht like men dementit, and the niest that we kenned we +were ashore in Loch Uskevagh, an' the cocks were crawin' in Benbecula.' + +'It will have been a merman,' Rorie said. + +'A merman!' screamed my uncle with immeasurable scorn. 'Auld wives' +clavers! There's nae sic things as mermen.' + +'But what was the creature like?' I asked. + +'What like was it? Gude forbid that we suld ken what like it was! It +had a kind of a heid upon it--man could say nae mair.' + +Then Rorie, smarting under the affront, told several tales of mermen, +mermaids, and sea-horses that had come ashore upon the islands and +attacked the crews of boats upon the sea; and my uncle, in spite of his +incredulity, listened with uneasy interest. + +'Aweel, aweel,' he said, 'it may be sae; I may be wrang; but I find nae +word o' mermen in the Scriptures.' + +'And you will find nae word of Aros Roost, maybe,' objected Rorie, and +his argument appeared to carry weight. + +When dinner was over, my uncle carried me forth with him to a bank behind +the house. It was a very hot and quiet afternoon; scarce a ripple +anywhere upon the sea, nor any voice but the familiar voice of sheep and +gulls; and perhaps in consequence of this repose in nature, my kinsman +showed himself more rational and tranquil than before. He spoke evenly +and almost cheerfully of my career, with every now and then a reference +to the lost ship or the treasures it had brought to Aros. For my part, I +listened to him in a sort of trance, gazing with all my heart on that +remembered scene, and drinking gladly the sea-air and the smoke of peats +that had been lit by Mary. + +Perhaps an hour had passed when my uncle, who had all the while been +covertly gazing on the surface of the little bay, rose to his feet and +bade me follow his example. Now I should say that the great run of tide +at the south-west end of Aros exercises a perturbing influence round all +the coast. In Sandag Bay, to the south, a strong current runs at certain +periods of the flood and ebb respectively; but in this northern bay--Aros +Bay, as it is called--where the house stands and on which my uncle was +now gazing, the only sign of disturbance is towards the end of the ebb, +and even then it is too slight to be remarkable. When there is any +swell, nothing can be seen at all; but when it is calm, as it often is, +there appear certain strange, undecipherable marks--sea-runes, as we may +name them--on the glassy surface of the bay. The like is common in a +thousand places on the coast; and many a boy must have amused himself as +I did, seeking to read in them some reference to himself or those he +loved. It was to these marks that my uncle now directed my attention, +struggling, as he did so, with an evident reluctance. + +'Do ye see yon scart upo' the water?' he inquired; 'yon ane wast the gray +stane? Ay? Weel, it'll no be like a letter, wull it?' + +'Certainly it is,' I replied. 'I have often remarked it. It is like a +C.' + +He heaved a sigh as if heavily disappointed with my answer, and then +added below his breath: 'Ay, for the _Christ-Anna_.' + +'I used to suppose, sir, it was for myself,' said I; 'for my name is +Charles.' + +'And so ye saw't afore?', he ran on, not heeding my remark. 'Weel, weel, +but that's unco strange. Maybe, it's been there waitin', as a man wad +say, through a' the weary ages. Man, but that's awfu'.' And then, +breaking off: 'Ye'll no see anither, will ye?' he asked. + +'Yes,' said I. 'I see another very plainly, near the Ross side, where +the road comes down--an M.' + +'An M,' he repeated very low; and then, again after another pause: 'An' +what wad ye make o' that?' he inquired. + +'I had always thought it to mean Mary, sir,' I answered, growing somewhat +red, convinced as I was in my own mind that I was on the threshold of a +decisive explanation. + +But we were each following his own train of thought to the exclusion of +the other's. My uncle once more paid no attention to my words; only hung +his head and held his peace; and I might have been led to fancy that he +had not heard me, if his next speech had not contained a kind of echo +from my own. + +'I would say naething o' thae clavers to Mary,' he observed, and began to +walk forward. + +There is a belt of turf along the side of Aros Bay, where walking is +easy; and it was along this that I silently followed my silent kinsman. I +was perhaps a little disappointed at having lost so good an opportunity +to declare my love; but I was at the same time far more deeply exercised +at the change that had befallen my uncle. He was never an ordinary, +never, in the strict sense, an amiable, man; but there was nothing in +even the worst that I had known of him before, to prepare me for so +strange a transformation. It was impossible to close the eyes against +one fact; that he had, as the saying goes, something on his mind; and as +I mentally ran over the different words which might be represented by the +letter M--misery, mercy, marriage, money, and the like--I was arrested +with a sort of start by the word murder. I was still considering the +ugly sound and fatal meaning of the word, when the direction of our walk +brought us to a point from which a view was to be had to either side, +back towards Aros Bay and homestead, and forward on the ocean, dotted to +the north with isles, and lying to the southward blue and open to the +sky. There my guide came to a halt, and stood staring for awhile on that +expanse. Then he turned to me and laid a hand on my arm. + +'Ye think there's naething there?' he said, pointing with his pipe; and +then cried out aloud, with a kind of exultation: 'I'll tell ye, man! The +deid are down there--thick like rattons!' + +He turned at once, and, without another word, we retraced our steps to +the house of Aros. + +I was eager to be alone with Mary; yet it was not till after supper, and +then but for a short while, that I could have a word with her. I lost no +time beating about the bush, but spoke out plainly what was on my mind. + +'Mary,' I said, 'I have not come to Aros without a hope. If that should +prove well founded, we may all leave and go somewhere else, secure of +daily bread and comfort; secure, perhaps, of something far beyond that, +which it would seem extravagant in me to promise. But there's a hope +that lies nearer to my heart than money.' And at that I paused. 'You +can guess fine what that is, Mary,' I said. She looked away from me in +silence, and that was small encouragement, but I was not to be put off. +'All my days I have thought the world of you,' I continued; 'the time +goes on and I think always the more of you; I could not think to be happy +or hearty in my life without you: you are the apple of my eye.' Still +she looked away, and said never a word; but I thought I saw that her +hands shook. 'Mary,' I cried in fear, 'do ye no like me?' + +'O, Charlie man,' she said, 'is this a time to speak of it? Let me be, a +while; let me be the way I am; it'll not be you that loses by the +waiting!' + +I made out by her voice that she was nearly weeping, and this put me out +of any thought but to compose her. 'Mary Ellen,' I said, 'say no more; I +did not come to trouble you: your way shall be mine, and your time too; +and you have told me all I wanted. Only just this one thing more: what +ails you?' + +She owned it was her father, but would enter into no particulars, only +shook her head, and said he was not well and not like himself, and it was +a great pity. She knew nothing of the wreck. 'I havenae been near it,' +said she. 'What for would I go near it, Charlie lad? The poor souls are +gone to their account long syne; and I would just have wished they had +ta'en their gear with them--poor souls!' + +This was scarcely any great encouragement for me to tell her of the +_Espirito Santo_; yet I did so, and at the very first word she cried out +in surprise. 'There was a man at Grisapol,' she said, 'in the month of +May--a little, yellow, black-avised body, they tell me, with gold rings +upon his fingers, and a beard; and he was speiring high and low for that +same ship.' + +It was towards the end of April that I had been given these papers to +sort out by Dr. Robertson: and it came suddenly back upon my mind that +they were thus prepared for a Spanish historian, or a man calling himself +such, who had come with high recommendations to the Principal, on a +mission of inquiry as to the dispersion of the great Armada. Putting one +thing with another, I fancied that the visitor 'with the gold rings upon +his fingers' might be the same with Dr. Robertson's historian from +Madrid. If that were so, he would be more likely after treasure for +himself than information for a learned society. I made up my mind, I +should lose no time over my undertaking; and if the ship lay sunk in +Sandag Bay, as perhaps both he and I supposed, it should not be for the +advantage of this ringed adventurer, but for Mary and myself, and for the +good, old, honest, kindly family of the Darnaways. + + + +CHAPTER III. LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY. + + +I was early afoot next morning; and as soon as I had a bite to eat, set +forth upon a tour of exploration. Something in my heart distinctly told +me that I should find the ship of the Armada; and although I did not give +way entirely to such hopeful thoughts, I was still very light in spirits +and walked upon air. Aros is a very rough islet, its surface strewn with +great rocks and shaggy with fernland heather; and my way lay almost north +and south across the highest knoll; and though the whole distance was +inside of two miles it took more time and exertion than four upon a level +road. Upon the summit, I paused. Although not very high--not three +hundred feet, as I think--it yet outtops all the neighbouring lowlands of +the Ross, and commands a great view of sea and islands. The sun, which +had been up some time, was already hot upon my neck; the air was listless +and thundery, although purely clear; away over the north-west, where the +isles lie thickliest congregated, some half-a-dozen small and ragged +clouds hung together in a covey; and the head of Ben Kyaw wore, not +merely a few streamers, but a solid hood of vapour. There was a threat +in the weather. The sea, it is true, was smooth like glass: even the +Roost was but a seam on that wide mirror, and the Merry Men no more than +caps of foam; but to my eye and ear, so long familiar with these places, +the sea also seemed to lie uneasily; a sound of it, like a long sigh, +mounted to me where I stood; and, quiet as it was, the Roost itself +appeared to be revolving mischief. For I ought to say that all we +dwellers in these parts attributed, if not prescience, at least a quality +of warning, to that strange and dangerous creature of the tides. + +I hurried on, then, with the greater speed, and had soon descended the +slope of Aros to the part that we call Sandag Bay. It is a pretty large +piece of water compared with the size of the isle; well sheltered from +all but the prevailing wind; sandy and shoal and bounded by low +sand-hills to the west, but to the eastward lying several fathoms deep +along a ledge of rocks. It is upon that side that, at a certain time +each flood, the current mentioned by my uncle sets so strong into the +bay; a little later, when the Roost begins to work higher, an undertow +runs still more strongly in the reverse direction; and it is the action +of this last, as I suppose, that has scoured that part so deep. Nothing +is to be seen out of Sandag Bay, but one small segment of the horizon +and, in heavy weather, the breakers flying high over a deep sea reef. + +From half-way down the hill, I had perceived the wreck of February last, +a brig of considerable tonnage, lying, with her back broken, high and dry +on the east corner of the sands; and I was making directly towards it, +and already almost on the margin of the turf, when my eyes were suddenly +arrested by a spot, cleared of fern and heather, and marked by one of +those long, low, and almost human-looking mounds that we see so commonly +in graveyards. I stopped like a man shot. Nothing had been said to me +of any dead man or interment on the island; Rorie, Mary, and my uncle had +all equally held their peace; of her at least, I was certain that she +must be ignorant; and yet here, before my eyes, was proof indubitable of +the fact. Here was a grave; and I had to ask myself, with a chill, what +manner of man lay there in his last sleep, awaiting the signal of the +Lord in that solitary, sea-beat resting-place? My mind supplied no +answer but what I feared to entertain. Shipwrecked, at least, he must +have been; perhaps, like the old Armada mariners, from some far and rich +land over-sea; or perhaps one of my own race, perishing within eyesight +of the smoke of home. I stood awhile uncovered by his side, and I could +have desired that it had lain in our religion to put up some prayer for +that unhappy stranger, or, in the old classic way, outwardly to honour +his misfortune. I knew, although his bones lay there, a part of Aros, +till the trumpet sounded, his imperishable soul was forth and far away, +among the raptures of the everlasting Sabbath or the pangs of hell; and +yet my mind misgave me even with a fear, that perhaps he was near me +where I stood, guarding his sepulchre, and lingering on the scene of his +unhappy fate. + +Certainly it was with a spirit somewhat over-shadowed that I turned away +from the grave to the hardly less melancholy spectacle of the wreck. Her +stem was above the first arc of the flood; she was broken in two a little +abaft the foremast--though indeed she had none, both masts having broken +short in her disaster; and as the pitch of the beach was very sharp and +sudden, and the bows lay many feet below the stern, the fracture gaped +widely open, and you could see right through her poor hull upon the +farther side. Her name was much defaced, and I could not make out +clearly whether she was called _Christiania_, after the Norwegian city, +or _Christiana_, after the good woman, Christian's wife, in that old book +the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' By her build she was a foreign ship, but I was +not certain of her nationality. She had been painted green, but the +colour was faded and weathered, and the paint peeling off in strips. The +wreck of the mainmast lay alongside, half buried in sand. She was a +forlorn sight, indeed, and I could not look without emotion at the bits +of rope that still hung about her, so often handled of yore by shouting +seamen; or the little scuttle where they had passed up and down to their +affairs; or that poor noseless angel of a figure-head that had dipped +into so many running billows. + +I do not know whether it came most from the ship or from the grave, but I +fell into some melancholy scruples, as I stood there, leaning with one +hand against the battered timbers. The homelessness of men and even of +inanimate vessels, cast away upon strange shores, came strongly in upon +my mind. To make a profit of such pitiful misadventures seemed an +unmanly and a sordid act; and I began to think of my then quest as of +something sacrilegious in its nature. But when I remembered Mary, I took +heart again. My uncle would never consent to an imprudent marriage, nor +would she, as I was persuaded, wed without his full approval. It behoved +me, then, to be up and doing for my wife; and I thought with a laugh how +long it was since that great sea-castle, the _Espirito Santo_, had left +her bones in Sandag Bay, and how weak it would be to consider rights so +long extinguished and misfortunes so long forgotten in the process of +time. + +I had my theory of where to seek for her remains. The set of the current +and the soundings both pointed to the east side of the bay under the +ledge of rocks. If she had been lost in Sandag Bay, and if, after these +centuries, any portion of her held together, it was there that I should +find it. The water deepens, as I have said, with great rapidity, and +even close along-side the rocks several fathoms may be found. As I +walked upon the edge I could see far and wide over the sandy bottom of +the bay; the sun shone clear and green and steady in the deeps; the bay +seemed rather like a great transparent crystal, as one sees them in a +lapidary's shop; there was naught to show that it was water but an +internal trembling, a hovering within of sun-glints and netted shadows, +and now and then a faint lap and a dying bubble round the edge. The +shadows of the rocks lay out for some distance at their feet, so that my +own shadow, moving, pausing, and stooping on the top of that, reached +sometimes half across the bay. It was above all in this belt of shadows +that I hunted for the _Espirito Santo_; since it was there the undertow +ran strongest, whether in or out. Cool as the whole water seemed this +broiling day, it looked, in that part, yet cooler, and had a mysterious +invitation for the eyes. Peer as I pleased, however, I could see nothing +but a few fishes or a bush of sea-tangle, and here and there a lump of +rock that had fallen from above and now lay separate on the sandy floor. +Twice did I pass from one end to the other of the rocks, and in the whole +distance I could see nothing of the wreck, nor any place but one where it +was possible for it to be. This was a large terrace in five fathoms of +water, raised off the surface of the sand to a considerable height, and +looking from above like a mere outgrowth of the rocks on which I walked. +It was one mass of great sea-tangles like a grove, which prevented me +judging of its nature, but in shape and size it bore some likeness to a +vessel's hull. At least it was my best chance. If the _Espirito Santo_ +lay not there under the tangles, it lay nowhere at all in Sandag Bay; and +I prepared to put the question to the proof, once and for all, and either +go back to Aros a rich man or cured for ever of my dreams of wealth. + +I stripped to the skin, and stood on the extreme margin with my hands +clasped, irresolute. The bay at that time was utterly quiet; there was +no sound but from a school of porpoises somewhere out of sight behind the +point; yet a certain fear withheld me on the threshold of my venture. Sad +sea-feelings, scraps of my uncle's superstitions, thoughts of the dead, +of the grave, of the old broken ships, drifted through my mind. But the +strong sun upon my shoulders warmed me to the heart, and I stooped +forward and plunged into the sea. + +It was all that I could do to catch a trail of the sea-tangle that grew +so thickly on the terrace; but once so far anchored I secured myself by +grasping a whole armful of these thick and slimy stalks, and, planting my +feet against the edge, I looked around me. On all sides the clear sand +stretched forth unbroken; it came to the foot of the rocks, scoured into +the likeness of an alley in a garden by the action of the tides; and +before me, for as far as I could see, nothing was visible but the same +many-folded sand upon the sun-bright bottom of the bay. Yet the terrace +to which I was then holding was as thick with strong sea-growths as a +tuft of heather, and the cliff from which it bulged hung draped below the +water-line with brown lianas. In this complexity of forms, all swaying +together in the current, things were hard to be distinguished; and I was +still uncertain whether my feet were pressed upon the natural rock or +upon the timbers of the Armada treasure-ship, when the whole tuft of +tangle came away in my hand, and in an instant I was on the surface, and +the shores of the bay and the bright water swam before my eyes in a glory +of crimson. + +I clambered back upon the rocks, and threw the plant of tangle at my +feet. Something at the same moment rang sharply, like a falling coin. I +stooped, and there, sure enough, crusted with the red rust, there lay an +iron shoe-buckle. The sight of this poor human relic thrilled me to the +heart, but not with hope nor fear, only with a desolate melancholy. I +held it in my hand, and the thought of its owner appeared before me like +the presence of an actual man. His weather-beaten face, his sailor's +hands, his sea-voice hoarse with singing at the capstan, the very foot +that had once worn that buckle and trod so much along the swerving +decks--the whole human fact of him, as a creature like myself, with hair +and blood and seeing eyes, haunted me in that sunny, solitary place, not +like a spectre, but like some friend whom I had basely injured. Was the +great treasure ship indeed below there, with her guns and chain and +treasure, as she had sailed from Spain; her decks a garden for the +seaweed, her cabin a breeding place for fish, soundless but for the +dredging water, motionless but for the waving of the tangle upon her +battlements--that old, populous, sea-riding castle, now a reef in Sandag +Bay? Or, as I thought it likelier, was this a waif from the disaster of +the foreign brig--was this shoe-buckle bought but the other day and worn +by a man of my own period in the world's history, hearing the same news +from day to day, thinking the same thoughts, praying, perhaps, in the +same temple with myself? However it was, I was assailed with dreary +thoughts; my uncle's words, 'the dead are down there,' echoed in my ears; +and though I determined to dive once more, it was with a strong +repugnance that I stepped forward to the margin of the rocks. + +A great change passed at that moment over the appearance of the bay. It +was no more that clear, visible interior, like a house roofed with glass, +where the green, submarine sunshine slept so stilly. A breeze, I +suppose, had flawed the surface, and a sort of trouble and blackness +filled its bosom, where flashes of light and clouds of shadow tossed +confusedly together. Even the terrace below obscurely rocked and +quivered. It seemed a graver thing to venture on this place of ambushes; +and when I leaped into the sea the second time it was with a quaking in +my soul. + +I secured myself as at first, and groped among the waving tangle. All +that met my touch was cold and soft and gluey. The thicket was alive +with crabs and lobsters, trundling to and fro lopsidedly, and I had to +harden my heart against the horror of their carrion neighbourhood. On +all sides I could feel the grain and the clefts of hard, living stone; no +planks, no iron, not a sign of any wreck; the _Espirito Santo_ was not +there. I remember I had almost a sense of relief in my disappointment, +and I was about ready to leave go, when something happened that sent me +to the surface with my heart in my mouth. I had already stayed somewhat +late over my explorations; the current was freshening with the change of +the tide, and Sandag Bay was no longer a safe place for a single swimmer. +Well, just at the last moment there came a sudden flush of current, +dredging through the tangles like a wave. I lost one hold, was flung +sprawling on my side, and, instinctively grasping for a fresh support, my +fingers closed on something hard and cold. I think I knew at that moment +what it was. At least I instantly left hold of the tangle, leaped for +the surface, and clambered out next moment on the friendly rocks with the +bone of a man's leg in my grasp. + +Mankind is a material creature, slow to think and dull to perceive +connections. The grave, the wreck of the brig, and the rusty shoe-buckle +were surely plain advertisements. A child might have read their dismal +story, and yet it was not until I touched that actual piece of mankind +that the full horror of the charnel ocean burst upon my spirit. I laid +the bone beside the buckle, picked up my clothes, and ran as I was along +the rocks towards the human shore. I could not be far enough from the +spot; no fortune was vast enough to tempt me back again. The bones of +the drowned dead should henceforth roll undisturbed by me, whether on +tangle or minted gold. But as soon as I trod the good earth again, and +had covered my nakedness against the sun, I knelt down over against the +ruins of the brig, and out of the fulness of my heart prayed long and +passionately for all poor souls upon the sea. A generous prayer is never +presented in vain; the petition may be refused, but the petitioner is +always, I believe, rewarded by some gracious visitation. The horror, at +least, was lifted from my mind; I could look with calm of spirit on that +great bright creature, God's ocean; and as I set off homeward up the +rough sides of Aros, nothing remained of my concern beyond a deep +determination to meddle no more with the spoils of wrecked vessels or the +treasures of the dead. + +I was already some way up the hill before I paused to breathe and look +behind me. The sight that met my eyes was doubly strange. + +For, first, the storm that I had foreseen was now advancing with almost +tropical rapidity. The whole surface of the sea had been dulled from its +conspicuous brightness to an ugly hue of corrugated lead; already in the +distance the white waves, the 'skipper's daughters,' had begun to flee +before a breeze that was still insensible on Aros; and already along the +curve of Sandag Bay there was a splashing run of sea that I could hear +from where I stood. The change upon the sky was even more remarkable. +There had begun to arise out of the south-west a huge and solid continent +of scowling cloud; here and there, through rents in its contexture, the +sun still poured a sheaf of spreading rays; and here and there, from all +its edges, vast inky streamers lay forth along the yet unclouded sky. The +menace was express and imminent. Even as I gazed, the sun was blotted +out. At any moment the tempest might fall upon Aros in its might. + +The suddenness of this change of weather so fixed my eyes on heaven that +it was some seconds before they alighted on the bay, mapped out below my +feet, and robbed a moment later of the sun. The knoll which I had just +surmounted overflanked a little amphitheatre of lower hillocks sloping +towards the sea, and beyond that the yellow arc of beach and the whole +extent of Sandag Bay. It was a scene on which I had often looked down, +but where I had never before beheld a human figure. I had but just +turned my back upon it and left it empty, and my wonder may be fancied +when I saw a boat and several men in that deserted spot. The boat was +lying by the rocks. A pair of fellows, bareheaded, with their sleeves +rolled up, and one with a boathook, kept her with difficulty to her +moorings for the current was growing brisker every moment. A little way +off upon the ledge two men in black clothes, whom I judged to be superior +in rank, laid their heads together over some task which at first I did +not understand, but a second after I had made it out--they were taking +bearings with the compass; and just then I saw one of them unroll a sheet +of paper and lay his finger down, as though identifying features in a +map. Meanwhile a third was walking to and fro, polling among the rocks +and peering over the edge into the water. While I was still watching +them with the stupefaction of surprise, my mind hardly yet able to work +on what my eyes reported, this third person suddenly stooped and summoned +his companions with a cry so loud that it reached my ears upon the hill. +The others ran to him, even dropping the compass in their hurry, and I +could see the bone and the shoe-buckle going from hand to hand, causing +the most unusual gesticulations of surprise and interest. Just then I +could hear the seamen crying from the boat, and saw them point westward +to that cloud continent which was ever the more rapidly unfurling its +blackness over heaven. The others seemed to consult; but the danger was +too pressing to be braved, and they bundled into the boat carrying my +relies with them, and set forth out of the bay with all speed of oars. + +I made no more ado about the matter, but turned and ran for the house. +Whoever these men were, it was fit my uncle should be instantly informed. +It was not then altogether too late in the day for a descent of the +Jacobites; and may be Prince Charlie, whom I knew my uncle to detest, was +one of the three superiors whom I had seen upon the rock. Yet as I ran, +leaping from rock to rock, and turned the matter loosely in my mind, this +theory grew ever the longer the less welcome to my reason. The compass, +the map, the interest awakened by the buckle, and the conduct of that one +among the strangers who had looked so often below him in the water, all +seemed to point to a different explanation of their presence on that +outlying, obscure islet of the western sea. The Madrid historian, the +search instituted by Dr. Robertson, the bearded stranger with the rings, +my own fruitless search that very morning in the deep water of Sandag +Bay, ran together, piece by piece, in my memory, and I made sure that +these strangers must be Spaniards in quest of ancient treasure and the +lost ship of the Armada. But the people living in outlying islands, such +as Aros, are answerable for their own security; there is none near by to +protect or even to help them; and the presence in such a spot of a crew +of foreign adventurers--poor, greedy, and most likely lawless--filled me +with apprehensions for my uncle's money, and even for the safety of his +daughter. I was still wondering how we were to get rid of them when I +came, all breathless, to the top of Aros. The whole world was shadowed +over; only in the extreme east, on a hill of the mainland, one last gleam +of sunshine lingered like a jewel; rain had begun to fall, not heavily, +but in great drops; the sea was rising with each moment, and already a +band of white encircled Aros and the nearer coasts of Grisapol. The boat +was still pulling seaward, but I now became aware of what had been hidden +from me lower down--a large, heavily sparred, handsome schooner, lying to +at the south end of Aros. Since I had not seen her in the morning when I +had looked around so closely at the signs of the weather, and upon these +lone waters where a sail was rarely visible, it was clear she must have +lain last night behind the uninhabited Eilean Gour, and this proved +conclusively that she was manned by strangers to our coast, for that +anchorage, though good enough to look at, is little better than a trap +for ships. With such ignorant sailors upon so wild a coast, the coming +gale was not unlikely to bring death upon its wings. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE GALE. + + +I found my uncle at the gable end, watching the signs of the weather, +with a pipe in his fingers. + +'Uncle,' said I, 'there were men ashore at Sandag Bay--' + +I had no time to go further; indeed, I not only forgot my words, but even +my weariness, so strange was the effect on Uncle Gordon. He dropped his +pipe and fell back against the end of the house with his jaw fallen, his +eyes staring, and his long face as white as paper. We must have looked +at one another silently for a quarter of a minute, before he made answer +in this extraordinary fashion: 'Had he a hair kep on?' + +I knew as well as if I had been there that the man who now lay buried at +Sandag had worn a hairy cap, and that he had come ashore alive. For the +first and only time I lost toleration for the man who was my benefactor +and the father of the woman I hoped to call my wife. + +'These were living men,' said I, 'perhaps Jacobites, perhaps the French, +perhaps pirates, perhaps adventurers come here to seek the Spanish +treasure ship; but, whatever they may be, dangerous at least to your +daughter and my cousin. As for your own guilty terrors, man, the dead +sleeps well where you have laid him. I stood this morning by his grave; +he will not wake before the trump of doom.' + +My kinsman looked upon me, blinking, while I spoke; then he fixed his +eyes for a little on the ground, and pulled his fingers foolishly; but it +was plain that he was past the power of speech. + +'Come,' said I. 'You must think for others. You must come up the hill +with me, and see this ship.' + +He obeyed without a word or a look, following slowly after my impatient +strides. The spring seemed to have gone out of his body, and he +scrambled heavily up and down the rocks, instead of leaping, as he was +wont, from one to another. Nor could I, for all my cries, induce him to +make better haste. Only once he replied to me complainingly, and like +one in bodily pain: 'Ay, ay, man, I'm coming.' Long before we had +reached the top, I had no other thought for him but pity. If the crime +had been monstrous the punishment was in proportion. + +At last we emerged above the sky-line of the hill, and could see around +us. All was black and stormy to the eye; the last gleam of sun had +vanished; a wind had sprung up, not yet high, but gusty and unsteady to +the point; the rain, on the other hand, had ceased. Short as was the +interval, the sea already ran vastly higher than when I had stood there +last; already it had begun to break over some of the outward reefs, and +already it moaned aloud in the sea-caves of Aros. I looked, at first, in +vain for the schooner. + +'There she is,' I said at last. But her new position, and the course she +was now lying, puzzled me. 'They cannot mean to beat to sea,' I cried. + +'That's what they mean,' said my uncle, with something like joy; and just +then the schooner went about and stood upon another tack, which put the +question beyond the reach of doubt. These strangers, seeing a gale on +hand, had thought first of sea-room. With the wind that threatened, in +these reef-sown waters and contending against so violent a stream of +tide, their course was certain death. + +'Good God!' said I, 'they are all lost.' + +'Ay,' returned my uncle, 'a'--a' lost. They hadnae a chance but to rin +for Kyle Dona. The gate they're gaun the noo, they couldnae win through +an the muckle deil were there to pilot them. Eh, man,' he continued, +touching me on the sleeve, 'it's a braw nicht for a shipwreck! Twa in ae +twalmonth! Eh, but the Merry Men'll dance bonny!' + +I looked at him, and it was then that I began to fancy him no longer in +his right mind. He was peering up to me, as if for sympathy, a timid joy +in his eyes. All that had passed between us was already forgotten in the +prospect of this fresh disaster. + +'If it were not too late,' I cried with indignation, 'I would take the +coble and go out to warn them.' + +'Na, na,' he protested, 'ye maunnae interfere; ye maunnae meddle wi' the +like o' that. It's His'--doffing his bonnet--'His wull. And, eh, man! +but it's a braw nicht for't!' + +Something like fear began to creep into my soul and, reminding him that I +had not yet dined, I proposed we should return to the house. But no; +nothing would tear him from his place of outlook. + +'I maun see the hail thing, man, Cherlie,' he explained--and then as the +schooner went about a second time, 'Eh, but they han'le her bonny!' he +cried. 'The _Christ-Anna_ was naething to this.' + +Already the men on board the schooner must have begun to realise some +part, but not yet the twentieth, of the dangers that environed their +doomed ship. At every lull of the capricious wind they must have seen +how fast the current swept them back. Each tack was made shorter, as +they saw how little it prevailed. Every moment the rising swell began to +boom and foam upon another sunken reef; and ever and again a breaker +would fall in sounding ruin under the very bows of her, and the brown +reef and streaming tangle appear in the hollow of the wave. I tell you, +they had to stand to their tackle: there was no idle men aboard that +ship, God knows. It was upon the progress of a scene so horrible to any +human-hearted man that my misguided uncle now pored and gloated like a +connoisseur. As I turned to go down the hill, he was lying on his belly +on the summit, with his hands stretched forth and clutching in the +heather. He seemed rejuvenated, mind and body. + +When I got back to the house already dismally affected, I was still more +sadly downcast at the sight of Mary. She had her sleeves rolled up over +her strong arms, and was quietly making bread. I got a bannock from the +dresser and sat down to eat it in silence. + +'Are ye wearied, lad?' she asked after a while. + +'I am not so much wearied, Mary,' I replied, getting on my feet, 'as I am +weary of delay, and perhaps of Aros too. You know me well enough to +judge me fairly, say what I like. Well, Mary, you may be sure of this: +you had better be anywhere but here.' + +'I'll be sure of one thing,' she returned: 'I'll be where my duty is.' + +'You forget, you have a duty to yourself,' I said. + +'Ay, man?' she replied, pounding at the dough; 'will you have found that +in the Bible, now?' + +'Mary,' I said solemnly, 'you must not laugh at me just now. God knows I +am in no heart for laughing. If we could get your father with us, it +would be best; but with him or without him, I want you far away from +here, my girl; for your own sake, and for mine, ay, and for your father's +too, I want you far--far away from here. I came with other thoughts; I +came here as a man comes home; now it is all changed, and I have no +desire nor hope but to flee--for that's the word--flee, like a bird out +of the fowler's snare, from this accursed island.' + +She had stopped her work by this time. + +'And do you think, now,' said she, 'do you think, now, I have neither +eyes nor ears? Do ye think I havenae broken my heart to have these braws +(as he calls them, God forgive him!) thrown into the sea? Do ye think I +have lived with him, day in, day out, and not seen what you saw in an +hour or two? No,' she said, 'I know there's wrong in it; what wrong, I +neither know nor want to know. There was never an ill thing made better +by meddling, that I could hear of. But, my lad, you must never ask me to +leave my father. While the breath is in his body, I'll be with him. And +he's not long for here, either: that I can tell you, Charlie--he's not +long for here. The mark is on his brow; and better so--maybe better so.' + +I was a while silent, not knowing what to say; and when I roused my head +at last to speak, she got before me. + +'Charlie,' she said, 'what's right for me, neednae be right for you. +There's sin upon this house and trouble; you are a stranger; take your +things upon your back and go your ways to better places and to better +folk, and if you were ever minded to come back, though it were twenty +years syne, you would find me aye waiting.' + +'Mary Ellen,' I said, 'I asked you to be my wife, and you said as good as +yes. That's done for good. Wherever you are, I am; as I shall answer to +my God.' + +As I said the words, the wind suddenly burst out raving, and then seemed +to stand still and shudder round the house of Aros. It was the first +squall, or prologue, of the coming tempest, and as we started and looked +about us, we found that a gloom, like the approach of evening, had +settled round the house. + +'God pity all poor folks at sea!' she said. 'We'll see no more of my +father till the morrow's morning.' + +And then she told me, as we sat by the fire and hearkened to the rising +gusts, of how this change had fallen upon my uncle. All last winter he +had been dark and fitful in his mind. Whenever the Roost ran high, or, +as Mary said, whenever the Merry Men were dancing, he would lie out for +hours together on the Head, if it were at night, or on the top of Aros by +day, watching the tumult of the sea, and sweeping the horizon for a sail. +After February the tenth, when the wealth-bringing wreck was cast ashore +at Sandag, he had been at first unnaturally gay, and his excitement had +never fallen in degree, but only changed in kind from dark to darker. He +neglected his work, and kept Rorie idle. They two would speak together +by the hour at the gable end, in guarded tones and with an air of secrecy +and almost of guilt; and if she questioned either, as at first she +sometimes did, her inquiries were put aside with confusion. Since Rorie +had first remarked the fish that hung about the ferry, his master had +never set foot but once upon the mainland of the Ross. That once--it was +in the height of the springs--he had passed dryshod while the tide was +out; but, having lingered overlong on the far side, found himself cut off +from Aros by the returning waters. It was with a shriek of agony that he +had leaped across the gut, and he had reached home thereafter in a fever- +fit of fear. A fear of the sea, a constant haunting thought of the sea, +appeared in his talk and devotions, and even in his looks when he was +silent. + +Rorie alone came in to supper; but a little later my uncle appeared, took +a bottle under his arm, put some bread in his pocket, and set forth again +to his outlook, followed this time by Rorie. I heard that the schooner +was losing ground, but the crew were still fighting every inch with +hopeless ingenuity and course; and the news filled my mind with +blackness. + +A little after sundown the full fury of the gale broke forth, such a gale +as I have never seen in summer, nor, seeing how swiftly it had come, even +in winter. Mary and I sat in silence, the house quaking overhead, the +tempest howling without, the fire between us sputtering with raindrops. +Our thoughts were far away with the poor fellows on the schooner, or my +not less unhappy uncle, houseless on the promontory; and yet ever and +again we were startled back to ourselves, when the wind would rise and +strike the gable like a solid body, or suddenly fall and draw away, so +that the fire leaped into flame and our hearts bounded in our sides. Now +the storm in its might would seize and shake the four corners of the +roof, roaring like Leviathan in anger. Anon, in a lull, cold eddies of +tempest moved shudderingly in the room, lifting the hair upon our heads +and passing between us as we sat. And again the wind would break forth +in a chorus of melancholy sounds, hooting low in the chimney, wailing +with flutelike softness round the house. + +It was perhaps eight o'clock when Rorie came in and pulled me +mysteriously to the door. My uncle, it appeared, had frightened even his +constant comrade; and Rorie, uneasy at his extravagance, prayed me to +come out and share the watch. I hastened to do as I was asked; the more +readily as, what with fear and horror, and the electrical tension of the +night, I was myself restless and disposed for action. I told Mary to be +under no alarm, for I should be a safeguard on her father; and wrapping +myself warmly in a plaid, I followed Rorie into the open air. + +The night, though we were so little past midsummer, was as dark as +January. Intervals of a groping twilight alternated with spells of utter +blackness; and it was impossible to trace the reason of these changes in +the flying horror of the sky. The wind blew the breath out of a man's +nostrils; all heaven seemed to thunder overhead like one huge sail; and +when there fell a momentary lull on Aros, we could hear the gusts +dismally sweeping in the distance. Over all the lowlands of the Ross, +the wind must have blown as fierce as on the open sea; and God only knows +the uproar that was raging around the head of Ben Kyaw. Sheets of +mingled spray and rain were driven in our faces. All round the isle of +Aros the surf, with an incessant, hammering thunder, beat upon the reefs +and beaches. Now louder in one place, now lower in another, like the +combinations of orchestral music, the constant mass of sound was hardly +varied for a moment. And loud above all this hurly-burly I could hear +the changeful voices of the Roost and the intermittent roaring of the +Merry Men. At that hour, there flashed into my mind the reason of the +name that they were called. For the noise of them seemed almost +mirthful, as it out-topped the other noises of the night; or if not +mirthful, yet instinct with a portentous joviality. Nay, and it seemed +even human. As when savage men have drunk away their reason, and, +discarding speech, bawl together in their madness by the hour; so, to my +ears, these deadly breakers shouted by Aros in the night. + +Arm in arm, and staggering against the wind, Rorie and I won every yard +of ground with conscious effort. We slipped on the wet sod, we fell +together sprawling on the rocks. Bruised, drenched, beaten, and +breathless, it must have taken us near half an hour to get from the house +down to the Head that overlooks the Roost. There, it seemed, was my +uncle's favourite observatory. Right in the face of it, where the cliff +is highest and most sheer, a hump of earth, like a parapet, makes a place +of shelter from the common winds, where a man may sit in quiet and see +the tide and the mad billows contending at his feet. As he might look +down from the window of a house upon some street disturbance, so, from +this post, he looks down upon the tumbling of the Merry Men. On such a +night, of course, he peers upon a world of blackness, where the waters +wheel and boil, where the waves joust together with the noise of an +explosion, and the foam towers and vanishes in the twinkling of an eye. +Never before had I seen the Merry Men thus violent. The fury, height, +and transiency of their spoutings was a thing to be seen and not +recounted. High over our heads on the cliff rose their white columns in +the darkness; and the same instant, like phantoms, they were gone. +Sometimes three at a time would thus aspire and vanish; sometimes a gust +took them, and the spray would fall about us, heavy as a wave. And yet +the spectacle was rather maddening in its levity than impressive by its +force. Thought was beaten down by the confounding uproar--a gleeful +vacancy possessed the brains of men, a state akin to madness; and I found +myself at times following the dance of the Merry Men as it were a tune +upon a jigging instrument. + +I first caught sight of my uncle when we were still some yards away in +one of the flying glimpses of twilight that chequered the pitch darkness +of the night. He was standing up behind the parapet, his head thrown +back and the bottle to his mouth. As he put it down, he saw and +recognised us with a toss of one hand fleeringly above his head. + +'Has he been drinking?' shouted I to Rorie. + +'He will aye be drunk when the wind blaws,' returned Rorie in the same +high key, and it was all that I could do to hear him. + +'Then--was he so--in February?' I inquired. + +Rorie's 'Ay' was a cause of joy to me. The murder, then, had not sprung +in cold blood from calculation; it was an act of madness no more to be +condemned than to be pardoned. My uncle was a dangerous madman, if you +will, but he was not cruel and base as I had feared. Yet what a scene +for a carouse, what an incredible vice, was this that the poor man had +chosen! I have always thought drunkenness a wild and almost fearful +pleasure, rather demoniacal than human; but drunkenness, out here in the +roaring blackness, on the edge of a cliff above that hell of waters, the +man's head spinning like the Roost, his foot tottering on the edge of +death, his ear watching for the signs of ship-wreck, surely that, if it +were credible in any one, was morally impossible in a man like my uncle, +whose mind was set upon a damnatory creed and haunted by the darkest +superstitions. Yet so it was; and, as we reached the bight of shelter +and could breathe again, I saw the man's eyes shining in the night with +an unholy glimmer. + +'Eh, Charlie, man, it's grand!' he cried. 'See to them!' he continued, +dragging me to the edge of the abyss from whence arose that deafening +clamour and those clouds of spray; 'see to them dancin', man! Is that no +wicked?' + +He pronounced the word with gusto, and I thought it suited with the +scene. + +'They're yowlin' for thon schooner,' he went on, his thin, insane voice +clearly audible in the shelter of the bank, 'an' she's comin' aye nearer, +aye nearer, aye nearer an' nearer an' nearer; an' they ken't, the folk +kens it, they ken wool it's by wi' them. Charlie, lad, they're a' drunk +in yon schooner, a' dozened wi' drink. They were a' drunk in the _Christ- +Anna_, at the hinder end. There's nane could droon at sea wantin' the +brandy. Hoot awa, what do you ken?' with a sudden blast of anger. 'I +tell ye, it cannae be; they droon withoot it. Ha'e,' holding out the +bottle, 'tak' a sowp.' + +I was about to refuse, but Rorie touched me as if in warning; and indeed +I had already thought better of the movement. I took the bottle, +therefore, and not only drank freely myself, but contrived to spill even +more as I was doing so. It was pure spirit, and almost strangled me to +swallow. My kinsman did not observe the loss, but, once more throwing +back his head, drained the remainder to the dregs. Then, with a loud +laugh, he cast the bottle forth among the Merry Men, who seemed to leap +up, shouting to receive it. + +'Ha'e, bairns!' he cried, 'there's your han'sel. Ye'll get bonnier nor +that, or morning.' + +Suddenly, out in the black night before us, and not two hundred yards +away, we heard, at a moment when the wind was silent, the clear note of a +human voice. Instantly the wind swept howling down upon the Head, and +the Roost bellowed, and churned, and danced with a new fury. But we had +heard the sound, and we knew, with agony, that this was the doomed ship +now close on ruin, and that what we had heard was the voice of her master +issuing his last command. Crouching together on the edge, we waited, +straining every sense, for the inevitable end. It was long, however, and +to us it seemed like ages, ere the schooner suddenly appeared for one +brief instant, relieved against a tower of glimmering foam. I still see +her reefed mainsail flapping loose, as the boom fell heavily across the +deck; I still see the black outline of the hull, and still think I can +distinguish the figure of a man stretched upon the tiller. Yet the whole +sight we had of her passed swifter than lightning; the very wave that +disclosed her fell burying her for ever; the mingled cry of many voices +at the point of death rose and was quenched in the roaring of the Merry +Men. And with that the tragedy was at an end. The strong ship, with all +her gear, and the lamp perhaps still burning in the cabin, the lives of +so many men, precious surely to others, dear, at least, as heaven to +themselves, had all, in that one moment, gone down into the surging +waters. They were gone like a dream. And the wind still ran and +shouted, and the senseless waters in the Roost still leaped and tumbled +as before. + +How long we lay there together, we three, speechless and motionless, is +more than I can tell, but it must have been for long. At length, one by +one, and almost mechanically, we crawled back into the shelter of the +bank. As I lay against the parapet, wholly wretched and not entirely +master of my mind, I could hear my kinsman maundering to himself in an +altered and melancholy mood. Now he would repeat to himself with maudlin +iteration, 'Sic a fecht as they had--sic a sair fecht as they had, puir +lads, puir lads!' and anon he would bewail that 'a' the gear was as +gude's tint,' because the ship had gone down among the Merry Men instead +of stranding on the shore; and throughout, the name--the +_Christ-Anna_--would come and go in his divagations, pronounced with +shuddering awe. The storm all this time was rapidly abating. In half an +hour the wind had fallen to a breeze, and the change was accompanied or +caused by a heavy, cold, and plumping rain. I must then have fallen +asleep, and when I came to myself, drenched, stiff, and unrefreshed, day +had already broken, grey, wet, discomfortable day; the wind blew in faint +and shifting capfuls, the tide was out, the Roost was at its lowest, and +only the strong beating surf round all the coasts of Aros remained to +witness of the furies of the night. + + + +CHAPTER V. A MAN OUT OF THE SEA. + + +Rorie set out for the house in search of warmth and breakfast; but my +uncle was bent upon examining the shores of Aros, and I felt it a part of +duty to accompany him throughout. He was now docile and quiet, but +tremulous and weak in mind and body; and it was with the eagerness of a +child that he pursued his exploration. He climbed far down upon the +rocks; on the beaches, he pursued the retreating breakers. The merest +broken plank or rag of cordage was a treasure in his eyes to be secured +at the peril of his life. To see him, with weak and stumbling footsteps, +expose himself to the pursuit of the surf, or the snares and pitfalls of +the weedy rock, kept me in a perpetual terror. My arm was ready to +support him, my hand clutched him by the skirt, I helped him to draw his +pitiful discoveries beyond the reach of the returning wave; a nurse +accompanying a child of seven would have had no different experience. + +Yet, weakened as he was by the reaction from his madness of the night +before, the passions that smouldered in his nature were those of a strong +man. His terror of the sea, although conquered for the moment, was still +undiminished; had the sea been a lake of living flames, he could not have +shrunk more panically from its touch; and once, when his foot slipped and +he plunged to the midleg into a pool of water, the shriek that came up +out of his soul was like the cry of death. He sat still for a while, +panting like a dog, after that; but his desire for the spoils of +shipwreck triumphed once more over his fears; once more he tottered among +the curded foam; once more he crawled upon the rocks among the bursting +bubbles; once more his whole heart seemed to be set on driftwood, fit, if +it was fit for anything, to throw upon the fire. Pleased as he was with +what he found, he still incessantly grumbled at his ill-fortune. + +'Aros,' he said, 'is no a place for wrecks ava'--no ava'. A' the years +I've dwalt here, this ane maks the second; and the best o' the gear clean +tint!' + +'Uncle,' said I, for we were now on a stretch of open sand, where there +was nothing to divert his mind, 'I saw you last night, as I never thought +to see you--you were drunk.' + +'Na, na,' he said, 'no as bad as that. I had been drinking, though. And +to tell ye the God's truth, it's a thing I cannae mend. There's nae +soberer man than me in my ordnar; but when I hear the wind blaw in my +lug, it's my belief that I gang gyte.' + +'You are a religious man,' I replied, 'and this is sin'. + +'Ou,' he returned, 'if it wasnae sin, I dinnae ken that I would care +for't. Ye see, man, it's defiance. There's a sair spang o' the auld sin +o' the warld in you sea; it's an unchristian business at the best o't; +an' whiles when it gets up, an' the wind skreights--the wind an' her are +a kind of sib, I'm thinkin'--an' thae Merry Men, the daft callants, +blawin' and lauchin', and puir souls in the deid thraws warstlin' the +leelang nicht wi' their bit ships--weel, it comes ower me like a glamour. +I'm a deil, I ken't. But I think naething o' the puir sailor lads; I'm +wi' the sea, I'm just like ane o' her ain Merry Men.' + +I thought I should touch him in a joint of his harness. I turned me +towards the sea; the surf was running gaily, wave after wave, with their +manes blowing behind them, riding one after another up the beach, +towering, curving, falling one upon another on the trampled sand. +Without, the salt air, the scared gulls, the widespread army of the sea- +chargers, neighing to each other, as they gathered together to the +assault of Aros; and close before us, that line on the flat sands that, +with all their number and their fury, they might never pass. + +'Thus far shalt thou go,' said I, 'and no farther.' And then I quoted as +solemnly as I was able a verse that I had often before fitted to the +chorus of the breakers:-- + + But yet the Lord that is on high, + Is more of might by far, + Than noise of many waters is, + As great sea billows are. + +'Ay,' said my kinsinan, 'at the hinder end, the Lord will triumph; I +dinnae misdoobt that. But here on earth, even silly men-folk daur Him to +His face. It is nae wise; I am nae sayin' that it's wise; but it's the +pride of the eye, and it's the lust o' life, an' it's the wale o' +pleesures.' + +I said no more, for we had now begun to cross a neck of land that lay +between us and Sandag; and I withheld my last appeal to the man's better +reason till we should stand upon the spot associated with his crime. Nor +did he pursue the subject; but he walked beside me with a firmer step. +The call that I had made upon his mind acted like a stimulant, and I +could see that he had forgotten his search for worthless jetsam, in a +profound, gloomy, and yet stirring train of thought. In three or four +minutes we had topped the brae and begun to go down upon Sandag. The +wreck had been roughly handled by the sea; the stem had been spun round +and dragged a little lower down; and perhaps the stern had been forced a +little higher, for the two parts now lay entirely separate on the beach. +When we came to the grave I stopped, uncovered my head in the thick rain, +and, looking my kinsman in the face, addressed him. + +'A man,' said I, 'was in God's providence suffered to escape from mortal +dangers; he was poor, he was naked, he was wet, he was weary, he was a +stranger; he had every claim upon the bowels of your compassion; it may +be that he was the salt of the earth, holy, helpful, and kind; it may be +he was a man laden with iniquities to whom death was the beginning of +torment. I ask you in the sight of heaven: Gordon Darnaway, where is the +man for whom Christ died?' + +He started visibly at the last words; but there came no answer, and his +face expressed no feeling but a vague alarm. + +'You were my father's brother,' I continued; 'You, have taught me to +count your house as if it were my father's house; and we are both sinful +men walking before the Lord among the sins and dangers of this life. It +is by our evil that God leads us into good; we sin, I dare not say by His +temptation, but I must say with His consent; and to any but the brutish +man his sins are the beginning of wisdom. God has warned you by this +crime; He warns you still by the bloody grave between our feet; and if +there shall follow no repentance, no improvement, no return to Him, what +can we look for but the following of some memorable judgment?' + +Even as I spoke the words, the eyes of my uncle wandered from my face. A +change fell upon his looks that cannot be described; his features seemed +to dwindle in size, the colour faded from his cheeks, one hand rose +waveringly and pointed over my shoulder into the distance, and the oft- +repeated name fell once more from his lips: 'The _Christ-Anna_!' + +I turned; and if I was not appalled to the same degree, as I return +thanks to Heaven that I had not the cause, I was still startled by the +sight that met my eyes. The form of a man stood upright on the cabin- +hutch of the wrecked ship; his back was towards us; he appeared to be +scanning the offing with shaded eyes, and his figure was relieved to its +full height, which was plainly very great, against the sea and sky. I +have said a thousand times that I am not superstitious; but at that +moment, with my mind running upon death and sin, the unexplained +appearance of a stranger on that sea-girt, solitary island filled me with +a surprise that bordered close on terror. It seemed scarce possible that +any human soul should have come ashore alive in such a sea as had rated +last night along the coasts of Aros; and the only vessel within miles had +gone down before our eyes among the Merry Men. I was assailed with +doubts that made suspense unbearable, and, to put the matter to the touch +at once, stepped forward and hailed the figure like a ship. + +He turned about, and I thought he started to behold us. At this my +courage instantly revived, and I called and signed to him to draw near, +and he, on his part, dropped immediately to the sands, and began slowly +to approach, with many stops and hesitations. At each repeated mark of +the man's uneasiness I grew the more confident myself; and I advanced +another step, encouraging him as I did so with my head and hand. It was +plain the castaway had heard indifferent accounts of our island +hospitality; and indeed, about this time, the people farther north had a +sorry reputation. + +'Why,' I said, 'the man is black!' + +And just at that moment, in a voice that I could scarce have recognised, +my kinsman began swearing and praying in a mingled stream. I looked at +him; he had fallen on his knees, his face was agonised; at each step of +the castaway's the pitch of his voice rose, the volubility of his +utterance and the fervour of his language redoubled. I call it prayer, +for it was addressed to God; but surely no such ranting incongruities +were ever before addressed to the Creator by a creature: surely if prayer +can be a sin, this mad harangue was sinful. I ran to my kinsman, I +seized him by the shoulders, I dragged him to his feet. + +'Silence, man,' said I, 'respect your God in words, if not in action. +Here, on the very scene of your transgressions, He sends you an occasion +of atonement. Forward and embrace it; welcome like a father yon creature +who comes trembling to your mercy.' + +With that, I tried to force him towards the black; but he felled me to +the ground, burst from my grasp, leaving the shoulder of his jacket, and +fled up the hillside towards the top of Aros like a deer. I staggered to +my feet again, bruised and somewhat stunned; the negro had paused in +surprise, perhaps in terror, some halfway between me and the wreck; my +uncle was already far away, bounding from rock to rock; and I thus found +myself torn for a time between two duties. But I judged, and I pray +Heaven that I judged rightly, in favour of the poor wretch upon the +sands; his misfortune was at least not plainly of his own creation; it +was one, besides, that I could certainly relieve; and I had begun by that +time to regard my uncle as an incurable and dismal lunatic. I advanced +accordingly towards the black, who now awaited my approach with folded +arms, like one prepared for either destiny. As I came nearer, he reached +forth his hand with a great gesture, such as I had seen from the pulpit, +and spoke to me in something of a pulpit voice, but not a word was +comprehensible. I tried him first in English, then in Gaelic, both in +vain; so that it was clear we must rely upon the tongue of looks and +gestures. Thereupon I signed to him to follow me, which he did readily +and with a grave obeisance like a fallen king; all the while there had +come no shade of alteration in his face, neither of anxiety while he was +still waiting, nor of relief now that he was reassured; if he were a +slave, as I supposed, I could not but judge he must have fallen from some +high place in his own country, and fallen as he was, I could not but +admire his bearing. As we passed the grave, I paused and raised my hands +and eyes to heaven in token of respect and sorrow for the dead; and he, +as if in answer, bowed low and spread his hands abroad; it was a strange +motion, but done like a thing of common custom; and I supposed it was +ceremonial in the land from which he came. At the same time he pointed +to my uncle, whom we could just see perched upon a knoll, and touched his +head to indicate that he was mad. + +We took the long way round the shore, for I feared to excite my uncle if +we struck across the island; and as we walked, I had time enough to +mature the little dramatic exhibition by which I hoped to satisfy my +doubts. Accordingly, pausing on a rock, I proceeded to imitate before +the negro the action of the man whom I had seen the day before taking +bearings with the compass at Sandag. He understood me at once, and, +taking the imitation out of my hands, showed me where the boat was, +pointed out seaward as if to indicate the position of the schooner, and +then down along the edge of the rock with the words 'Espirito Santo,' +strangely pronounced, but clear enough for recognition. I had thus been +right in my conjecture; the pretended historical inquiry had been but a +cloak for treasure-hunting; the man who had played on Dr. Robertson was +the same as the foreigner who visited Grisapol in spring, and now, with +many others, lay dead under the Roost of Aros: there had their greed +brought them, there should their bones be tossed for evermore. In the +meantime the black continued his imitation of the scene, now looking up +skyward as though watching the approach of the storm now, in the +character of a seaman, waving the rest to come aboard; now as an officer, +running along the rock and entering the boat; and anon bending over +imaginary oars with the air of a hurried boatman; but all with the same +solemnity of manner, so that I was never even moved to smile. Lastly, he +indicated to me, by a pantomime not to be described in words, how he +himself had gone up to examine the stranded wreck, and, to his grief and +indignation, had been deserted by his comrades; and thereupon folded his +arms once more, and stooped his head, like one accepting fate. + +The mystery of his presence being thus solved for me, I explained to him +by means of a sketch the fate of the vessel and of all aboard her. He +showed no surprise nor sorrow, and, with a sudden lifting of his open +hand, seemed to dismiss his former friends or masters (whichever they had +been) into God's pleasure. Respect came upon me and grew stronger, the +more I observed him; I saw he had a powerful mind and a sober and severe +character, such as I loved to commune with; and before we reached the +house of Aros I had almost forgotten, and wholly forgiven him, his +uncanny colour. + +To Mary I told all that had passed without suppression, though I own my +heart failed me; but I did wrong to doubt her sense of justice. + +'You did the right,' she said. 'God's will be done.' And she set out +meat for us at once. + +As soon as I was satisfied, I bade Rorie keep an eye upon the castaway, +who was still eating, and set forth again myself to find my uncle. I had +not gone far before I saw him sitting in the same place, upon the very +topmost knoll, and seemingly in the same attitude as when I had last +observed him. From that point, as I have said, the most of Aros and the +neighbouring Ross would be spread below him like a map; and it was plain +that he kept a bright look-out in all directions, for my head had +scarcely risen above the summit of the first ascent before he had leaped +to his feet and turned as if to face me. I hailed him at once, as well +as I was able, in the same tones and words as I had often used before, +when I had come to summon him to dinner. He made not so much as a +movement in reply. I passed on a little farther, and again tried parley, +with the same result. But when I began a second time to advance, his +insane fears blazed up again, and still in dead silence, but with +incredible speed, he began to flee from before me along the rocky summit +of the hill. An hour before, he had been dead weary, and I had been +comparatively active. But now his strength was recruited by the fervour +of insanity, and it would have been vain for me to dream of pursuit. Nay, +the very attempt, I thought, might have inflamed his terrors, and thus +increased the miseries of our position. And I had nothing left but to +turn homeward and make my sad report to Mary. + +She heard it, as she had heard the first, with a concerned composure, +and, bidding me lie down and take that rest of which I stood so much in +need, set forth herself in quest of her misguided father. At that age it +would have been a strange thing that put me from either meat or sleep; I +slept long and deep; and it was already long past noon before I awoke and +came downstairs into the kitchen. Mary, Rorie, and the black castaway +were seated about the fire in silence; and I could see that Mary had been +weeping. There was cause enough, as I soon learned, for tears. First +she, and then Rorie, had been forth to seek my uncle; each in turn had +found him perched upon the hill-top, and from each in turn he had +silently and swiftly fled. Rorie had tried to chase him, but in vain; +madness lent a new vigour to his bounds; he sprang from rock to rock over +the widest gullies; he scoured like the wind along the hill-tops; he +doubled and twisted like a hare before the dogs; and Rorie at length gave +in; and the last that he saw, my uncle was seated as before upon the +crest of Aros. Even during the hottest excitement of the chase, even +when the fleet-footed servant had come, for a moment, very near to +capture him, the poor lunatic had uttered not a sound. He fled, and he +was silent, like a beast; and this silence had terrified his pursuer. + +There was something heart-breaking in the situation. How to capture the +madman, how to feed him in the meanwhile, and what to do with him when he +was captured, were the three difficulties that we had to solve. + +'The black,' said I, 'is the cause of this attack. It may even be his +presence in the house that keeps my uncle on the hill. We have done the +fair thing; he has been fed and warmed under this roof; now I propose +that Rorie put him across the bay in the coble, and take him through the +Ross as far as Grisapol.' + +In this proposal Mary heartily concurred; and bidding the black follow +us, we all three descended to the pier. Certainly, Heaven's will was +declared against Gordon Darnaway; a thing had happened, never paralleled +before in Aros; during the storm, the coble had broken loose, and, +striking on the rough splinters of the pier, now lay in four feet of +water with one side stove in. Three days of work at least would be +required to make her float. But I was not to be beaten. I led the whole +party round to where the gut was narrowest, swam to the other side, and +called to the black to follow me. He signed, with the same clearness and +quiet as before, that he knew not the art; and there was truth apparent +in his signals, it would have occurred to none of us to doubt his truth; +and that hope being over, we must all go back even as we came to the +house of Aros, the negro walking in our midst without embarrassment. + +All we could do that day was to make one more attempt to communicate with +the unhappy madman. Again he was visible on his perch; again he fled in +silence. But food and a great cloak were at least left for his comfort; +the rain, besides, had cleared away, and the night promised to be even +warm. We might compose ourselves, we thought, until the morrow; rest was +the chief requisite, that we might be strengthened for unusual exertions; +and as none cared to talk, we separated at an early hour. + +I lay long awake, planning a campaign for the morrow. I was to place the +black on the side of Sandag, whence he should head my uncle towards the +house; Rorie in the west, I on the east, were to complete the cordon, as +best we might. It seemed to me, the more I recalled the configuration of +the island, that it should be possible, though hard, to force him down +upon the low ground along Aros Bay; and once there, even with the +strength of his madness, ultimate escape was hardly to be feared. It was +on his terror of the black that I relied; for I made sure, however he +might run, it would not be in the direction of the man whom he supposed +to have returned from the dead, and thus one point of the compass at +least would be secure. + +When at length I fell asleep, it was to be awakened shortly after by a +dream of wrecks, black men, and submarine adventure; and I found myself +so shaken and fevered that I arose, descended the stair, and stepped out +before the house. Within, Rorie and the black were asleep together in +the kitchen; outside was a wonderful clear night of stars, with here and +there a cloud still hanging, last stragglers of the tempest. It was near +the top of the flood, and the Merry Men were roaring in the windless +quiet of the night. Never, not even in the height of the tempest, had I +heard their song with greater awe. Now, when the winds were gathered +home, when the deep was dandling itself back into its summer slumber, and +when the stars rained their gentle light over land and sea, the voice of +these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc. They seemed, indeed, to +be a part of the world's evil and the tragic side of life. Nor were +their meaningless vociferations the only sounds that broke the silence of +the night. For I could hear, now shrill and thrilling and now almost +drowned, the note of a human voice that accompanied the uproar of the +Roost. I knew it for my kinsman's; and a great fear fell upon me of +God's judgments, and the evil in the world. I went back again into the +darkness of the house as into a place of shelter, and lay long upon my +bed, pondering these mysteries. + +It was late when I again woke, and I leaped into my clothes and hurried +to the kitchen. No one was there; Rorie and the black had both +stealthily departed long before; and my heart stood still at the +discovery. I could rely on Rorie's heart, but I placed no trust in his +discretion. If he had thus set out without a word, he was plainly bent +upon some service to my uncle. But what service could he hope to render +even alone, far less in the company of the man in whom my uncle found his +fears incarnated? Even if I were not already too late to prevent some +deadly mischief, it was plain I must delay no longer. With the thought I +was out of the house; and often as I have run on the rough sides of Aros, +I never ran as I did that fatal morning. I do not believe I put twelve +minutes to the whole ascent. + +My uncle was gone from his perch. The basket had indeed been torn open +and the meat scattered on the turf; but, as we found afterwards, no +mouthful had been tasted; and there was not another trace of human +existence in that wide field of view. Day had already filled the clear +heavens; the sun already lighted in a rosy bloom upon the crest of Ben +Kyaw; but all below me the rude knolls of Aros and the shield of sea lay +steeped in the clear darkling twilight of the dawn. + +'Rorie!' I cried; and again 'Rorie!' My voice died in the silence, but +there came no answer back. If there were indeed an enterprise afoot to +catch my uncle, it was plainly not in fleetness of foot, but in dexterity +of stalking, that the hunters placed their trust. I ran on farther, +keeping the higher spurs, and looking right and left, nor did I pause +again till I was on the mount above Sandag. I could see the wreck, the +uncovered belt of sand, the waves idly beating, the long ledge of rocks, +and on either hand the tumbled knolls, boulders, and gullies of the +island. But still no human thing. + +At a stride the sunshine fell on Aros, and the shadows and colours leaped +into being. Not half a moment later, below me to the west, sheep began +to scatter as in a panic. There came a cry. I saw my uncle running. I +saw the black jump up in hot pursuit; and before I had time to +understand, Rorie also had appeared, calling directions in Gaelic as to a +dog herding sheep. + +I took to my heels to interfere, and perhaps I had done better to have +waited where I was, for I was the means of cutting off the madman's last +escape. There was nothing before him from that moment but the grave, the +wreck, and the sea in Sandag Bay. And yet Heaven knows that what I did +was for the best. + +My uncle Gordon saw in what direction, horrible to him, the chase was +driving him. He doubled, darting to the right and left; but high as the +fever ran in his veins, the black was still the swifter. Turn where he +would, he was still forestalled, still driven toward the scene of his +crime. Suddenly he began to shriek aloud, so that the coast re-echoed; +and now both I and Rorie were calling on the black to stop. But all was +vain, for it was written otherwise. The pursuer still ran, the chase +still sped before him screaming; they avoided the grave, and skimmed +close past the timbers of the wreck; in a breath they had cleared the +sand; and still my kinsman did not pause, but dashed straight into the +surf; and the black, now almost within reach, still followed swiftly +behind him. Rorie and I both stopped, for the thing was now beyond the +hands of men, and these were the decrees of God that came to pass before +our eyes. There was never a sharper ending. On that steep beach they +were beyond their depth at a bound; neither could swim; the black rose +once for a moment with a throttling cry; but the current had them, racing +seaward; and if ever they came up again, which God alone can tell, it +would be ten minutes after, at the far end of Aros Roost, where the +seabirds hover fishing. + + + + +WILL O' THE MILL. + + +CHAPTER I. THE PLAIN AND THE STARS. + + +The Mill here Will lived with his adopted parents stood in a falling +valley between pinewoods and great mountains. Above, hill after hill, +soared upwards until they soared out of the depth of the hardiest timber, +and stood naked against the sky. Some way up, a long grey village lay +like a seam or a ray of vapour on a wooded hillside; and when the wind +was favourable, the sound of the church bells would drop down, thin and +silvery, to Will. Below, the valley grew ever steeper and steeper, and +at the same time widened out on either hand; and from an eminence beside +the mill it was possible to see its whole length and away beyond it over +a wide plain, where the river turned and shone, and moved on from city to +city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced that over this valley +there lay a pass into a neighbouring kingdom; so that, quiet and rural as +it was, the road that ran along beside the river was a high thoroughfare +between two splendid and powerful societies. All through the summer, +travelling-carriages came crawling up, or went plunging briskly downwards +past the mill; and as it happened that the other side was very much +easier of ascent, the path was not much frequented, except by people +going in one direction; and of all the carriages that Will saw go by, +five-sixths were plunging briskly downwards and only one-sixth crawling +up. Much more was this the case with foot-passengers. All the light- +footed tourists, all the pedlars laden with strange wares, were tending +downward like the river that accompanied their path. Nor was this all; +for when Will was yet a child a disastrous war arose over a great part of +the world. The newspapers were full of defeats and victories, the earth +rang with cavalry hoofs, and often for days together and for miles around +the coil of battle terrified good people from their labours in the field. +Of all this, nothing was heard for a long time in the valley; but at last +one of the commanders pushed an army over the pass by forced marches, and +for three days horse and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum and standard, +kept pouring downward past the mill. All day the child stood and watched +them on their passage--the rhythmical stride, the pale, unshaven faces +tanned about the eyes, the discoloured regimentals and the tattered +flags, filled him with a sense of weariness, pity, and wonder; and all +night long, after he was in bed, he could hear the cannon pounding and +the feet trampling, and the great armament sweeping onward and downward +past the mill. No one in the valley ever heard the fate of the +expedition, for they lay out of the way of gossip in those troublous +times; but Will saw one thing plainly, that not a man returned. Whither +had they all gone? Whither went all the tourists and pedlars with +strange wares? whither all the brisk barouches with servants in the +dicky? whither the water of the stream, ever coursing downward and ever +renewed from above? Even the wind blew oftener down the valley, and +carried the dead leaves along with it in the fall. It seemed like a +great conspiracy of things animate and inanimate; they all went downward, +fleetly and gaily downward, and only he, it seemed, remained behind, like +a stock upon the wayside. It sometimes made him glad when he noticed how +the fishes kept their heads up stream. They, at least, stood faithfully +by him, while all else were posting downward to the unknown world. + +One evening he asked the miller where the river went. + +'It goes down the valley,' answered he, 'and turns a power of mills--six +score mills, they say, from here to Unterdeck--and is none the wearier +after all. And then it goes out into the lowlands, and waters the great +corn country, and runs through a sight of fine cities (so they say) where +kings live all alone in great palaces, with a sentry walling up and down +before the door. And it goes under bridges with stone men upon them, +looking down and smiling so curious it the water, and living folks +leaning their elbows on the wall and looking over too. And then it goes +on and on, and down through marshes and sands, until at last it falls +into the sea, where the ships are that bring parrots and tobacco from the +Indies. Ay, it has a long trot before it as it goes singing over our +weir, bless its heart!' + +'And what is the sea?' asked Will. + +'The sea!' cried the miller. 'Lord help us all, it is the greatest thing +God made! That is where all the water in the world runs down into a +great salt lake. There it lies, as flat as my hand and as innocent-like +as a child; but they do say when the wind blows it gets up into water- +mountains bigger than any of ours, and swallows down great ships bigger +than our mill, and makes such a roaring that you can hear it miles away +upon the land. There are great fish in it five times bigger than a bull, +and one old serpent as long as our river and as old as all the world, +with whiskers like a man, and a crown of silver on her head.' + +Will thought he had never heard anything like this, and he kept on asking +question after question about the world that lay away down the river, +with all its perils and marvels, until the old miller became quite +interested himself, and at last took him by the hand and led him to the +hilltop that overlooks the valley and the plain. The sun was near +setting, and hung low down in a cloudless sky. Everything was defined +and glorified in golden light. Will had never seen so great an expanse +of country in his life; he stood and gazed with all his eyes. He could +see the cities, and the woods and fields, and the bright curves of the +river, and far away to where the rim of the plain trenched along the +shining heavens. An over-mastering emotion seized upon the boy, soul and +body; his heart beat so thickly that he could not breathe; the scene swam +before his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round and round, and throw off, +as it turned, strange shapes which disappeared with the rapidity of +thought, and were succeeded by others. Will covered his face with his +hands, and burst into a violent fit of tears; and the poor miller, sadly +disappointed and perplexed, saw nothing better for it than to take him up +in his arms and carry him home in silence. + +From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. Something +kept tugging at his heart-strings; the running water carried his desires +along with it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the wind, as it +ran over innumerable tree-tops, hailed him with encouraging words; +branches beckoned downward; the open road, as it shouldered round the +angles and went turning and vanishing fast and faster down the valley, +tortured him with its solicitations. He spent long whiles on the +eminence, looking down the rivershed and abroad on the fat lowlands, and +watched the clouds that travelled forth upon the sluggish wind and +trailed their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger by the +wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled downward +by the river. It did not matter what it was; everything that went that +way, were it cloud or carriage, bird or brown water in the stream, he +felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of longing. + +We are told by men of science that all the ventures of mariners on the +sea, all that counter-marching of tribes and races that confounds old +history with its dust and rumour, sprang from nothing more abstruse than +the laws of supply and demand, and a certain natural instinct for cheap +rations. To any one thinking deeply, this will seem a dull and pitiful +explanation. The tribes that came swarming out of the North and East, if +they were indeed pressed onward from behind by others, were drawn at the +same time by the magnetic influence of the South and West. The fame of +other lands had reached them; the name of the eternal city rang in their +ears; they were not colonists, but pilgrims; they travelled towards wine +and gold and sunshine, but their hearts were set on something higher. +That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble of humanity that makes all +high achievements and all miserable failure, the same that spread wings +with Icarus, the same that sent Columbus into the desolate Atlantic, +inspired and supported these barbarians on their perilous march. There +is one legend which profoundly represents their spirit, of how a flying +party of these wanderers encountered a very old man shod with iron. The +old man asked them whither they were going; and they answered with one +voice: 'To the Eternal City!' He looked upon them gravely. 'I have +sought it,' he said, 'over the most part of the world. Three such pairs +as I now carry on my feet have I worn out upon this pilgrimage, and now +the fourth is growing slender underneath my steps. And all this while I +have not found the city.' And he turned and went his own way alone, +leaving them astonished. + +And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will's feeling for +the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, he felt as if his +eyesight would be purged and clarified, as if his hearing would grow more +delicate, and his very breath would come and go with luxury. He was +transplanted and withering where he was; he lay in a strange country and +was sick for home. Bit by bit, he pieced together broken notions of the +world below: of the river, ever moving and growing until it sailed forth +into the majestic ocean; of the cities, full of brisk and beautiful +people, playing fountains, bands of music and marble palaces, and lighted +up at night from end to end with artificial stars of gold; of the great +churches, wise universities, brave armies, and untold money lying stored +in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved in the sunshine, and the +stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have said he was sick as if +for home: the figure halts. He was like some one lying in twilit, +formless preexistence, and stretching out his hands lovingly towards many- +coloured, many-sounding life. It was no wonder he was unhappy, he would +go and tell the fish: they were made for their life, wished for no more +than worms and running water, and a hole below a falling bank; but he was +differently designed, full of desires and aspirations, itching at the +fingers, lusting with the eyes, whom the whole variegated world could not +satisfy with aspects. The true life, the true bright sunshine, lay far +out upon the plain. And O! to see this sunlight once before he died! to +move with a jocund spirit in a golden land! to hear the trained singers +and sweet church bells, and see the holiday gardens! 'And O fish!' he +would cry, 'if you would only turn your noses down stream, you could swim +so easily into the fabled waters and see the vast ships passing over your +head like clouds, and hear the great water-hills making music over you +all day long!' But the fish kept looking patiently in their own +direction, until Will hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. + +Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something seen +in a picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a tourist, or +caught sight of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage +window; but for the most part it had been a mere symbol, which he +contemplated from apart and with something of a superstitious feeling. A +time came at last when this was to be changed. The miller, who was a +greedy man in his way, and never forewent an opportunity of honest +profit, turned the mill-house into a little wayside inn, and, several +pieces of good fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and got the +position of post master on the road. It now became Will's duty to wait +upon people, as they sat to break their fasts in the little arbour at the +top of the mill garden; and you may be sure that he kept his ears open, +and learned many new things about the outside world as he brought the +omelette or the wine. Nay, he would often get into conversation with +single guests, and by adroit questions and polite attention, not only +gratify his own curiosity, but win the goodwill of the travellers. Many +complimented the old couple on their serving-boy; and a professor was +eager to take him away with him, and have him properly educated in the +plain. The miller and his wife were mightily astonished and even more +pleased. They thought it a very good thing that they should have opened +their inn. 'You see,' the old man would remark, 'he has a kind of talent +for a publican; he never would have made anything else!' And so life +wagged on in the valley, with high satisfaction to all concerned but +Will. Every carriage that left the inn-door seemed to take a part of him +away with it; and when people jestingly offered him a lift, he could with +difficulty command his emotion. Night after night he would dream that he +was awakened by flustered servants, and that a splendid equipage waited +at the door to carry him down into the plain; night after night; until +the dream, which had seemed all jollity to him at first, began to take on +a colour of gravity, and the nocturnal summons and waiting equipage +occupied a place in his mind as something to be both feared and hoped +for. + +One day, when Will was about sixteen, a fat young man arrived at sunset +to pass the night. He was a contented-looking fellow, with a jolly eye, +and carried a knapsack. While dinner was preparing, he sat in the arbour +to read a book; but as soon as he had begun to observe Will, the book was +laid aside; he was plainly one of those who prefer living people to +people made of ink and paper. Will, on his part, although he had not +been much interested in the stranger at first sight, soon began to take a +great deal of pleasure in his talk, which was full of good nature and +good sense, and at last conceived a great respect for his character and +wisdom. They sat far into the night; and about two in the morning Will +opened his heart to the young man, and told him how he longed to leave +the valley and what bright hopes he had connected with the cities of the +plain. The young man whistled, and then broke into a smile. + +'My young friend,' he remarked, 'you are a very curious little fellow to +be sure, and wish a great many things which you will never get. Why, you +would feel quite ashamed if you knew how the little fellows in these +fairy cities of yours are all after the same sort of nonsense, and keep +breaking their hearts to get up into the mountains. And let me tell you, +those who go down into the plains are a very short while there before +they wish themselves heartily back again. The air is not so light nor so +pure; nor is the sun any brighter. As for the beautiful men and women, +you would see many of them in rags and many of them deformed with +horrible disorders; and a city is so hard a place for people who are poor +and sensitive that many choose to die by their own hand.' + +'You must think me very simple,' answered Will. 'Although I have never +been out of this valley, believe me, I have used my eyes. I know how one +thing lives on another; for instance, how the fish hangs in the eddy to +catch his fellows; and the shepherd, who makes so pretty a picture +carrying home the lamb, is only carrying it home for dinner. I do not +expect to find all things right in your cities. That is not what +troubles me; it might have been that once upon a time; but although I +live here always, I have asked many questions and learned a great deal in +these last years, and certainly enough to cure me of my old fancies. But +you would not have me die like a dog and not see all that is to be seen, +and do all that a man can do, let it be good or evil? you would not have +me spend all my days between this road here and the river, and not so +much as make a motion to be up and live my life?--I would rather die out +of hand,' he cried, 'than linger on as I am doing.' + +'Thousands of people,' said the young man, 'live and die like you, and +are none the less happy.' + +'Ah!' said Will, 'if there are thousands who would like, why should not +one of them have my place?' + +It was quite dark; there was a hanging lamp in the arbour which lit up +the table and the faces of the speakers; and along the arch, the leaves +upon the trellis stood out illuminated against the night sky, a pattern +of transparent green upon a dusky purple. The fat young man rose, and, +taking Will by the arm, led him out under the open heavens. + +'Did you ever look at the stars?' he asked, pointing upwards. + +'Often and often,' answered Will. + +'And do you know what they are?' + +'I have fancied many things.' + +'They are worlds like ours,' said the young man. 'Some of them less; +many of them a million times greater; and some of the least sparkles that +you see are not only worlds, but whole clusters of worlds turning about +each other in the midst of space. We do not know what there may be in +any of them; perhaps the answer to all our difficulties or the cure of +all our sufferings: and yet we can never reach them; not all the skill of +the craftiest of men can fit out a ship for the nearest of these our +neighbours, nor would the life of the most aged suffice for such a +journey. When a great battle has been lost or a dear friend is dead, +when we are hipped or in high spirits, there they are unweariedly shining +overhead. We may stand down here, a whole army of us together, and shout +until we break our hearts, and not a whisper reaches them. We may climb +the highest mountain, and we are no nearer them. All we can do is to +stand down here in the garden and take off our hats; the starshine lights +upon our heads, and where mine is a little bald, I dare say you can see +it glisten in the darkness. The mountain and the mouse. That is like to +be all we shall ever have to do with Arcturus or Aldebaran. Can you +apply a parable?' he added, laying his hand upon Will's shoulder. 'It is +not the same thing as a reason, but usually vastly more convincing.' + +Will hung his head a little, and then raised it once more to heaven. The +stars seemed to expand and emit a sharper brilliancy; and as he kept +turning his eyes higher and higher, they seemed to increase in multitude +under his gaze. + +'I see,' he said, turning to the young man. 'We are in a rat-trap.' + +'Something of that size. Did you ever see a squirrel turning in a cage? +and another squirrel sitting philosophically over his nuts? I needn't +ask you which of them looked more of a fool.' + + + +CHAPTER II. THE PARSON'S MARJORY. + + +After some years the old people died, both in one winter, very carefully +tended by their adopted son, and very quietly mourned when they were +gone. People who had heard of his roving fancies supposed he would +hasten to sell the property, and go down the river to push his fortunes. +But there was never any sign of such in intention on the part of Will. On +the contrary, he had the inn set on a better footing, and hired a couple +of servants to assist him in carrying it on; and there he settled down, a +kind, talkative, inscrutable young man, six feet three in his stockings, +with an iron constitution and a friendly voice. He soon began to take +rank in the district as a bit of an oddity: it was not much to be +wondered at from the first, for he was always full of notions, and kept +calling the plainest common-sense in question; but what most raised the +report upon him was the odd circumstance of his courtship with the +parson's Marjory. + +The parson's Marjory was a lass about nineteen, when Will would be about +thirty; well enough looking, and much better educated than any other girl +in that part of the country, as became her parentage. She held her head +very high, and had already refused several offers of marriage with a +grand air, which had got her hard names among the neighbours. For all +that she was a good girl, and one that would have made any man well +contented. + +Will had never seen much of her; for although the church and parsonage +were only two miles from his own door, he was never known to go there but +on Sundays. It chanced, however, that the parsonage fell into disrepair, +and had to be dismantled; and the parson and his daughter took lodgings +for a month or so, on very much reduced terms, at Will's inn. Now, what +with the inn, and the mill, and the old miller's savings, our friend was +a man of substance; and besides that, he had a name for good temper and +shrewdness, which make a capital portion in marriage; and so it was +currently gossiped, among their ill-wishers, that the parson and his +daughter had not chosen their temporary lodging with their eyes shut. +Will was about the last man in the world to be cajoled or frightened into +marriage. You had only to look into his eyes, limpid and still like +pools of water, and yet with a sort of clear light that seemed to come +from within, and you would understand at once that here was one who knew +his own mind, and would stand to it immovably. Marjory herself was no +weakling by her looks, with strong, steady eyes and a resolute and quiet +bearing. It might be a question whether she was not Will's match in +stedfastness, after all, or which of them would rule the roost in +marriage. But Marjory had never given it a thought, and accompanied her +father with the most unshaken innocence and unconcern. + +The season was still so early that Will's customers were few and far +between; but the lilacs were already flowering, and the weather was so +mild that the party took dinner under the trellice, with the noise of the +river in their ears and the woods ringing about them with the songs of +birds. Will soon began to take a particular pleasure in these dinners. +The parson was rather a dull companion, with a habit of dozing at table; +but nothing rude or cruel ever fell from his lips. And as for the +parson's daughter, she suited her surroundings with the best grace +imaginable; and whatever she said seemed so pat and pretty that Will +conceived a great idea of her talents. He could see her face, as she +leaned forward, against a background of rising pinewoods; her eyes shone +peaceably; the light lay around her hair like a kerchief; something that +was hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and Will could not contain +himself from gazing on her in an agreeable dismay. She looked, even in +her quietest moments, so complete in herself, and so quick with life down +to her finger tips and the very skirts of her dress, that the remainder +of created things became no more than a blot by comparison; and if Will +glanced away from her to her surroundings, the trees looked inanimate and +senseless, the clouds hung in heaven like dead things, and even the +mountain tops were disenchanted. The whole valley could not compare in +looks with this one girl. + +Will was always observant in the society of his fellow-creatures; but his +observation became almost painfully eager in the case of Marjory. He +listened to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the same time, for the +unspoken commentary. Many kind, simple, and sincere speeches found an +echo in his heart. He became conscious of a soul beautifully poised upon +itself, nothing doubting, nothing desiring, clothed in peace. It was not +possible to separate her thoughts from her appearance. The turn of her +wrist, the still sound of her voice, the light in her eyes, the lines of +her body, fell in tune with her grave and gentle words, like the +accompaniment that sustains and harmonises the voice of the singer. Her +influence was one thing, not to be divided or discussed, only to be felt +with gratitude and joy. To Will, her presence recalled something of his +childhood, and the thought of her took its place in his mind beside that +of dawn, of running water, and of the earliest violets and lilacs. It is +the property of things seen for the first time, or for the first time +after long, like the flowers in spring, to reawaken in us the sharp edge +of sense and that impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise passes +out of life with the coming of years; but the sight of a loved face is +what renews a man's character from the fountain upwards. + +One day after dinner Will took a stroll among the firs; a grave beatitude +possessed him from top to toe, and he kept smiling to himself and the +landscape as he went. The river ran between the stepping-stones with a +pretty wimple; a bird sang loudly in the wood; the hill-tops looked +immeasurably high, and as he glanced at them from time to time seemed to +contemplate his movements with a beneficent but awful curiosity. His way +took him to the eminence which overlooked the plain; and there he sat +down upon a stone, and fell into deep and pleasant thought. The plain +lay abroad with its cities and silver river; everything was asleep, +except a great eddy of birds which kept rising and falling and going +round and round in the blue air. He repeated Marjory's name aloud, and +the sound of it gratified his ear. He shut his eyes, and her image +sprang up before him, quietly luminous and attended with good thoughts. +The river might run for ever; the birds fly higher and higher till they +touched the stars. He saw it was empty bustle after all; for here, +without stirring a feet, waiting patiently in his own narrow valley, he +also had attained the better sunlight. + +The next day Will made a sort of declaration across the dinner-table, +while the parson was filling his pipe. + +'Miss Marjory,' he said, 'I never knew any one I liked so well as you. I +am mostly a cold, unkindly sort of man; not from want of heart, but out +of strangeness in my way of thinking; and people seem far away from me. +'Tis as if there were a circle round me, which kept every one out but +you; I can hear the others talking and laughing; but you come quite +close. Maybe, this is disagreeable to you?' he asked. + +Marjory made no answer. + +'Speak up, girl,' said the parson. + +'Nay, now,' returned Will, 'I wouldn't press her, parson. I feel tongue- +tied myself, who am not used to it; and she's a woman, and little more +than a child, when all is said. But for my part, as far as I can +understand what people mean by it, I fancy I must be what they call in +love. I do not wish to be held as committing myself; for I may be wrong; +but that is how I believe things are with me. And if Miss Marjory should +feel any otherwise on her part, mayhap she would be so kind as shake her +head.' + +Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had heard. + +'How is that, parson?' asked Will. + +'The girl must speak,' replied the parson, laying down his pipe. 'Here's +our neighbour who says he loves you, Madge. Do you love him, ay or no?' + +'I think I do,' said Marjory, faintly. + +'Well then, that's all that could be wished!' cried Will, heartily. And +he took her hand across the table, and held it a moment in both of his +with great satisfaction. + +'You must marry,' observed the parson, replacing his pipe in his mouth. + +'Is that the right thing to do, think you?' demanded Will. + +'It is indispensable,' said the parson. + +'Very well,' replied the wooer. + +Two or three days passed away with great delight to Will, although a +bystander might scarce have found it out. He continued to take his meals +opposite Marjory, and to talk with her and gaze upon her in her father's +presence; but he made no attempt to see her alone, nor in any other way +changed his conduct towards her from what it had been since the +beginning. Perhaps the girl was a little disappointed, and perhaps not +unjustly; and yet if it had been enough to be always in the thoughts of +another person, and so pervade and alter his whole life, she might have +been thoroughly contented. For she was never out of Will's mind for an +instant. He sat over the stream, and watched the dust of the eddy, and +the poised fish, and straining weeds; he wandered out alone into the +purple even, with all the blackbirds piping round him in the wood; he +rose early in the morning, and saw the sky turn from grey to gold, and +the light leap upon the hill-tops; and all the while he kept wondering if +he had never seen such things before, or how it was that they should look +so different now. The sound of his own mill-wheel, or of the wind among +the trees, confounded and charmed his heart. The most enchanting +thoughts presented themselves unbidden in his mind. He was so happy that +he could not sleep at night, and so restless, that he could hardly sit +still out of her company. And yet it seemed as if he avoided her rather +than sought her out. + +One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will found Marjory in the +garden picking flowers, and as he came up with her, slackened his pace +and continued walking by her side. + +'You like flowers?' he said. + +'Indeed I love them dearly,' she replied. 'Do you?' + +'Why, no,' said he, 'not so much. They are a very small affair, when all +is done. I can fancy people caring for them greatly, but not doing as +you are just now.' + +'How?' she asked, pausing and looking up at him. + +'Plucking them,' said he. 'They are a deal better off where they are, +and look a deal prettier, if you go to that.' + +'I wish to have them for my own,' she answered, 'to carry them near my +heart, and keep them in my room. They tempt me when they grow here; they +seem to say, "Come and do something with us;" but once I have cut them +and put them by, the charm is laid, and I can look at them with quite an +easy heart.' + +'You wish to possess them,' replied Will, 'in order to think no more +about them. It's a bit like killing the goose with the golden eggs. It's +a bit like what I wished to do when I was a boy. Because I had a fancy +for looking out over the plain, I wished to go down there--where I +couldn't look out over it any longer. Was not that fine reasoning? Dear, +dear, if they only thought of it, all the world would do like me; and you +would let your flowers alone, just as I stay up here in the mountains.' +Suddenly he broke off sharp. 'By the Lord!' he cried. And when she +asked him what was wrong, he turned the question off and walked away into +the house with rather a humorous expression of face. + +He was silent at table; and after the night hid fallen and the stars had +come out overhead, he walked up and down for hours in the courtyard and +garden with an uneven pace. There was still a light in the window of +Marjory's room: one little oblong patch of orange in a world of dark blue +hills and silver starlight. Will's mind ran a great deal on the window; +but his thoughts were not very lover-like. 'There she is in her room,' +he thought, 'and there are the stars overhead:--a blessing upon both!' +Both were good influences in his life; both soothed and braced him in his +profound contentment with the world. And what more should he desire with +either? The fat young man and his councils were so present to his mind, +that he threw back his head, and, putting his hands before his mouth, +shouted aloud to the populous heavens. Whether from the position of his +head or the sudden strain of the exertion, he seemed to see a momentary +shock among the stars, and a diffusion of frosty light pass from one to +another along the sky. At the same instant, a corner of the blind was +lifted and lowered again at once. He laughed a loud ho-ho! 'One and +another!' thought Will. 'The stars tremble, and the blind goes up. Why, +before Heaven, what a great magician I must be! Now if I were only a +fool, should not I be in a pretty way?' And he went off to bed, +chuckling to himself: 'If I were only a fool!' + +The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once more in the garden, and +sought her out. + +'I have been thinking about getting married,' he began abruptly; 'and +after having turned it all over, I have made up my mind it's not +worthwhile.' + +She turned upon him for a single moment; but his radiant, kindly +appearance would, under the circumstances, have disconcerted an angel, +and she looked down again upon the ground in silence. He could see her +tremble. + +'I hope you don't mind,' he went on, a little taken aback. 'You ought +not. I have turned it all over, and upon my soul there's nothing in it. +We should never be one whit nearer than we are just now, and, if I am a +wise man, nothing like so happy.' + +'It is unnecessary to go round about with me,' she said. 'I very well +remember that you refused to commit yourself; and now that I see you were +mistaken, and in reality have never cared for me, I can only feel sad +that I have been so far misled.' + +'I ask your pardon,' said Will stoutly; 'you do not understand my +meaning. As to whether I have ever loved you or not, I must leave that +to others. But for one thing, my feeling is not changed; and for +another, you may make it your boast that you have made my whole life and +character something different from what they were. I mean what I say; no +less. I do not think getting married is worth while. I would rather you +went on living with your father, so that I could walk over and see you +once, or maybe twice a week, as people go to church, and then we should +both be all the happier between whiles. That's my notion. But I'll +marry you if you will,' he added. + +'Do you know that you are insulting me?' she broke out. + +'Not I, Marjory,' said he; 'if there is anything in a clear conscience, +not I. I offer all my heart's best affection; you can take it or want +it, though I suspect it's beyond either your power or mine to change what +has once been done, and set me fancy-free. I'll marry you, if you like; +but I tell you again and again, it's not worth while, and we had best +stay friends. Though I am a quiet man I have noticed a heap of things in +my life. Trust in me, and take things as I propose; or, if you don't +like that, say the word, and I'll marry you out of hand.' + +There was a considerable pause, and Will, who began to feel uneasy, began +to grow angry in consequence. + +'It seems you are too proud to say your mind,' he said. 'Believe me +that's a pity. A clean shrift makes simple living. Can a man be more +downright or honourable, to a woman than I have been? I have said my +say, and given you your choice. Do you want me to marry you? or will you +take my friendship, as I think best? or have you had enough of me for +good? Speak out for the dear God's sake! You know your father told you +a girl should speak her mind in these affairs.' + +She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without a word, walked +rapidly through the garden, and disappeared into the house, leaving Will +in some confusion as to the result. He walked up and down the garden, +whistling softly to himself. Sometimes he stopped and contemplated the +sky and hill-tops; sometimes he went down to the tail of the weir and sat +there, looking foolishly in the water. All this dubiety and perturbation +was so foreign to his nature and the life which he had resolutely chosen +for himself, that he began to regret Marjory's arrival. 'After all,' he +thought, 'I was as happy as a man need be. I could come down here and +watch my fishes all day long if I wanted: I was as settled and contented +as my old mill.' + +Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim and quiet; and no sooner +were all three at table than she made her father a speech, with her eyes +fixed upon her plate, but showing no other sign of embarrassment or +distress. + +'Father,' she began, 'Mr. Will and I have been talking things over. We +see that we have each made a mistake about our feelings, and he has +agreed, at my request, to give up all idea of marriage, and be no more +than my very good friend, as in the past. You see, there is no shadow of +a quarrel, and indeed I hope we shall see a great deal of him in the +future, for his visits will always be welcome in our house. Of course, +father, you will know best, but perhaps we should do better to leave Mr. +Will's house for the present. I believe, after what has passed, we +should hardly be agreeable inmates for some days.' + +Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from the first, broke out +upon this into an inarticulate noise, and raised one hand with an +appearance of real dismay, as if he were about to interfere and +contradict. But she checked him at once looking up at him with a swift +glance and an angry flush upon her cheek. + +'You will perhaps have the good grace,' she said, 'to let me explain +these matters for myself.' + +Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expression and the ring +of her voice. He held his peace, concluding that there were some things +about this girl beyond his comprehension, in which he was exactly right. + +The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove that this was +no more than a true lovers' tiff, which would pass off before night; and +when he was dislodged from that position, he went on to argue that where +there was no quarrel there could be no call for a separation; for the +good man liked both his entertainment and his host. It was curious to +see how the girl managed them, saying little all the time, and that very +quietly, and yet twisting them round her finger and insensibly leading +them wherever she would by feminine tact and generalship. It scarcely +seemed to have been her doing--it seemed as if things had merely so +fallen out--that she and her father took their departure that same +afternoon in a farm-cart, and went farther down the valley, to wait, +until their own house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But Will +had been observing closely, and was well aware of her dexterity and +resolution. When he found himself alone he had a great many curious +matters to turn over in his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to begin +with. All the interest had gone out of his life, and he might look up at +the stars as long as he pleased, he somehow failed to find support or +consolation. And then he was in such a turmoil of spirit about Marjory. +He had been puzzled and irritated at her behaviour, and yet he could not +keep himself from admiring it. He thought he recognised a fine, perverse +angel in that still soul which he had never hitherto suspected; and +though he saw it was an influence that would fit but ill with his own +life of artificial calm, he could not keep himself from ardently desiring +to possess it. Like a man who has lived among shadows and now meets the +sun, he was both pained and delighted. + +As the days went forward he passed from one extreme to another; now +pluming himself on the strength of his determination, now despising his +timid and silly caution. The former was, perhaps, the true thought of +his heart, and represented the regular tenor of the man's reflections; +but the latter burst forth from time to time with an unruly violence, and +then he would forget all consideration, and go up and down his house and +garden or walk among the fir-woods like one who is beside himself with +remorse. To equable, steady-minded Will this state of matters was +intolerable; and he determined, at whatever cost, to bring it to an end. +So, one warm summer afternoon he put on his best clothes, took a thorn +switch in his hand, and set out down the valley by the river. As soon as +he had taken his determination, he had regained at a bound his customary +peace of heart, and he enjoyed the bright weather and the variety of the +scene without any admixture of alarm or unpleasant eagerness. It was +nearly the same to him how the matter turned out. If she accepted him he +would have to marry her this time, which perhaps was, all for the best. +If she refused him, he would have done his utmost, and might follow his +own way in the future with an untroubled conscience. He hoped, on the +whole, she would refuse him; and then, again, as he saw the brown roof +which sheltered her, peeping through some willows at an angle of the +stream, he was half inclined to reverse the wish, and more than half +ashamed of himself for this infirmity of purpose. + +Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her hand without affectation +or delay. + +'I have been thinking about this marriage,' he began. + +'So have I,' she answered. 'And I respect you more and more for a very +wise man. You understood me better than I understood myself; and I am +now quite certain that things are all for the best as they are.' + +'At the same time--,' ventured Will. + +'You must be tired,' she interrupted. 'Take a seat and let me fetch you +a glass of wine. The afternoon is so warm; and I wish you not to be +displeased with your visit. You must come quite often; once a week, if +you can spare the time; I am always so glad to see my friends.' + +'O, very well,' thought Will to himself. 'It appears I was right after +all.' And he paid a very agreeable visit, walked home again in capital +spirits, and gave himself no further concern about the matter. + +For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued on these terms, seeing +each other once or twice a week without any word of love between them; +and for all that time I believe Will was nearly as happy as a man can be. +He rather stinted himself the pleasure of seeing her; and he would often +walk half-way over to the parsonage, and then back again, as if to whet +his appetite. Indeed there was one corner of the road, whence he could +see the church-spire wedged into a crevice of the valley between sloping +firwoods, with a triangular snatch of plain by way of background, which +he greatly affected as a place to sit and moralise in before returning +homewards; and the peasants got so much into the habit of finding him +there in the twilight that they gave it the name of 'Will o' the Mill's +Corner.' + +At the end of the three years Marjory played him a sad trick by suddenly +marrying somebody else. Will kept his countenance bravely, and merely +remarked that, for as little as he knew of women, he had acted very +prudently in not marrying her himself three years before. She plainly +knew very little of her own mind, and, in spite of a deceptive manner, +was as fickle and flighty as the rest of them. He had to congratulate +himself on an escape, he said, and would take a higher opinion of his own +wisdom in consequence. But at heart, he was reasonably displeased, moped +a good deal for a month or two, and fell away in flesh, to the +astonishment of his serving-lads. + +It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will was awakened late one +night by the sound of a horse galloping on the road, followed by +precipitate knocking at the inn-door. He opened his window and saw a +farm servant, mounted and holding a led horse by the bridle, who told him +to make what haste he could and go along with him; for Marjory was dying, +and had sent urgently to fetch him to her bedside. Will was no horseman, +and made so little speed upon the way that the poor young wife was very +near her end before he arrived. But they had some minutes' talk in +private, and he was present and wept very bitterly while she breathed her +last. + + + +CHAPTER III. DEATH + + +Year after year went away into nothing, with great explosions and +outcries in the cities on the plain: red revolt springing up and being +suppressed in blood, battle swaying hither and thither, patient +astronomers in observatory towers picking out and christening new stars, +plays being performed in lighted theatres, people being carried into +hospital on stretchers, and all the usual turmoil and agitation of men's +lives in crowded centres. Up in Will's valley only the winds and seasons +made an epoch; the fish hung in the swift stream, the birds circled +overhead, the pine-tops rustled underneath the stars, the tall hills +stood over all; and Will went to and fro, minding his wayside inn, until +the snow began to thicken on his head. His heart was young and vigorous; +and if his pulses kept a sober time, they still beat strong and steady in +his wrists. He carried a ruddy stain on either cheek, like a ripe apple; +he stooped a little, but his step was still firm; and his sinewy hands +were reached out to all men with a friendly pressure. His face was +covered with those wrinkles which are got in open air, and which rightly +looked at, are no more than a sort of permanent sunburning; such wrinkles +heighten the stupidity of stupid faces; but to a person like Will, with +his clear eyes and smiling mouth, only give another charm by testifying +to a simple and easy life. His talk was full of wise sayings. He had a +taste for other people; and other people had a taste for him. When the +valley was full of tourists in the season, there were merry nights in +Will's arbour; and his views, which seemed whimsical to his neighbours, +were often enough admired by learned people out of towns and colleges. +Indeed, he had a very noble old age, and grew daily better known; so that +his fame was heard of in the cities of the plain; and young men who had +been summer travellers spoke together in _cafes_ of Will o' the Mill and +his rough philosophy. Many and many an invitation, you may be sure, he +had; but nothing could tempt him from his upland valley. He would shake +his head and smile over his tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. 'You +come too late,' he would answer. 'I am a dead man now: I have lived and +died already. Fifty years ago you would have brought my heart into my +mouth; and now you do not even tempt me. But that is the object of long +living, that man should cease to care about life.' And again: 'There is +only one difference between a long life and a good dinner: that, in the +dinner, the sweets come last.' Or once more: 'When I was a boy, I was a +bit puzzled, and hardly knew whether it was myself or the world that was +curious and worth looking into. Now, I know it is myself, and stick to +that.' + +He never showed any symptom of frailty, but kept stalwart and firm to the +last; but they say he grew less talkative towards the end, and would +listen to other people by the hour in an amused and sympathetic silence. +Only, when he did speak, it was more to the point and more charged with +old experience. He drank a bottle of wine gladly; above all, at sunset +on the hill-top or quite late at night under the stars in the arbour. The +sight of something attractive and unatttainable seasoned his enjoyment, +he would say; and he professed he had lived long enough to admire a +candle all the more when he could compare it with a planet. + +One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed in such uneasiness +of body and mind that he arose and dressed himself and went out to +meditate in the arbour. It was pitch dark, without a star; the river was +swollen, and the wet woods and meadows loaded the air with perfume. It +had thundered during the day, and it promised more thunder for the +morrow. A murky, stifling night for a man of seventy-two! Whether it +was the weather or the wakefulness, or some little touch of fever in his +old limbs, Will's mind was besieged by tumultuous and crying memories. +His boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the death of his adopted +parents, the summer days with Marjory, and many of those small +circumstances, which seem nothing to another, and are yet the very gist +of a man's own life to himself--things seen, words heard, looks +misconstrued--arose from their forgotten corners and usurped his +attention. The dead themselves were with him, not merely taking part in +this thin show of memory that defiled before his brain, but revisiting +his bodily senses as they do in profound and vivid dreams. The fat young +man leaned his elbows on the table opposite; Marjory came and went with +an apronful of flowers between the garden and the arbour; he could hear +the old parson knocking out his pipe or blowing his resonant nose. The +tide of his consciousness ebbed and flowed: he was sometimes half-asleep +and drowned in his recollections of the past; and sometimes he was broad +awake, wondering at himself. But about the middle of the night he was +startled by the voice of the dead miller calling to him out of the house +as he used to do on the arrival of custom. The hallucination was so +perfect that Will sprang from his seat and stood listening for the +summons to be repeated; and as he listened he became conscious of another +noise besides the brawling of the river and the ringing in his feverish +ears. It was like the stir of horses and the creaking of harness, as +though a carriage with an impatient team had been brought up upon the +road before the courtyard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough and +dangerous pass, the supposition was no better than absurd; and Will +dismissed it from his mind, and resumed his seat upon the arbour chair; +and sleep closed over him again like running water. He was once again +awakened by the dead miller's call, thinner and more spectral than +before; and once again he heard the noise of an equipage upon the road. +And so thrice and four times, the same dream, or the same fancy, +presented itself to his senses: until at length, smiling to himself as +when one humours a nervous child, he proceeded towards the gate to set +his uncertainty at rest. + +From the arbour to the gate was no great distance, and yet it took Will +some time; it seemed as if the dead thickened around him in the court, +and crossed his path at every step. For, first, he was suddenly +surprised by an overpowering sweetness of heliotropes; it was as if his +garden had been planted with this flower from end to end, and the hot, +damp night had drawn forth all their perfumes in a breath. Now the +heliotrope had been Marjory's favourite flower, and since her death not +one of them had ever been planted in Will's ground. + +'I must be going crazy,' he thought. 'Poor Marjory and her heliotropes!' + +And with that he raised his eyes towards the window that had once been +hers. If he had been bewildered before, he was now almost terrified; for +there was a light in the room; the window was an orange oblong as of +yore; and the corner of the blind was lifted and let fall as on the night +when he stood and shouted to the stars in his perplexity. The illusion +only endured an instant; but it left him somewhat unmanned, rubbing his +eyes and staring at the outline of the house and the black night behind +it. While he thus stood, and it seemed as if he must have stood there +quite a long time, there came a renewal of the noises on the road: and he +turned in time to meet a stranger, who was advancing to meet him across +the court. There was something like the outline of a great carriage +discernible on the road behind the stranger, and, above that, a few black +pine-tops, like so many plumes. + +'Master Will?' asked the new-comer, in brief military fashion. + +'That same, sir,' answered Will. 'Can I do anything to serve you?' + +'I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will,' returned the other; 'much +spoken of, and well. And though I have both hands full of business, I +wish to drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbour. Before I go, I +shall introduce myself.' + +Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted and a bottle +uncorked. He was not altogether unused to such complimentary interviews, +and hoped little enough from this one, being schooled by many +disappointments. A sort of cloud had settled on his wits and prevented +him from remembering the strangeness of the hour. He moved like a person +in his sleep; and it seemed as if the lamp caught fire and the bottle +came uncorked with the facility of thought. Still, he had some curiosity +about the appearance of his visitor, and tried in vain to turn the light +into his face; either he handled the lamp clumsily, or there was a +dimness over his eyes; but he could make out little more than a shadow at +table with him. He stared and stared at this shadow, as he wiped out the +glasses, and began to feel cold and strange about the heart. The silence +weighed upon him, for he could hear nothing now, not even the river, but +the drumming of his own arteries in his ears. + +'Here's to you,' said the stranger, roughly. + +'Here is my service, sir,' replied Will, sipping his wine, which somehow +tasted oddly. + +'I understand you are a very positive fellow,' pursued the stranger. + +Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction and a little nod. + +'So am I,' continued the other; 'and it is the delight of my heart to +tramp on people's corns. I will have nobody positive but myself; not +one. I have crossed the whims, in my time, of kings and generals and +great artists. And what would you say,' he went on, 'if I had come up +here on purpose to cross yours?' + +Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder; but the politeness +of an old innkeeper prevailed; and he held his peace and made answer with +a civil gesture of the hand. + +'I have,' said the stranger. 'And if I did not hold you in a particular +esteem, I should make no words about the matter. It appears you pride +yourself on staying where you are. You mean to stick by your inn. Now I +mean you shall come for a turn with me in my barouche; and before this +bottle's empty, so you shall.' + +'That would be an odd thing, to be sure,' replied Will, with a chuckle. +'Why, sir, I have grown here like an old oak-tree; the Devil himself +could hardly root me up: and for all I perceive you are a very +entertaining old gentleman, I would wager you another bottle you lose +your pains with me.' + +The dimness of Will's eyesight had been increasing all this while; but he +was somehow conscious of a sharp and chilling scrutiny which irritated +and yet overmastered him. + +'You need not think,' he broke out suddenly, in an explosive, febrile +manner that startled and alarmed himself, 'that I am a stay-at-home, +because I fear anything under God. God knows I am tired enough of it +all; and when the time comes for a longer journey than ever you dream of, +I reckon I shall find myself prepared.' + +The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away from him. He looked +down for a little, and then, leaning over the table, tapped Will three +times upon the forearm with a single finger. 'The time has come!' he +said solemnly. + +An ugly thrill spread from the spot he touched. The tones of his voice +were dull and startling, and echoed strangely in Will's heart. + +'I beg your pardon,' he said, with some discomposure. 'What do you +mean?' + +'Look at me, and you will find your eyesight swim. Raise your hand; it +is dead-heavy. This is your last bottle of wine, Master Will, and your +last night upon the earth.' + +'You are a doctor?' quavered Will. + +'The best that ever was,' replied the other; 'for I cure both mind and +body with the same prescription. I take away all pain and I forgive all +sins; and where my patients have gone wrong in life, I smooth out all +complications and set them free again upon their feet.' + +'I have no need of you,' said Will. + +'A time comes for all men, Master Will,' replied the doctor, 'when the +helm is taken out of their hands. For you, because you were prudent and +quiet, it has been long of coming, and you have had long to discipline +yourself for its reception. You have seen what is to be seen about your +mill; you have sat close all your days like a hare in its form; but now +that is at an end; and,' added the doctor, getting on his feet, 'you must +arise and come with me.' + +'You are a strange physician,' said Will, looking steadfastly upon his +guest. + +'I am a natural law,' he replied, 'and people call me Death.' + +'Why did you not tell me so at first?' cried Will. 'I have been waiting +for you these many years. Give me your hand, and welcome.' + +'Lean upon my arm,' said the stranger, 'for already your strength abates. +Lean on me as heavily as you need; for though I am old, I am very strong. +It is but three steps to my carriage, and there all your trouble ends. +Why, Will,' he added, 'I have been yearning for you as if you were my own +son; and of all the men that ever I came for in my long days, I have come +for you most gladly. I am caustic, and sometimes offend people at first +sight; but I am a good friend at heart to such as you.' + +'Since Marjory was taken,' returned Will, 'I declare before God you were +the only friend I had to look for.' So the pair went arm-in-arm across +the courtyard. + +One of the servants awoke about this time and heard the noise of horses +pawing before he dropped asleep again; all down the valley that night +there was a rushing as of a smooth and steady wind descending towards the +plain; and when the world rose next morning, sure enough Will o' the Mill +had gone at last upon his travels. + + + + +MARKHEIM + + +'Yes,' said the dealer, 'our windfalls are of various kinds. Some +customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior +knowledge. Some are dishonest,' and here he held up the candle, so that +the light fell strongly on his visitor, 'and in that case,' he continued, +'I profit by my virtue.' + +Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes had +not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. +At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he +blinked painfully and looked aside. + +The dealer chuckled. 'You come to me on Christmas Day,' he resumed, +'when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and make +a point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; you +will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be balancing my +books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remark +in you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discretion, and ask no +awkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has +to pay for it.' The dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to his +usual business voice, though still with a note of irony, 'You can give, +as usual, a clear account of how you came into the possession of the +object?' he continued. 'Still your uncle's cabinet? A remarkable +collector, sir!' + +And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip-toe, +looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with +every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of infinite +pity, and a touch of horror. + +'This time,' said he, 'you are in error. I have not come to sell, but to +buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to the +wainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock +Exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errand +to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas present for a lady,' he +continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he had +prepared; 'and certainly I owe you every excuse for thus disturbing you +upon so small a matter. But the thing was neglected yesterday; I must +produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a +rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected.' + +There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh this +statement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the curious +lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near +thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. + +'Well, sir,' said the dealer, 'be it so. You are an old customer after +all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, far be +it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady now,' he +went on, 'this hand glass--fifteenth century, warranted; comes from a +good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the interests of my +customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole +heir of a remarkable collector.' + +The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had stooped +to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, a shock had +passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of +many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as swiftly as it came, +and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of the hand that now +received the glass. + +'A glass,' he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more +clearly. 'A glass? For Christmas? Surely not?' + +'And why not?' cried the dealer. 'Why not a glass?' + +Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. 'You ask +me why not?' he said. 'Why, look here--look in it--look at yourself! Do +you like to see it? No! nor I--nor any man.' + +The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly confronted +him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse on hand, +he chuckled. 'Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favoured,' said +he. + +'I ask you,' said Markheim, 'for a Christmas present, and you give me +this--this damned reminder of years, and sins and follies--this +hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your mind? Tell +me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. +I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?' + +The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, Markheim +did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like an +eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. + +'What are you driving at?' the dealer asked. + +'Not charitable?' returned the other, gloomily. Not charitable; not +pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safe +to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that all?' + +'I will tell you what it is,' began the dealer, with some sharpness, and +then broke off again into a chuckle. 'But I see this is a love match of +yours, and you have been drinking the lady's health.' + +'Ah!' cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. 'Ah, have you been in +love? Tell me about that.' + +'I,' cried the dealer. 'I in love! I never had the time, nor have I the +time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?' + +'Where is the hurry?' returned Markheim. 'It is very pleasant to stand +here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would not hurry +away from any pleasure--no, not even from so mild a one as this. We +should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a +cliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it--a cliff a +mile high--high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of +humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly. Let us talk of each +other: why should we wear this mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, +we might become friends?' + +'I have just one word to say to you,' said the dealer. 'Either make your +purchase, or walk out of my shop!' + +'True true,' said Markheim. 'Enough, fooling. To business. Show me +something else.' + +The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon the +shelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. Markheim +moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat; he +drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time many different +emotions were depicted together on his face--terror, horror, and resolve, +fascination and a physical repulsion; and through a haggard lift of his +upper lip, his teeth looked out. + +'This, perhaps, may suit,' observed the dealer: and then, as he began to +re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. The long, +skewerlike dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, +striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in a +heap. + +Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and slow +as was becoming to their great age; others garrulous and hurried. All +these told out the seconds in an intricate, chorus of tickings. Then the +passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in upon +these smaller voices and startled Markheim into the consciousness of his +surroundings. He looked about him awfully. The candle stood on the +counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that +inconsiderable movement, the whole room was filled with noiseless bustle +and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross blots of +darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration, the faces of the +portraits and the china gods changing and wavering like images in water. +The inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of shadows with a +long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. + +From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes returned to the body of +his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incredibly small and +strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in that +ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. Markheim had +feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this +bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquent voices. +There it must lie; there was none to work the cunning hinges or direct +the miracle of locomotion--there it must lie till it was found. Found! +ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that would ring +over England, and fill the world with the echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or +not, this was still the enemy. 'Time was that when the brains were out,' +he thought; and the first word struck into his mind. Time, now that the +deed was accomplished--time, which had closed for the victim, had become +instant and momentous for the slayer. + +The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, with +every variety of pace and voice--one deep as the bell from a cathedral +turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz-the +clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. + +The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggered +him. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, +beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance +reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home design, some from Venice +or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it were an army +of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound of his own +steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. And still, as +he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him with a sickening +iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. He should have chosen a +more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he should not have +used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and only bound and +gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have been more bold, and +killed the servant also; he should have done all things otherwise: +poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind to change what was +unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to be the architect of the +irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute +terrors, like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the more +remote chambers of his brain with riot; the hand of the constable would +fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; +or he beheld, in galloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and +the black coffin. + +Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like a +besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some rumour of +the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge their +curiosity; and now, in all the neighbouring houses, he divined them +sitting motionless and with uplifted ear--solitary people, condemned to +spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, and now +startingly recalled from that tender exercise; happy family parties +struck into silence round the table, the mother still with raised finger: +every degree and age and humour, but all, by their own hearths, prying +and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. Sometimes it +seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of the tall +Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by the bigness +of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the clocks. And then, again, with +a swift transition of his terrors, the very silence of the place appeared +a source of peril, and a thing to strike and freeze the passer-by; and he +would step more boldly, and bustle aloud among the contents of the shop, +and imitate, with elaborate bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease +in his own house. + +But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while one +portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on the +brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a strong hold on +his credulity. The neighbour hearkening with white face beside his +window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on the +pavement--these could at worst suspect, they could not know; through the +brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. But here, +within the house, was he alone? He knew he was; he had watched the +servant set forth sweet-hearting, in her poor best, 'out for the day' +written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; and +yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear a stir of +delicate footing--he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious of some +presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the house his +imagination followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet had +eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet again +behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and hatred. + +At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door which +still seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the skylight small +and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to +the ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the threshold +of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, did there +not hang wavering a shadow? + +Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to beat +with a staff on the shop-door, accompanying his blows with shouts and +railleries in which the dealer was continually called upon by name. +Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no! he lay +quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these blows and +shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, which would +once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had become an +empty sound. And presently the jovial gentleman desisted from his +knocking, and departed. + +Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth +from this accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of London +multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of safety +and apparent innocence--his bed. One visitor had come: at any moment +another might follow and be more obstinate. To have done the deed, and +yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. The money, +that was now Markheim's concern; and as a means to that, the keys. + +He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow was still +lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of the mind, +yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his victim. The +human character had quite departed. Like a suit half-stuffed with bran, +the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on the floor; and yet the +thing repelled him. Although so dingy and inconsiderable to the eye, he +feared it might have more significance to the touch. He took the body by +the shoulders, and turned it on its back. It was strangely light and +supple, and the limbs, as if they had been broken, fell into the oddest +postures. The face was robbed of all expression; but it was as pale as +wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. That was, for +Markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. It carried him back, upon +the instant, to a certain fair-day in a fishers' village: a gray day, a +piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of brasses, the booming +of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, +buried over head in the crowd and divided between interest and fear, +until, coming out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth +and a great screen with pictures, dismally designed, garishly coloured: +Brown-rigg with her apprentice; the Mannings with their murdered guest; +Weare in the death-grip of Thurtell; and a score besides of famous +crimes. The thing was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that +little boy; he was looking once again, and with the same sense of +physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the +thumping of the drums. A bar of that day's music returned upon his +memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a breath +of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must instantly +resist and conquer. + +He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these +considerations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending his +mind to realise the nature and greatness of his crime. So little a while +ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that pale mouth +had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable energies; and +now, and by his act, that piece of life had been arrested, as the +horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock. So +he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more remorseful consciousness; +the same heart which had shuddered before the painted effigies of crime, +looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt a gleam of pity for one +who had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that can make the +world a garden of enchantment, one who had never lived and who was now +dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor. + +With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the +keys and advanced towards the open door of the shop. Outside, it had +begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof had +banished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house +were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled +with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached the door, he +seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of another +foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated loosely on +the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles, and +drew back the door. + +The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs; +on the bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing; +and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung against the +yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of the rain +through all the house that, in Markheim's ears, it began to be +distinguished into many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the tread +of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in the +counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to +mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of +the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him to +the verge of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by +presences. He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he +heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great +effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed +stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he +would possess his soul! And then again, and hearkening with ever fresh +attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense which held the +outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His head turned +continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting from their +orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half-rewarded as +with the tail of something nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty steps +to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. + +On that first storey, the doors stood ajar, three of them like three +ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He could never +again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men's +observing eyes, he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among +bedclothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that thought he +wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear +they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, at +least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callous +and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence of +his crime. He feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitions terror, +some scission in the continuity of man's experience, some wilful +illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, depending on the rules, +calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeated +tyrant overthrew the chess-board, should break the mould of their +succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when the +winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might befall +Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal his doings +like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might yield under +his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch; ay, and there +were soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, for instance, the +house should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim; or the +house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen invade him from all +sides. These things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might be +called the hands of God reached forth against sin. But about God himself +he was at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were his +excuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among men, that he felt +sure of justice. + +When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, +he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, +uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases and incongruous +furniture; several great pier-glasses, in which he beheld himself at +various angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed and +unframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine Sheraton +sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, with tapestry +hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good fortune the +lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed him from +the neighbours. Here, then, Markheim drew in a packing case before the +cabinet, and began to search among the keys. It was a long business, for +there were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, there might +be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. But the closeness +of the occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he saw the +door--even glanced at it from time to time directly, like a besieged +commander pleased to verify the good estate of his defences. But in +truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the street sounded natural +and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the notes of a piano were +wakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of many children took up +the air and words. How stately, how comfortable was the melody! How +fresh the youthful voices! Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he +sorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with answerable ideas and +images; church-going children and the pealing of the high organ; children +afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite- +flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another cadence +of the hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of summer Sundays, +and the high genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little to +recall) and the painted Jacobean tombs, and the dim lettering of the Ten +Commandments in the chancel. + +And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his feet. +A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, went over him, +and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted the stair +slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the knob, and the +lock clicked, and the door opened. + +Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether the +dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some +chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. But +when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, looked +at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, and then +withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke loose from +his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of this the visitant returned. + +'Did you call me?' he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered the +room and closed the door behind him. + +Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there was a +film upon his sight, but the outlines of the new comer seemed to change +and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light of the +shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he +bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, +there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the +earth and not of God. + +And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood +looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: 'You are looking for +the money, I believe?' it was in the tones of everyday politeness. + +Markheim made no answer. + +'I should warn you,' resumed the other, 'that the maid has left her +sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be +found in this house, I need not describe to him the consequences.' + +'You know me?' cried the murderer. + +The visitor smiled. 'You have long been a favourite of mine,' he said; +'and I have long observed and often sought to help you.' + +'What are you?' cried Markheim: 'the devil?' + +'What I may be,' returned the other, 'cannot affect the service I propose +to render you.' + +'It can,' cried Markheim; 'it does! Be helped by you? No, never; not by +you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know me!' + +'I know you,' replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or +rather firmness. 'I know you to the soul.' + +'Know me!' cried Markheim. 'Who can do so? My life is but a travesty +and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all +men are better than this disguise that grows about and stifles them. You +see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and +muffled in a cloak. If they had their own control--if you could see +their faces, they would be altogether different, they would shine out for +heroes and saints! I am worse than most; myself is more overlaid; my +excuse is known to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose +myself.' + +'To me?' inquired the visitant. + +'To you before all,' returned the murderer. 'I supposed you were +intelligent. I thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader of the +heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of it; +my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants have +dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother--the giants of +circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not look +within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you not +see within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any +wilful sophistry, although too often disregarded? Can you not read me +for a thing that surely must be common as humanity--the unwilling +sinner?' + +'All this is very feelingly expressed,' was the reply, 'but it regards me +not. These points of consistency are beyond my province, and I care not +in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, so as you +are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the servant +delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures on the +hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is as if +the gallows itself was striding towards you through the Christmas +streets! Shall I help you; I, who know all? Shall I tell you where to +find the money?' + +'For what price?' asked Markheim. + +'I offer you the service for a Christmas gift,' returned the other. + +Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph. +'No,' said he, 'I will take nothing at your hands; if I were dying of +thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I should +find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing +to commit myself to evil.' + +'I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,' observed the visitant. + +'Because you disbelieve their efficacy!' Markheim cried. + +'I do not say so,' returned the other; 'but I look on these things from a +different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. The man has +lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of religion, or to +sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course of weak compliance +with desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliverance, he can add +but one act of service--to repent, to die smiling, and thus to build up +in confidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving followers. I am +not so hard a master. Try me. Accept my help. Please yourself in life +as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows +at the board; and when the night begins to fall and the curtains to be +drawn, I tell you, for your greater comfort, that you will find it even +easy to compound your quarrel with your conscience, and to make a +truckling peace with God. I came but now from such a deathbed, and the +room was full of sincere mourners, listening to the man's last words: and +when I looked into that face, which had been set as a flint against +mercy, I found it smiling with hope.' + +'And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?' asked Markheim. 'Do you +think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and sin, +and, at the last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises at the thought. Is +this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you find me with +red hands that you presume such baseness? and is this crime of murder +indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of good?' + +'Murder is to me no special category,' replied the other. 'All sins are +murder, even as all life is war. I behold your race, like starving +mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and +feeding on each other's lives. I follow sins beyond the moment of their +acting; I find in all that the last consequence is death; and to my eyes, +the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on a +question of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a +murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins? I follow virtues +also; they differ not by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythes +for the reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in +action but in character. The bad man is dear to me; not the bad act, +whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtling +cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of the +rarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer, but +because you are Markheim, that I offer to forward your escape.' + +'I will lay my heart open to you,' answered Markheim. 'This crime on +which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned many +lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been +driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond-slave to poverty, +driven and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in these +temptations; mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But to-day, +and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and riches--both the power and +a fresh resolve to be myself. I become in all things a free actor in the +world; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of good, +this heart at peace. Something comes over me out of the past; something +of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of the church +organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over noble books, or talked, +an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my life; I have wandered a +few years, but now I see once more my city of destination.' + +'You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?' remarked the +visitor; 'and there, if I mistake not, you have already lost some +thousands?' + +'Ah,' said Markheim, 'but this time I have a sure thing.' + +'This time, again, you will lose,' replied the visitor quietly. + +'Ah, but I keep back the half!' cried Markheim. + +'That also you will lose,' said the other. + +The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. 'Well, then, what matter?' he +exclaimed. 'Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, shall one +part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override the +better? Evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways. I do not +love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great deeds, +renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen to such a crime as +murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows +their trials better than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I +love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth but +I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, and my +virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the mind? Not +so; good, also, is a spring of acts.' + +But the visitant raised his finger. 'For six-and-thirty years that you +have been in this world,' said be, 'through many changes of fortune and +varieties of humour, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years ago +you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would have +blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any cruelty +or meanness, from which you still recoil?--five years from now I shall +detect you in the fact! Downward, downward, lies your way; nor can +anything but death avail to stop you.' + +'It is true,' Markheim said huskily, 'I have in some degree complied with +evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere exercise of +living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their surroundings.' + +'I will propound to you one simple question,' said the other; 'and as you +answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have grown in many +things more lax; possibly you do right to be so--and at any account, it +is the same with all men. But granting that, are you in any one +particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your own +conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?' + +'In any one?' repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. 'No,' +he added, with despair, 'in none! I have gone down in all.' + +'Then,' said the visitor, 'content yourself with what you are, for you +will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are +irrevocably written down.' + +Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitor who +first broke the silence. 'That being so,' he said, 'shall I show you the +money?' + +'And grace?' cried Markheim. + +'Have you not tried it?' returned the other. 'Two or three years ago, +did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not your +voice the loudest in the hymn?' + +'It is true,' said Markheim; 'and I see clearly what remains for me by +way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes are +opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am.' + +At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the house; +and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for which he +had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanour. + +'The maid!' he cried. 'She has returned, as I forewarned you, and there +is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, you must say, +is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather serious +countenance--no smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success! Once +the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has already +rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in your path. +Thenceforward you have the whole evening--the whole night, if needful--to +ransack the treasures of the house and to make good your safety. This is +help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!' he cried; 'up, +friend; your life hangs trembling in the scales: up, and act!' + +Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. 'If I be condemned to evil +acts,' he said, 'there is still one door of freedom open--I can cease +from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I +be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, +by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. My love +of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! But I have still +my hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you +shall see that I can draw both energy and courage.' + +The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely +change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, even as +they brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not pause to +watch or understand the transformation. He opened the door and went +downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past went soberly +before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, +random as chance-medley--a scene of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed +it, tempted him no longer; but on the further side he perceived a quiet +haven for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop, +where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was strangely silent. +Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. And +then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour. + +He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. + +'You had better go for the police,' said he: 'I have killed your master.' + + + + +THRAWN JANET + + +The Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland parish of +Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man, dreadful +to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his life, without relative +or servant or any human company, in the small and lonely manse under the +Hanging Shaw. In spite of the iron composure of his features, his eye +was wild, scared, and uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private +admonitions, on the future of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eye +pierced through the storms of time to the terrors of eternity. Many +young persons, coming to prepare themselves against the season of the +Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk. He had a sermon on +lst Peter, v. and 8th, 'The devil as a roaring lion,' on the Sunday after +every seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to surpass himself +upon that text both by the appalling nature of the matter and the terror +of his bearing in the pulpit. The children were frightened into fits, +and the old looked more than usually oracular, and were, all that day, +full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated. The manse itself, where it +stood by the water of Dule among some thick trees, with the Shaw +overhanging it on the one side, and on the other many cold, moorish +hilltops rising towards the sky, had begun, at a very early period of Mr. +Soulis's ministry, to be avoided in the dusk hours by all who valued +themselves upon their prudence; and guidmen sitting at the clachan +alehouse shook their heads together at the thought of passing late by +that uncanny neighbourhood. There was one spot, to be more particular, +which was regarded with especial awe. The manse stood between the high +road and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; its back was towards +the kirk-town of Balweary, nearly half a mile away; in front of it, a +bare garden, hedged with thorn, occupied the land between the river and +the road. The house was two stories high, with two large rooms on each. +It opened not directly on the garden, but on a causewayed path, or +passage, giving on the road on the one hand, and closed on the other by +the tall willows and elders that bordered on the stream. And it was this +strip of causeway that enjoyed among the young parishioners of Balweary +so infamous a reputation. The minister walked there often after dark, +sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; and +when he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more daring +schoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to 'follow my leader' across +that legendary spot. + +This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of +spotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and +subject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance or +business into that unknown, outlying country. But many even of the +people of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which had marked +the first year of Mr. Soulis's ministrations; and among those who were +better informed, some were naturally reticent, and others shy of that +particular topic. Now and again, only, one of the older folk would warm +into courage over his third tumbler, and recount the cause of the +minister's strange looks and solitary life. + +* * * * * + +Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam first into Ba'weary, he was still a +young man--a callant, the folk said--fu' o' book learnin' and grand at +the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi' nae leevin' +experience in religion. The younger sort were greatly taken wi' his +gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, serious men and women were moved +even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to be a self-deceiver, +and the parish that was like to be sae ill-supplied. It was before the +days o' the moderates--weary fa' them; but ill things are like guid--they +baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time; and there were folk even then +that said the Lord had left the college professors to their ain devices, +an' the lads that went to study wi' them wad hae done mair and better +sittin' in a peat-bog, like their forbears of the persecution, wi' a +Bible under their oxter and a speerit o' prayer in their heart. There +was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower lang at the +college. He was careful and troubled for mony things besides the ae +thing needful. He had a feck o' books wi' him--mair than had ever been +seen before in a' that presbytery; and a sair wark the carrier had wi' +them, for they were a' like to have smoored in the Deil's Hag between +this and Kilmackerlie. They were books o' divinity, to be sure, or so +they ca'd them; but the serious were o' opinion there was little service +for sae mony, when the hail o' God's Word would gang in the neuk of a +plaid. Then he wad sit half the day and half the nicht forbye, which was +scant decent--writin', nae less; and first, they were feared he wad read +his sermons; and syne it proved he was writin' a book himsel', which was +surely no fittin' for ane of his years an' sma' experience. + +Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse for +him an' see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an auld +limmer--Janet M'Clour, they ca'd her--and sae far left to himsel' as to +be ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to the contrar, for Janet +was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in Ba'weary. Lang or that, she +had had a wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit {140} for maybe +thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin' to hersel' up on Key's +Loan in the gloamin', whilk was an unco time an' place for a God-fearin' +woman. Howsoever, it was the laird himsel' that had first tauld the +minister o' Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a far gate to +pleesure the laird. When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to the deil, +it was a' superstition by his way of it; an' when they cast up the Bible +to him an' the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their thrapples that +thir days were a' gane by, and the deil was mercifully restrained. + +Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M'Clour was to be servant +at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi' her an' him thegether; and some +o' the guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her door cheeks and +chairge her wi' a' that was ken't again her, frae the sodger's bairn to +John Tamson's twa kye. She was nae great speaker; folk usually let her +gang her ain gate, an' she let them gang theirs, wi', neither Fair-guid- +een nor Fair-guid-day; but when she buckled to, she had a tongue to deave +the miller. Up she got, an' there wasnae an auld story in Ba'weary but +she gart somebody lowp for it that day; they couldnae say ae thing but +she could say twa to it; till, at the hinder end, the guidwives up and +claught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff her back, and pu'd her doun +the clachan to the water o' Dule, to see if she were a witch or no, soum +or droun. The carline skirled till ye could hear her at the Hangin' +Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was mony a guidwife bure the mark of +her neist day an' mony a lang day after; and just in the hettest o' the +collieshangie, wha suld come up (for his sins) but the new minister. + +'Women,' said he (and he had a grand voice), 'I charge you in the Lord's +name to let her go.' + +Janet ran to him--she was fair wud wi' terror--an' clang to him, an' +prayed him, for Christ's sake, save her frae the cummers; an' they, for +their pairt, tauld him a' that was ken't, and maybe mair. + +'Woman,' says he to Janet, 'is this true?' + +'As the Lord sees me,' says she, 'as the Lord made me, no a word o't. +Forbye the bairn,' says she, 'I've been a decent woman a' my days.' + +'Will you,' says Mr. Soulis, 'in the name of God, and before me, His +unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?' + +Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that fairly +frichtit them that saw her, an' they could hear her teeth play dirl +thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae way or +the ither; an' Janet lifted up her hand and renounced the deil before +them a'. + +'And now,' says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, 'home with ye, one and all, +and pray to God for His forgiveness.' + +And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, and +took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the land; an' her +scrieghin' and laughin' as was a scandal to be heard. + +There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but when +the morn cam' there was sic a fear fell upon a' Ba'weary that the bairns +hid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their doors. +For there was Janet comin' doun the clachan--her or her likeness, nane +could tell--wi' her neck thrawn, and her heid on ae side, like a body +that has been hangit, and a girn on her face like an unstreakit corp. By +an' by they got used wi' it, and even speered at her to ken what was +wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae speak like a Christian woman, +but slavered and played click wi' her teeth like a pair o' shears; and +frae that day forth the name o' God cam never on her lips. Whiles she +wad try to say it, but it michtnae be. Them that kenned best said least; +but they never gied that Thing the name o' Janet M'Clour; for the auld +Janet, by their way o't, was in muckle hell that day. But the minister +was neither to haud nor to bind; he preached about naething but the +folk's cruelty that had gi'en her a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt the +bairns that meddled her; and he had her up to the manse that same nicht, +and dwalled there a' his lane wi' her under the Hangin' Shaw. + +Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair lichtly o' +that black business. The minister was weel thocht o'; he was aye late at +the writing, folk wad see his can'le doon by the Dule water after twal' +at e'en; and he seemed pleased wi' himsel' and upsitten as at first, +though a' body could see that he was dwining. As for Janet she cam an' +she gaed; if she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason she should +speak less then; she meddled naebody; but she was an eldritch thing to +see, an' nane wad hae mistrysted wi' her for Ba'weary glebe. + +About the end o' July there cam' a spell o' weather, the like o't never +was in that country side; it was lown an' het an' heartless; the herds +couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower weariet to play; an' +yet it was gousty too, wi' claps o' het wund that rumm'led in the glens, +and bits o' shouers that slockened naething. We aye thocht it but to +thun'er on the morn; but the morn cam, an' the morn's morning, and it was +aye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and bestial. Of a' that were +the waur, nane suffered like Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, +he tauld his elders; an' when he wasnae writin' at his weary book, he wad +be stravaguin' ower a' the countryside like a man possessed, when a' body +else was blythe to keep caller ben the house. + +Abune Hangin' Shaw, in the bield o' the Black Hill, there's a bit +enclosed grund wi' an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, that was +the kirkyaird o' Ba'weary, and consecrated by the Papists before the +blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff o' Mr. +Soulis's, onyway; there he would sit an' consider his sermons; and indeed +it's a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam ower the wast end o' the Black Hill, +ae day, he saw first twa, an syne fower, an' syne seeven corbie craws +fleein' round an' round abune the auld kirkyaird. They flew laigh and +heavy, an' squawked to ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr. Soulis +that something had put them frae their ordinar. He wasnae easy fleyed, +an' gaed straucht up to the wa's; an' what suld he find there but a man, +or the appearance of a man, sittin' in the inside upon a grave. He was +of a great stature, an' black as hell, and his e'en were singular to see. +{144} Mr. Soulis had heard tell o' black men, mony's the time; but there +was something unco about this black man that daunted him. Het as he was, +he took a kind o' cauld grue in the marrow o' his banes; but up he spak +for a' that; an' says he: 'My friend, are you a stranger in this place?' +The black man answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an' begude to +hirsle to the wa' on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; an' +the minister stood an' lookit back; till a' in a meenute the black man +was ower the wa' an' rinnin' for the bield o' the trees. Mr. Soulis, he +hardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was sair forjaskit wi' his walk +an' the het, unhalesome weather; and rin as he likit, he got nae mair +than a glisk o' the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to the +foot o' the hill-side, an' there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, +an' lowp, ower Dule water to the manse. + +Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak' sae +free wi' Ba'weary manse; an' he ran the harder, an', wet shoon, ower the +burn, an' up the walk; but the deil a black man was there to see. He +stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a' ower +the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, and a bit feared +as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and there was +Janet M'Clour before his een, wi' her thrawn craig, and nane sae pleased +to see him. And he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his een upon +her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue. + +'Janet,' says he, 'have you seen a black man?' + +'A black man?' quo' she. 'Save us a'! Ye're no wise, minister. There's +nae black man in a Ba'weary.' + +But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like a +powney wi' the bit in its moo. + +'Weel,' says he, 'Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken with +the Accuser of the Brethren.' + +And he sat down like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth chittered in his +heid. + +'Hoots,' says she, 'think shame to yoursel', minister;' an' gied him a +drap brandy that she keept aye by her. + +Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his books. It's a lang, +laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin' cauld in winter, an' no very dry even in +the tap o' the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun he +sat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane since he was in Ba'weary, +an' his hame, an' the days when he was a bairn an' ran daffin' on the +braes; and that black man aye ran in his heid like the ower-come of a +sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o' the black man. He +tried the prayer, an' the words wouldnae come to him; an' he tried, they +say, to write at his book, but he could nae mak' nae mair o' that. There +was whiles he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an' the swat stood +upon him cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he cam to +himsel' like a christened bairn and minded naething. + +The upshot was that he gaed to the window an' stood glowrin' at Dule +water. The trees are unco thick, an' the water lies deep an' black under +the manse; an' there was Janct washin' the cla'es wi' her coats kilted. +She had her back to the minister, an' he, for his pairt, hardly kenned +what he was lookin' at. Syne she turned round, an' shawed her face; Mr. +Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an' it was borne +in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an' this was a +bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and he scanned her +narrowly. She was tramp-trampin' in the cla'es, croonin' to hersel'; and +eh! Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder, +but there was nae man born o' woman that could tell the words o' her +sang; an' whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething there +for her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon his +banes; and that was Heeven's advertisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamed +himsel', he said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld afflicted wife that +hadnae a freend forbye himsel'; an' he put up a bit prayer for him and +her, an' drank a little caller water--for his heart rose again the +meat--an' gaed up to his naked bed in the gloaming. + +That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba'weary, the nicht o' +the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun'er' an twal'. It had been het +afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever. The sun +gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no a +star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see your han' afore your face, and +even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay pechin' for +their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely +Mr. Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an' he tummled; the gude, caller +bed that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles he slept, and whiles he +waukened; whiles he heard the time o' nicht, and whiles a tyke yowlin' up +the muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he thocht he heard bogles +claverin' in his lug, an' whiles he saw spunkies in the room. He +behoved, he judged, to be sick; an' sick he was--little he jaloosed the +sickness. + +At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on +the bed-side, and fell thinkin' ance mair o' the black man an' Janet. He +couldnae weel tell how--maybe it was the cauld to his feet--but it cam' +in upon him wi' a spate that there was some connection between thir twa, +an' that either or baith o' them were bogles. And just at that moment, +in Janet's room, which was neist to his, there cam' a stramp o' feet as +if men were wars'lin', an' then a loud bang; an' then a wund gaed +reishling round the fower quarters of the house; an' then a' was aince +mair as seelent as the grave. + +Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil. He got his tinder-box, +an' lit a can'le, an' made three steps o't ower to Janet's door. It was +on the hasp, an' he pushed it open, an' keeked bauldly in. It was a big +room, as big as the minister's ain, an' plenished wi' grand, auld, solid +gear, for he had naething else. There was a fower-posted bed wi' auld +tapestry; and a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu' o' the minister's +divinity books, an' put there to be out o' the gate; an' a wheen duds o' +Janet's lying here and there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr. +Soulis see; nor ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an' there's few +that wad ha'e followed him) an' lookit a' round, an' listened. But there +was naethin' to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a' Ba'weary +parish, an' naethin' to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin' round the +can'le. An' then a' at aince, the minister's heart played dunt an' stood +stock-still; an' a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o' his heid. Whaten a +weary sicht was that for the puir man's een! For there was Janat hangin' +frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet: her heid aye lay on her +shoother, her een were steeked, the tongue projekit frae her mouth, and +her heels were twa feet clear abune the floor. + +'God forgive us all!' thocht Mr. Soulis; 'poor Janet's dead.' + +He cam' a step nearer to the corp; an' then his heart fair whammled in +his inside. For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge, she +was hingin' frae a single nail an' by a single wursted thread for darnin' +hose. + +It's an awfu' thing to be your lane at nicht wi' siccan prodigies o' +darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an' gaed his +ways oot o' that room, and lockit the door ahint him; and step by step, +doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the can'le on the table +at the stairfoot. He couldnae pray, he couldnae think, he was dreepin' +wi' caul' swat, an' naething could he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o' +his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, he +minded sae little; when a' o' a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny steer +upstairs; a foot gaed to an' fro in the cha'mer whaur the corp was +hingin'; syne the door was opened, though he minded weel that he had +lockit it; an' syne there was a step upon the landin', an' it seemed to +him as if the corp was lookin' ower the rail and doun upon him whaur he +stood. + +He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and as +saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o' the manse an' to the far +end o' the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' the can'le, when +he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room; naething +moved, but the Dule water seepin' and sabbin' doon the glen, an' yon +unhaly footstep that cam' ploddin doun the stairs inside the manse. He +kenned the foot over weel, for it was Janet's; and at ilka step that cam' +a wee thing nearer, the cauld got deeper in his vitals. He commanded his +soul to Him that made an' keepit him; 'and O Lord,' said he, 'give me +strength this night to war against the powers of evil.' + +By this time the foot was comin' through the passage for the door; he +could hear a hand skirt alang the wa', as if the fearsome thing was +feelin' for its way. The saughs tossed an' maned thegether, a lang sigh +cam' ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn aboot; an' there +stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi' her grogram goun an' her black mutch, +wi' the heid aye upon the shouther, an' the girn still upon the face +o't--leevin', ye wad hae said--deid, as Mr. Soulis weel kenned--upon the +threshold o' the manse. + +It's a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled into his +perishable body; but the minister saw that, an' his heart didnae break. + +She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an' cam' slowly +towards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A' the life o' his +body, a' the strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' frae his een. It +seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, an' made a sign wi' the +left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed the +can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; an' Mr. Soulis kenned that, live +or die, this was the end o't. + +'Witch, beldame, devil!' he cried, 'I charge you, by the power of God, +begone--if you be dead, to the grave--if you be damned, to hell.' + +An' at that moment the Lord's ain hand out o' the Heevens struck the +Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o' the witch-wife, +sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by deils, lowed up like +a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the thunder followed, +peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain upon the back o' that; and Mr. +Soulis lowped through the garden hedge, and ran, wi' skelloch upon +skelloch, for the clachan. + +That same mornin', John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle Cairn +as it was chappin' six; before eicht, he gaed by the change-house at +Knockdow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaun linkin' doun the +braes frae Kilmackerlie. There's little doubt but it was him that +dwalled sae lang in Janet's body; but he was awa' at last; and sinsyne +the deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary. + +But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay ravin' +in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye ken the day. + + + + +OLALLA + + +'Now,' said the doctor, 'my part is done, and, I may say, with some +vanity, well done. It remains only to get you out of this cold and +poisonous city, and to give you two months of a pure air and an easy +conscience. The last is your affair. To the first I think I can help +you. It fells indeed rather oddly; it was but the other day the Padre +came in from the country; and as he and I are old friends, although of +contrary professions, he applied to me in a matter of distress among some +of his parishioners. This was a family--but you are ignorant of Spain, +and even the names of our grandees are hardly known to you; suffice it, +then, that they were once great people, and are now fallen to the brink +of destitution. Nothing now belongs to them but the residencia, and +certain leagues of desert mountain, in the greater part of which not even +a goat could support life. But the house is a fine old place, and stands +at a great height among the hills, and most salubriously; and I had no +sooner heard my friend's tale, than I remembered you. I told him I had a +wounded officer, wounded in the good cause, who was now able to make a +change; and I proposed that his friends should take you for a lodger. +Instantly the Padre's face grew dark, as I had maliciously foreseen it +would. It was out of the question, he said. Then let them starve, said +I, for I have no sympathy with tatterdemalion pride. There-upon we +separated, not very content with one another; but yesterday, to my +wonder, the Padre returned and made a submission: the difficulty, he +said, he had found upon enquiry to be less than he had feared; or, in +other words, these proud people had put their pride in their pocket. I +closed with the offer; and, subject to your approval, I have taken rooms +for you in the residencia. The air of these mountains will renew your +blood; and the quiet in which you will there live is worth all the +medicines in the world.' + +'Doctor,' said I, 'you have been throughout my good angel, and your +advice is a command. But tell me, if you please, something of the family +with which I am to reside.' + +'I am coming to that,' replied my friend; 'and, indeed, there is a +difficulty in the way. These beggars are, as I have said, of very high +descent and swollen with the most baseless vanity; they have lived for +some generations in a growing isolation, drawing away, on either hand, +from the rich who had now become too high for them, and from the poor, +whom they still regarded as too low; and even to-day, when poverty forces +them to unfasten their door to a guest, they cannot do so without a most +ungracious stipulation. You are to remain, they say, a stranger; they +will give you attendance, but they refuse from the first the idea of the +smallest intimacy.' + +I will not deny that I was piqued, and perhaps the feeling strengthened +my desire to go, for I was confident that I could break down that barrier +if I desired. 'There is nothing offensive in such a stipulation,' said +I; 'and I even sympathise with the feeling that inspired it.' + +'It is true they have never seen you,' returned the doctor politely; 'and +if they knew you were the handsomest and the most pleasant man that ever +came from England (where I am told that handsome men are common, but +pleasant ones not so much so), they would doubtless make you welcome with +a better grace. But since you take the thing so well, it matters not. To +me, indeed, it seems discourteous. But you will find yourself the +gainer. The family will not much tempt you. A mother, a son, and a +daughter; an old woman said to be halfwitted, a country lout, and a +country girl, who stands very high with her confessor, and is, +therefore,' chuckled the physician, 'most likely plain; there is not much +in that to attract the fancy of a dashing officer.' + +'And yet you say they are high-born,' I objected. + +'Well, as to that, I should distinguish,' returned the doctor. 'The +mother is; not so the children. The mother was the last representative +of a princely stock, degenerate both in parts and fortune. Her father +was not only poor, he was mad: and the girl ran wild about the residencia +till his death. Then, much of the fortune having died with him, and the +family being quite extinct, the girl ran wilder than ever, until at last +she married, Heaven knows whom, a muleteer some say, others a smuggler; +while there are some who uphold there was no marriage at all, and that +Felipe and Olalla are bastards. The union, such as it was, was +tragically dissolved some years ago; but they live in such seclusion, and +the country at that time was in so much disorder, that the precise manner +of the man's end is known only to the priest--if even to him.' + +'I begin to think I shall have strange experiences,' said I. + +'I would not romance, if I were you,' replied the doctor; 'you will find, +I fear, a very grovelling and commonplace reality. Felipe, for instance, +I have seen. And what am I to say? He is very rustic, very cunning, +very loutish, and, I should say, an innocent; the others are probably to +match. No, no, senor commandante, you must seek congenial society among +the great sights of our mountains; and in these at least, if you are at +all a lover of the works of nature, I promise you will not be +disappointed.' + +The next day Felipe came for me in a rough country cart, drawn by a mule; +and a little before the stroke of noon, after I had said farewell to the +doctor, the innkeeper, and different good souls who had befriended me +during my sickness, we set forth out of the city by the Eastern gate, and +began to ascend into the Sierra. I had been so long a prisoner, since I +was left behind for dying after the loss of the convoy, that the mere +smell of the earth set me smiling. The country through which we went was +wild and rocky, partially covered with rough woods, now of the cork-tree, +and now of the great Spanish chestnut, and frequently intersected by the +beds of mountain torrents. The sun shone, the wind rustled joyously; and +we had advanced some miles, and the city had already shrunk into an +inconsiderable knoll upon the plain behind us, before my attention began +to be diverted to the companion of my drive. To the eye, he seemed but a +diminutive, loutish, well-made country lad, such as the doctor had +described, mighty quick and active, but devoid of any culture; and this +first impression was with most observers final. What began to strike me +was his familiar, chattering talk; so strangely inconsistent with the +terms on which I was to be received; and partly from his imperfect +enunciation, partly from the sprightly incoherence of the matter, so very +difficult to follow clearly without an effort of the mind. It is true I +had before talked with persons of a similar mental constitution; persons +who seemed to live (as he did) by the senses, taken and possessed by the +visual object of the moment and unable to discharge their minds of that +impression. His seemed to me (as I sat, distantly giving ear) a kind of +conversation proper to drivers, who pass much of their time in a great +vacancy of the intellect and threading the sights of a familiar country. +But this was not the case of Felipe; by his own account, he was a home- +keeper; 'I wish I was there now,' he said; and then, spying a tree by the +wayside, he broke off to tell me that he had once seen a crow among its +branches. + +'A crow?' I repeated, struck by the ineptitude of the remark, and +thinking I had heard imperfectly. + +But by this time he was already filled with a new idea; hearkening with a +rapt intentness, his head on one side, his face puckered; and he struck +me rudely, to make me hold my peace. Then he smiled and shook his head. + +'What did you hear?' I asked. + +'O, it is all right,' he said; and began encouraging his mule with cries +that echoed unhumanly up the mountain walls. + +I looked at him more closely. He was superlatively well-built, light, +and lithe and strong; he was well-featured; his yellow eyes were very +large, though, perhaps, not very expressive; take him altogether, he was +a pleasant-looking lad, and I had no fault to find with him, beyond that +he was of a dusky hue, and inclined to hairyness; two characteristics +that I disliked. It was his mind that puzzled, and yet attracted me. The +doctor's phrase--an innocent--came back to me; and I was wondering if +that were, after all, the true description, when the road began to go +down into the narrow and naked chasm of a torrent. The waters thundered +tumultuously in the bottom; and the ravine was filled full of the sound, +the thin spray, and the claps of wind, that accompanied their descent. +The scene was certainly impressive; but the road was in that part very +securely walled in; the mule went steadily forward; and I was astonished +to perceive the paleness of terror in the face of my companion. The +voice of that wild river was inconstant, now sinking lower as if in +weariness, now doubling its hoarse tones; momentary freshets seemed to +swell its volume, sweeping down the gorge, raving and booming against the +barrier walls; and I observed it was at each of these accessions to the +clamour, that my driver more particularly winced and blanched. Some +thoughts of Scottish superstition and the river Kelpie, passed across my +mind; I wondered if perchance the like were prevalent in that part of +Spain; and turning to Felipe, sought to draw him out. + +'What is the matter?' I asked. + +'O, I am afraid,' he replied. + +'Of what are you afraid?' I returned. 'This seems one of the safest +places on this very dangerous road.' + +'It makes a noise,' he said, with a simplicity of awe that set my doubts +at rest. + +The lad was but a child in intellect; his mind was like his body, active +and swift, but stunted in development; and I began from that time forth +to regard him with a measure of pity, and to listen at first with +indulgence, and at last even with pleasure, to his disjointed babble. + +By about four in the afternoon we had crossed the summit of the mountain +line, said farewell to the western sunshine, and began to go down upon +the other side, skirting the edge of many ravines and moving through the +shadow of dusky woods. There rose upon all sides the voice of falling +water, not condensed and formidable as in the gorge of the river, but +scattered and sounding gaily and musically from glen to glen. Here, too, +the spirits of my driver mended, and he began to sing aloud in a falsetto +voice, and with a singular bluntness of musical perception, never true +either to melody or key, but wandering at will, and yet somehow with an +effect that was natural and pleasing, like that of the of birds. As the +dusk increased, I fell more and more under the spell of this artless +warbling, listening and waiting for some articulate air, and still +disappointed; and when at last I asked him what it was he sang--'O,' +cried he, 'I am just singing!' Above all, I was taken with a trick he +had of unweariedly repeating the same note at little intervals; it was +not so monotonous as you would think, or, at least, not disagreeable; and +it seemed to breathe a wonderful contentment with what is, such as we +love to fancy in the attitude of trees, or the quiescence of a pool. + +Night had fallen dark before we came out upon a plateau, and drew up a +little after, before a certain lump of superior blackness which I could +only conjecture to be the residencia. Here, my guide, getting down from +the cart, hooted and whistled for a long time in vain; until at last an +old peasant man came towards us from somewhere in the surrounding dark, +carrying a candle in his hand. By the light of this I was able to +perceive a great arched doorway of a Moorish character: it was closed by +iron-studded gates, in one of the leaves of which Felipe opened a wicket. +The peasant carried off the cart to some out-building; but my guide and I +passed through the wicket, which was closed again behind us; and by the +glimmer of the candle, passed through a court, up a stone stair, along a +section of an open gallery, and up more stairs again, until we came at +last to the door of a great and somewhat bare apartment. This room, +which I understood was to be mine, was pierced by three windows, lined +with some lustrous wood disposed in panels, and carpeted with the skins +of many savage animals. A bright fire burned in the chimney, and shed +abroad a changeful flicker; close up to the blaze there was drawn a +table, laid for supper; and in the far end a bed stood ready. I was +pleased by these preparations, and said so to Felipe; and he, with the +same simplicity of disposition that I held already remarked in him, +warmly re-echoed my praises. 'A fine room,' he said; 'a very fine room. +And fire, too; fire is good; it melts out the pleasure in your bones. And +the bed,' he continued, carrying over the candle in that direction--'see +what fine sheets--how soft, how smooth, smooth;' and he passed his hand +again and again over their texture, and then laid down his head and +rubbed his cheeks among them with a grossness of content that somehow +offended me. I took the candle from his hand (for I feared he would set +the bed on fire) and walked back to the supper-table, where, perceiving a +measure of wine, I poured out a cup and called to him to come and drink +of it. He started to his feet at once and ran to me with a strong +expression of hope; but when he saw the wine, he visibly shuddered. + +'Oh, no,' he said, 'not that; that is for you. I hate it.' + +'Very well, Senor,' said I; 'then I will drink to your good health, and +to the prosperity of your house and family. Speaking of which,' I added, +after I had drunk, 'shall I not have the pleasure of laying my +salutations in person at the feet of the Senora, your mother?' + +But at these words all the childishness passed out of his face, and was +succeeded by a look of indescribable cunning and secrecy. He backed away +from me at the same time, as though I were an animal about to leap or +some dangerous fellow with a weapon, and when he had got near the door, +glowered at me sullenly with contracted pupils. 'No,' he said at last, +and the next moment was gone noiselessly out of the room; and I heard his +footing die away downstairs as light as rainfall, and silence closed over +the house. + +After I had supped I drew up the table nearer to the bed and began to +prepare for rest; but in the new position of the light, I was struck by a +picture on the wall. It represented a woman, still young. To judge by +her costume and the mellow unity which reigned over the canvas, she had +long been dead; to judge by the vivacity of the attitude, the eyes and +the features, I might have been beholding in a mirror the image of life. +Her figure was very slim and strong, and of a just proportion; red +tresses lay like a crown over her brow; her eyes, of a very golden brown, +held mine with a look; and her face, which was perfectly shaped, was yet +marred by a cruel, sullen, and sensual expression. Something in both +face and figure, something exquisitely intangible, like the echo of an +echo, suggested the features and bearing of my guide; and I stood awhile, +unpleasantly attracted and wondering at the oddity of the resemblance. +The common, carnal stock of that race, which had been originally designed +for such high dames as the one now looking on me from the canvas, had +fallen to baser uses, wearing country clothes, sitting on the shaft and +holding the reins of a mule cart, to bring home a lodger. Perhaps an +actual link subsisted; perhaps some scruple of the delicate flesh that +was once clothed upon with the satin and brocade of the dead lady, now +winced at the rude contact of Felipe's frieze. + +The first light of the morning shone full upon the portrait, and, as I +lay awake, my eyes continued to dwell upon it with growing complacency; +its beauty crept about my heart insidiously, silencing my scruples one +after another; and while I knew that to love such a woman were to sign +and seal one's own sentence of degeneration, I still knew that, if she +were alive, I should love her. Day after day the double knowledge of her +wickedness and of my weakness grew clearer. She came to be the heroine +of many day-dreams, in which her eyes led on to, and sufficiently +rewarded, crimes. She cast a dark shadow on my fancy; and when I was out +in the free air of heaven, taking vigorous exercise and healthily +renewing the current of my blood, it was often a glad thought to me that +my enchantress was safe in the grave, her wand of beauty broken, her lips +closed in silence, her philtre spilt. And yet I had a half-lingering +terror that she might not be dead after all, but re-arisen in the body of +some descendant. + +Felipe served my meals in my own apartment; and his resemblance to the +portrait haunted me. At times it was not; at times, upon some change of +attitude or flash of expression, it would leap out upon me like a ghost. +It was above all in his ill tempers that the likeness triumphed. He +certainly liked me; he was proud of my notice, which he sought to engage +by many simple and childlike devices; he loved to sit close before my +fire, talking his broken talk or singing his odd, endless, wordless +songs, and sometimes drawing his hand over my clothes with an +affectionate manner of caressing that never failed to cause in me an +embarrassment of which I was ashamed. But for all that, he was capable +of flashes of causeless anger and fits of sturdy sullenness. At a word +of reproof, I have seen him upset the dish of which I was about to eat, +and this not surreptitiously, but with defiance; and similarly at a hint +of inquisition. I was not unnaturally curious, being in a strange place +and surrounded by staring people; but at the shadow of a question, he +shrank back, lowering and dangerous. Then it was that, for a fraction of +a second, this rough lad might have been the brother of the lady in the +frame. But these humours were swift to pass; and the resemblance died +along with them. + +In these first days I saw nothing of any one but Felipe, unless the +portrait is to be counted; and since the lad was plainly of weak mind, +and had moments of passion, it may be wondered that I bore his dangerous +neighbourhood with equanimity. As a matter of fact, it was for some time +irksome; but it happened before long that I obtained over him so complete +a mastery as set my disquietude at rest. + +It fell in this way. He was by nature slothful, and much of a vagabond, +and yet he kept by the house, and not only waited upon my wants, but +laboured every day in the garden or small farm to the south of the +residencia. Here he would be joined by the peasant whom I had seen on +the night of my arrival, and who dwelt at the far end of the enclosure, +about half a mile away, in a rude out-house; but it was plain to me that, +of these two, it was Felipe who did most; and though I would sometimes +see him throw down his spade and go to sleep among the very plants he had +been digging, his constancy and energy were admirable in themselves, and +still more so since I was well assured they were foreign to his +disposition and the fruit of an ungrateful effort. But while I admired, +I wondered what had called forth in a lad so shuttle-witted this enduring +sense of duty. How was it sustained? I asked myself, and to what length +did it prevail over his instincts? The priest was possibly his inspirer; +but the priest came one day to the residencia. I saw him both come and +go after an interval of close upon an hour, from a knoll where I was +sketching, and all that time Felipe continued to labour undisturbed in +the garden. + +At last, in a very unworthy spirit, I determined to debauch the lad from +his good resolutions, and, way-laying him at the gate, easily pursuaded +him to join me in a ramble. It was a fine day, and the woods to which I +led him were green and pleasant and sweet-smelling and alive with the hum +of insects. Here he discovered himself in a fresh character, mounting up +to heights of gaiety that abashed me, and displaying an energy and grace +of movement that delighted the eye. He leaped, he ran round me in mere +glee; he would stop, and look and listen, and seem to drink in the world +like a cordial; and then he would suddenly spring into a tree with one +bound, and hang and gambol there like one at home. Little as he said to +me, and that of not much import, I have rarely enjoyed more stirring +company; the sight of his delight was a continual feast; the speed and +accuracy of his movements pleased me to the heart; and I might have been +so thoughtlessly unkind as to make a habit of these wants, had not chance +prepared a very rude conclusion to my pleasure. By some swiftness or +dexterity the lad captured a squirrel in a tree top. He was then some +way ahead of me, but I saw him drop to the ground and crouch there, +crying aloud for pleasure like a child. The sound stirred my sympathies, +it was so fresh and innocent; but as I bettered my pace to draw near, the +cry of the squirrel knocked upon my heart. I have heard and seen much of +the cruelty of lads, and above all of peasants; but what I now beheld +struck me into a passion of anger. I thrust the fellow aside, plucked +the poor brute out of his hands, and with swift mercy killed it. Then I +turned upon the torturer, spoke to him long out of the heat of my +indignation, calling him names at which he seemed to wither; and at +length, pointing toward the residencia, bade him begone and leave me, for +I chose to walk with men, not with vermin. He fell upon his knees, and, +the words coming to him with more cleanness than usual, poured out a +stream of the most touching supplications, begging me in mercy to forgive +him, to forget what he had done, to look to the future. 'O, I try so +hard,' he said. 'O, commandante, bear with Felipe this once; he will +never be a brute again!' Thereupon, much more affected than I cared to +show, I suffered myself to be persuaded, and at last shook hands with him +and made it up. But the squirrel, by way of penance, I made him bury; +speaking of the poor thing's beauty, telling him what pains it had +suffered, and how base a thing was the abuse of strength. 'See, Felipe,' +said I, 'you are strong indeed; but in my hands you are as helpless as +that poor thing of the trees. Give me your hand in mine. You cannot +remove it. Now suppose that I were cruel like you, and took a pleasure +in pain. I only tighten my hold, and see how you suffer.' He screamed +aloud, his face stricken ashy and dotted with needle points of sweat; and +when I set him free, he fell to the earth and nursed his hand and moaned +over it like a baby. But he took the lesson in good part; and whether +from that, or from what I had said to him, or the higher notion he now +had of my bodily strength, his original affection was changed into a dog- +like, adoring fidelity. + +Meanwhile I gained rapidly in health. The residencia stood on the crown +of a stony plateau; on every side the mountains hemmed it about; only +from the roof, where was a bartizan, there might be seen between two +peaks, a small segment of plain, blue with extreme distance. The air in +these altitudes moved freely and largely; great clouds congregated there, +and were broken up by the wind and left in tatters on the hilltops; a +hoarse, and yet faint rumbling of torrents rose from all round; and one +could there study all the ruder and more ancient characters of nature in +something of their pristine force. I delighted from the first in the +vigorous scenery and changeful weather; nor less in the antique and +dilapidated mansion where I dwelt. This was a large oblong, flanked at +two opposite corners by bastion-like projections, one of which commanded +the door, while both were loopholed for musketry. The lower storey was, +besides, naked of windows, so that the building, if garrisoned, could not +be carried without artillery. It enclosed an open court planted with +pomegranate trees. From this a broad flight of marble stairs ascended to +an open gallery, running all round and resting, towards the court, on +slender pillars. Thence again, several enclosed stairs led to the upper +storeys of the house, which were thus broken up into distinct divisions. +The windows, both within and without, were closely shuttered; some of the +stone-work in the upper parts had fallen; the roof, in one place, had +been wrecked in one of the flurries of wind which were common in these +mountains; and the whole house, in the strong, beating sunlight, and +standing out above a grove of stunted cork-trees, thickly laden and +discoloured with dust, looked like the sleeping palace of the legend. The +court, in particular, seemed the very home of slumber. A hoarse cooing +of doves haunted about the eaves; the winds were excluded, but when they +blew outside, the mountain dust fell here as thick as rain, and veiled +the red bloom of the pomegranates; shuttered windows and the closed doors +of numerous cellars, and the vacant, arches of the gallery, enclosed it; +and all day long the sun made broken profiles on the four sides, and +paraded the shadow of the pillars on the gallery floor. At the ground +level there was, however, a certain pillared recess, which bore the marks +of human habitation. Though it was open in front upon the court, it was +yet provided with a chimney, where a wood fire would he always prettily +blazing; and the tile floor was littered with the skins of animals. + +It was in this place that I first saw my hostess. She had drawn one of +the skins forward and sat in the sun, leaning against a pillar. It was +her dress that struck me first of all, for it was rich and brightly +coloured, and shone out in that dusty courtyard with something of the +same relief as the flowers of the pomegranates. At a second look it was +her beauty of person that took hold of me. As she sat back--watching me, +I thought, though with invisible eyes--and wearing at the same time an +expression of almost imbecile good-humour and contentment, she showed a +perfectness of feature and a quiet nobility of attitude that were beyond +a statue's. I took off my hat to her in passing, and her face puckered +with suspicion as swiftly and lightly as a pool ruffles in the breeze; +but she paid no heed to my courtesy. I went forth on my customary walk a +trifle daunted, her idol-like impassivity haunting me; and when I +returned, although she was still in much the same posture, I was half +surprised to see that she had moved as far as the next pillar, following +the sunshine. This time, however, she addressed me with some trivial +salutation, civilly enough conceived, and uttered in the same +deep-chested, and yet indistinct and lisping tones, that had already +baffled the utmost niceness of my hearing from her son. I answered +rather at a venture; for not only did I fail to take her meaning with +precision, but the sudden disclosure of her eyes disturbed me. They were +unusually large, the iris golden like Felipe's, but the pupil at that +moment so distended that they seemed almost black; and what affected me +was not so much their size as (what was perhaps its consequence) the +singular insignificance of their regard. A look more blankly stupid I +have never met. My eyes dropped before it even as I spoke, and I went on +my way upstairs to my own room, at once baffled and embarrassed. Yet, +when I came there and saw the face of the portrait, I was again reminded +of the miracle of family descent. My hostess was, indeed, both older and +fuller in person; her eyes were of a different colour; her face, besides, +was not only free from the ill-significance that offended and attracted +me in the painting; it was devoid of either good or bad--a moral blank +expressing literally naught. And yet there was a likeness, not so much +speaking as immanent, not so much in any particular feature as upon the +whole. It should seem, I thought, as if when the master set his +signature to that grave canvas, he had not only caught the image of one +smiling and false-eyed woman, but stamped the essential quality of a +race. + +From that day forth, whether I came or went, I was sure to find the +Senora seated in the sun against a pillar, or stretched on a rug before +the fire; only at times she would shift her station to the top round of +the stone staircase, where she lay with the same nonchalance right across +my path. In all these days, I never knew her to display the least spark +of energy beyond what she expended in brushing and re-brushing her +copious copper-coloured hair, or in lisping out, in the rich and broken +hoarseness of her voice, her customary idle salutations to myself. These, +I think, were her two chief pleasures, beyond that of mere quiescence. +She seemed always proud of her remarks, as though they had been +witticisms: and, indeed, though they were empty enough, like the +conversation of many respectable persons, and turned on a very narrow +range of subjects, they were never meaningless or incoherent; nay, they +had a certain beauty of their own, breathing, as they did, of her entire +contentment. Now she would speak of the warmth, in which (like her son) +she greatly delighted; now of the flowers of the pomegranate trees, and +now of the white doves and long-winged swallows that fanned the air of +the court. The birds excited her. As they raked the eaves in their +swift flight, or skimmed sidelong past her with a rush of wind, she would +sometimes stir, and sit a little up, and seem to awaken from her doze of +satisfaction. But for the rest of her days she lay luxuriously folded on +herself and sunk in sloth and pleasure. Her invincible content at first +annoyed me, but I came gradually to find repose in the spectacle, until +at last it grew to be my habit to sit down beside her four times in the +day, both coming and going, and to talk with her sleepily, I scarce knew +of what. I had come to like her dull, almost animal neighbourhood; her +beauty and her stupidity soothed and amused me. I began to find a kind +of transcendental good sense in her remarks, and her unfathomable good +nature moved me to admiration and envy. The liking was returned; she +enjoyed my presence half-unconsciously, as a man in deep meditation may +enjoy the babbling of a brook. I can scarce say she brightened when I +came, for satisfaction was written on her face eternally, as on some +foolish statue's; but I was made conscious of her pleasure by some more +intimate communication than the sight. And one day, as I set within +reach of her on the marble step, she suddenly shot forth one of her hands +and patted mine. The thing was done, and she was back in her accustomed +attitude, before my mind had received intelligence of the caress; and +when I turned to look her in the face I could perceive no answerable +sentiment. It was plain she attached no moment to the act, and I blamed +myself for my own more uneasy consciousness. + +The sight and (if I may so call it) the acquaintance of the mother +confirmed the view I had already taken of the son. The family blood had +been impoverished, perhaps by long inbreeding, which I knew to be a +common error among the proud and the exclusive. No decline, indeed, was +to be traced in the body, which had been handed down unimpaired in +shapeliness and strength; and the faces of to-day were struck as sharply +from the mint, as the face of two centuries ago that smiled upon me from +the portrait. But the intelligence (that more precious heirloom) was +degenerate; the treasure of ancestral memory ran low; and it had required +the potent, plebeian crossing of a muleteer or mountain contrabandista to +raise, what approached hebetude in the mother, into the active oddity of +the son. Yet of the two, it was the mother I preferred. Of Felipe, +vengeful and placable, full of starts and shyings, inconstant as a hare, +I could even conceive as a creature possibly noxious. Of the mother I +had no thoughts but those of kindness. And indeed, as spectators are apt +ignorantly to take sides, I grew something of a partisan in the enmity +which I perceived to smoulder between them. True, it seemed mostly on +the mother's part. She would sometimes draw in her breath as he came +near, and the pupils of her vacant eyes would contract as if with horror +or fear. Her emotions, such as they were, were much upon the surface and +readily shared; and this latent repulsion occupied my mind, and kept me +wondering on what grounds it rested, and whether the son was certainly in +fault. + +I had been about ten days in the residencia, when there sprang up a high +and harsh wind, carrying clouds of dust. It came out of malarious +lowlands, and over several snowy sierras. The nerves of those on whom it +blew were strung and jangled; their eyes smarted with the dust; their +legs ached under the burthen of their body; and the touch of one hand +upon another grew to be odious. The wind, besides, came down the gullies +of the hills and stormed about the house with a great, hollow buzzing and +whistling that was wearisome to the ear and dismally depressing to the +mind. It did not so much blow in gusts as with the steady sweep of a +waterfall, so that there was no remission of discomfort while it blew. +But higher upon the mountain, it was probably of a more variable +strength, with accesses of fury; for there came down at times a far-off +wailing, infinitely grievous to hear; and at times, on one of the high +shelves or terraces, there would start up, and then disperse, a tower of +dust, like the smoke of in explosion. + +I no sooner awoke in bed than I was conscious of the nervous tension and +depression of the weather, and the effect grew stronger as the day +proceeded. It was in vain that I resisted; in vain that I set forth upon +my customary morning's walk; the irrational, unchanging fury of the storm +had soon beat down my strength and wrecked my temper; and I returned to +the residencia, glowing with dry heat, and foul and gritty with dust. The +court had a forlorn appearance; now and then a glimmer of sun fled over +it; now and then the wind swooped down upon the pomegranates, and +scattered the blossoms, and set the window shutters clapping on the wall. +In the recess the Senora was pacing to and fro with a flushed countenance +and bright eyes; I thought, too, she was speaking to herself, like one in +anger. But when I addressed her with my customary salutation, she only +replied by a sharp gesture and continued her walk. The weather had +distempered even this impassive creature; and as I went on upstairs I was +the less ashamed of my own discomposure. + +All day the wind continued; and I sat in my room and made a feint of +reading, or walked up and down, and listened to the riot overhead. Night +fell, and I had not so much as a candle. I began to long for some +society, and stole down to the court. It was now plunged in the blue of +the first darkness; but the recess was redly lighted by the fire. The +wood had been piled high, and was crowned by a shock of flames, which the +draught of the chimney brandished to and fro. In this strong and shaken +brightness the Senora continued pacing from wall to wall with +disconnected gestures, clasping her hands, stretching forth her arms, +throwing back her head as in appeal to heaven. In these disordered +movements the beauty and grace of the woman showed more clearly; but +there was a light in her eye that struck on me unpleasantly; and when I +had looked on awhile in silence, and seemingly unobserved, I turned tail +as I had come, and groped my way back again to my own chamber. + +By the time Felipe brought my supper and lights, my nerve was utterly +gone; and, had the lad been such as I was used to seeing him, I should +have kept him (even by force had that been necessary) to take off the +edge from my distasteful solitude. But on Felipe, also, the wind had +exercised its influence. He had been feverish all day; now that the +night had come he was fallen into a low and tremulous humour that reacted +on my own. The sight of his scared face, his starts and pallors and +sudden harkenings, unstrung me; and when he dropped and broke a dish, I +fairly leaped out of my seat. + +'I think we are all mad to-day,' said I, affecting to laugh. + +'It is the black wind,' he replied dolefully. 'You feel as if you must +do something, and you don't know what it is.' + +I noted the aptness of the description; but, indeed, Felipe had sometimes +a strange felicity in rendering into words the sensations of the body. +'And your mother, too,' said I; 'she seems to feel this weather much. Do +you not fear she may be unwell?' + +He stared at me a little, and then said, 'No,' almost defiantly; and the +next moment, carrying his hand to his brow, cried out lamentably on the +wind and the noise that made his head go round like a millwheel. 'Who +can be well?' he cried; and, indeed, I could only echo his question, for +I was disturbed enough myself. + +I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restlessness, but the +poisonous nature of the wind, and its ungodly and unintermittent uproar, +would not suffer me to sleep. I lay there and tossed, my nerves and +senses on the stretch. At times I would doze, dream horribly, and wake +again; and these snatches of oblivion confused me as to time. But it +must have been late on in the night, when I was suddenly startled by an +outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries. I leaped from my bed, supposing +I had dreamed; but the cries still continued to fill the house, cries of +pain, I thought, but certainly of rage also, and so savage and discordant +that they shocked the heart. It was no illusion; some living thing, some +lunatic or some wild animal, was being foully tortured. The thought of +Felipe and the squirrel flashed into my mind, and I ran to the door, but +it had been locked from the outside; and I might shake it as I pleased, I +was a fast prisoner. Still the cries continued. Now they would dwindle +down into a moaning that seemed to be articulate, and at these times I +made sure they must be human; and again they would break forth and fill +the house with ravings worthy of hell. I stood at the door and gave ear +to them, till at, last they died away. Long after that, I still lingered +and still continued to hear them mingle in fancy with the storming of the +wind; and when at last I crept to my bed, it was with a deadly sickness +and a blackness of horror on my heart. + +It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I been locked in? What +had passed? Who was the author of these indescribable and shocking +cries? A human being? It was inconceivable. A beast? The cries were +scarce quite bestial; and what animal, short of a lion or a tiger, could +thus shake the solid walls of the residencia? And while I was thus +turning over the elements of the mystery, it came into my mind that I had +not yet set eyes upon the daughter of the house. What was more probable +than that the daughter of the Senora, and the sister of Felipe, should be +herself insane? Or, what more likely than that these ignorant and half- +witted people should seek to manage an afflicted kinswoman by violence? +Here was a solution; and yet when I called to mind the cries (which I +never did without a shuddering chill) it seemed altogether insufficient: +not even cruelty could wring such cries from madness. But of one thing I +was sure: I could not live in a house where such a thing was half +conceivable, and not probe the matter home and, if necessary, interfere. + +The next day came, the wind had blown itself out, and there was nothing +to remind me of the business of the night. Felipe came to my bedside +with obvious cheerfulness; as I passed through the court, the Senora was +sunning herself with her accustomed immobility; and when I issued from +the gateway, I found the whole face of nature austerely smiling, the +heavens of a cold blue, and sown with great cloud islands, and the +mountain-sides mapped forth into provinces of light and shadow. A short +walk restored me to myself, and renewed within me the resolve to plumb +this mystery; and when, from the vantage of my knoll, I had seen Felipe +pass forth to his labours in the garden, I returned at once to the +residencia to put my design in practice. The Senora appeared plunged in +slumber; I stood awhile and marked her, but she did not stir; even if my +design were indiscreet, I had little to fear from such a guardian; and +turning away, I mounted to the gallery and began my exploration of the +house. + +All morning I went from one door to another, and entered spacious and +faded chambers, some rudely shuttered, some receiving their full charge +of daylight, all empty and unhomely. It was a rich house, on which Time +had breathed his tarnish and dust had scattered disillusion. The spider +swung there; the bloated tarantula scampered on the cornices; ants had +their crowded highways on the floor of halls of audience; the big and +foul fly, that lives on carrion and is often the messenger of death, had +set up his nest in the rotten woodwork, and buzzed heavily about the +rooms. Here and there a stool or two, a couch, a bed, or a great carved +chair remained behind, like islets on the bare floors, to testify of +man's bygone habitation; and everywhere the walls were set with the +portraits of the dead. I could judge, by these decaying effigies, in the +house of what a great and what a handsome race I was then wandering. Many +of the men wore orders on their breasts and had the port of noble +offices; the women were all richly attired; the canvases most of them by +famous hands. But it was not so much these evidences of greatness that +took hold upon my mind, even contrasted, as they were, with the present +depopulation and decay of that great house. It was rather the parable of +family life that I read in this succession of fair faces and shapely +bodies. Never before had I so realised the miracle of the continued +race, the creation and recreation, the weaving and changing and handing +down of fleshly elements. That a child should be born of its mother, +that it should grow and clothe itself (we know not how) with humanity, +and put on inherited looks, and turn its head with the manner of one +ascendant, and offer its hand with the gesture of another, are wonders +dulled for us by repetition. But in the singular unity of look, in the +common features and common bearing, of all these painted generations on +the walls of the residencia, the miracle started out and looked me in the +face. And an ancient mirror falling opportunely in my way, I stood and +read my own features a long while, tracing out on either hand the +filaments of descent and the bonds that knit me with my family. + +At last, in the course of these investigations, I opened the door of a +chamber that bore the marks of habitation. It was of large proportions +and faced to the north, where the mountains were most wildly figured. The +embers of a fire smouldered and smoked upon the hearth, to which a chair +had been drawn close. And yet the aspect of the chamber was ascetic to +the degree of sternness; the chair was uncushioned; the floor and walls +were naked; and beyond the books which lay here and there in some +confusion, there was no instrument of either work or pleasure. The sight +of books in the house of such a family exceedingly amazed me; and I began +with a great hurry, and in momentary fear of interruption, to go from one +to another and hastily inspect their character. They were of all sorts, +devotional, historical, and scientific, but mostly of a great age and in +the Latin tongue. Some I could see to bear the marks of constant study; +others had been torn across and tossed aside as if in petulance or +disapproval. Lastly, as I cruised about that empty chamber, I espied +some papers written upon with pencil on a table near the window. An +unthinking curiosity led me to take one up. It bore a copy of verses, +very roughly metred in the original Spanish, and which I may render +somewhat thus-- + + Pleasure approached with pain and shame, + Grief with a wreath of lilies came. + Pleasure showed the lovely sun; + Jesu dear, how sweet it shone! + Grief with her worn hand pointed on, + Jesu dear, to thee! + +Shame and confusion at once fell on me; and, laying down the paper, I +beat an immediate retreat from the apartment. Neither Felipe nor his +mother could have read the books nor written these rough but feeling +verses. It was plain I had stumbled with sacrilegious feet into the room +of the daughter of the house. God knows, my own heart most sharply +punished me for my indiscretion. The thought that I had thus secretly +pushed my way into the confidence of a girl so strangely situated, and +the fear that she might somehow come to hear of it, oppressed me like +guilt. I blamed myself besides for my suspicions of the night before; +wondered that I should ever have attributed those shocking cries to one +of whom I now conceived as of a saint, spectral of mien, wasted with +maceration, bound up in the practices of a mechanical devotion, and +dwelling in a great isolation of soul with her incongruous relatives; and +as I leaned on the balustrade of the gallery and looked down into the +bright close of pomegranates and at the gaily dressed and somnolent +woman, who just then stretched herself and delicately licked her lips as +in the very sensuality of sloth, my mind swiftly compared the scene with +the cold chamber looking northward on the mountains, where the daughter +dwelt. + +That same afternoon, as I sat upon my knoll, I saw the Padre enter the +gates of the residencia. The revelation of the daughter's character had +struck home to my fancy, and almost blotted out the horrors of the night +before; but at sight of this worthy man the memory revived. I descended, +then, from the knoll, and making a circuit among the woods, posted myself +by the wayside to await his passage. As soon as he appeared I stepped +forth and introduced myself as the lodger of the residencia. He had a +very strong, honest countenance, on which it was easy to read the mingled +emotions with which he regarded me, as a foreigner, a heretic, and yet +one who had been wounded for the good cause. Of the family at the +residencia he spoke with reserve, and yet with respect. I mentioned that +I had not yet seen the daughter, whereupon he remarked that that was as +it should be, and looked at me a little askance. Lastly, I plucked up +courage to refer to the cries that had disturbed me in the night. He +heard me out in silence, and then stopped and partly turned about, as +though to mark beyond doubt that he was dismissing me. + +'Do you take tobacco powder?' said he, offering his snuff-box; and then, +when I had refused, 'I am an old man,' he added, 'and I may be allowed to +remind you that you are a guest.' + +'I have, then, your authority,' I returned, firmly enough, although I +flushed at the implied reproof, 'to let things take their course, and not +to interfere?' + +He said 'yes,' and with a somewhat uneasy salute turned and left me where +I was. But he had done two things: he had set my conscience at rest, and +he had awakened my delicacy. I made a great effort, once more dismissed +the recollections of the night, and fell once more to brooding on my +saintly poetess. At the same time, I could not quite forget that I had +been locked in, and that night when Felipe brought me my supper I +attacked him warily on both points of interest. + +'I never see your sister,' said I casually. + +'Oh, no,' said he; 'she is a good, good girl,' and his mind instantly +veered to something else. + +'Your sister is pious, I suppose?' I asked in the next pause. + +'Oh!' he cried, joining his hands with extreme fervour, 'a saint; it is +she that keeps me up.' + +'You are very fortunate,' said I, 'for the most of us, I am afraid, and +myself among the number, are better at going down.' + +'Senor,' said Felipe earnestly, 'I would not say that. You should not +tempt your angel. If one goes down, where is he to stop?' + +'Why, Felipe,' said I, 'I had no guess you were a preacher, and I may say +a good one; but I suppose that is your sister's doing?' + +He nodded at me with round eyes. + +'Well, then,' I continued, 'she has doubtless reproved you for your sin +of cruelty?' + +'Twelve times!' he cried; for this was the phrase by which the odd +creature expressed the sense of frequency. 'And I told her you had done +so--I remembered that,' he added proudly--'and she was pleased.' + +'Then, Felipe,' said I, 'what were those cries that I heard last night? +for surely they were cries of some creature in suffering.' + +'The wind,' returned Felipe, looking in the fire. + +I took his hand in mine, at which, thinking it to be a caress, he smiled +with a brightness of pleasure that came near disarming my resolve. But I +trod the weakness down. 'The wind,' I repeated; 'and yet I think it was +this hand,' holding it up, 'that had first locked me in.' The lad shook +visibly, but answered never a word. 'Well,' said I, 'I am a stranger and +a guest. It is not my part either to meddle or to judge in your affairs; +in these you shall take your sister's counsel, which I cannot doubt to be +excellent. But in so far as concerns my own I will be no man's prisoner, +and I demand that key.' Half an hour later my door was suddenly thrown +open, and the key tossed ringing on the floor. + +A day or two after I came in from a walk a little before the point of +noon. The Senora was lying lapped in slumber on the threshold of the +recess; the pigeons dozed below the eaves like snowdrifts; the house was +under a deep spell of noontide quiet; and only a wandering and gentle +wind from the mountain stole round the galleries, rustled among the +pomegranates, and pleasantly stirred the shadows. Something in the +stillness moved me to imitation, and I went very lightly across the court +and up the marble staircase. My foot was on the topmost round, when a +door opened, and I found myself face to face with Olalla. Surprise +transfixed me; her loveliness struck to my heart; she glowed in the deep +shadow of the gallery, a gem of colour; her eyes took hold upon mine and +clung there, and bound us together like the joining of hands; and the +moments we thus stood face to face, drinking each other in, were +sacramental and the wedding of souls. I know not how long it was before +I awoke out of a deep trance, and, hastily bowing, passed on into the +upper stair. She did not move, but followed me with her great, thirsting +eyes; and as I passed out of sight it seemed to me as if she paled and +faded. + +In my own room, I opened the window and looked out, and could not think +what change had come upon that austere field of mountains that it should +thus sing and shine under the lofty heaven. I had seen her--Olalla! And +the stone crags answered, Olalla! and the dumb, unfathomable azure +answered, Olalla! The pale saint of my dreams had vanished for ever; and +in her place I beheld this maiden on whom God had lavished the richest +colours and the most exuberant energies of life, whom he had made active +as a deer, slender as a reed, and in whose great eyes he had lighted the +torches of the soul. The thrill of her young life, strung like a wild +animal's, had entered into me; the force of soul that had looked out from +her eyes and conquered mine, mantled about my heart and sprang to my lips +in singing. She passed through my veins: she was one with me. + +I will not say that this enthusiasm declined; rather my soul held out in +its ecstasy as in a strong castle, and was there besieged by cold and +sorrowful considerations. I could not doubt but that I loved her at +first sight, and already with a quivering ardour that was strange to my +experience. What then was to follow? She was the child of an afflicted +house, the Senora's daughter, the sister of Felipe; she bore it even in +her beauty. She had the lightness and swiftness of the one, swift as an +arrow, light as dew; like the other, she shone on the pale background of +the world with the brilliancy of flowers. I could not call by the name +of brother that half-witted lad, nor by the name of mother that immovable +and lovely thing of flesh, whose silly eyes and perpetual simper now +recurred to my mind like something hateful. And if I could not marry, +what then? She was helplessly unprotected; her eyes, in that single and +long glance which had been all our intercourse, had confessed a weakness +equal to my own; but in my heart I knew her for the student of the cold +northern chamber, and the writer of the sorrowful lines; and this was a +knowledge to disarm a brute. To flee was more than I could find courage +for; but I registered a vow of unsleeping circumspection. + +As I turned from the window, my eyes alighted on the portrait. It had +fallen dead, like a candle after sunrise; it followed me with eyes of +paint. I knew it to be like, and marvelled at the tenacity of type in +that declining race; but the likeness was swallowed up in difference. I +remembered how it had seemed to me a thing unapproachable in the life, a +creature rather of the painter's craft than of the modesty of nature, and +I marvelled at the thought, and exulted in the image of Olalla. Beauty I +had seen before, and not been charmed, and I had been often drawn to +women, who were not beautiful except to me; but in Olalla all that I +desired and had not dared to imagine was united. + +I did not see her the next day, and my heart ached and my eyes longed for +her, as men long for morning. But the day after, when I returned, about +my usual hour, she was once more on the gallery, and our looks once more +met and embraced. I would have spoken, I would have drawn near to her; +but strongly as she plucked at my heart, drawing me like a magnet, +something yet more imperious withheld me; and I could only bow and pass +by; and she, leaving my salutation unanswered, only followed me with her +noble eyes. + +I had now her image by rote, and as I conned the traits in memory it +seemed as if I read her very heart. She was dressed with something of +her mother's coquetry, and love of positive colour. Her robe, which I +know she must have made with her own hands, clung about her with a +cunning grace. After the fashion of that country, besides, her bodice +stood open in the middle, in a long slit, and here, in spite of the +poverty of the house, a gold coin, hanging by a ribbon, lay on her brown +bosom. These were proofs, had any been needed, of her inborn delight in +life and her own loveliness. On the other hand, in her eyes that hung +upon mine, I could read depth beyond depth of passion and sadness, lights +of poetry and hope, blacknesses of despair, and thoughts that were above +the earth. It was a lovely body, but the inmate, the soul, was more than +worthy of that lodging. Should I leave this incomparable flower to +wither unseen on these rough mountains? Should I despise the great gift +offered me in the eloquent silence of her eyes? Here was a soul immured; +should I not burst its prison? All side considerations fell off from me; +were she the child of Herod I swore I should make her mine; and that very +evening I set myself, with a mingled sense of treachery and disgrace, to +captivate the brother. Perhaps I read him with more favourable eyes, +perhaps the thought of his sister always summoned up the better qualities +of that imperfect soul; but he had never seemed to me so amiable, and his +very likeness to Olalla, while it annoyed, yet softened me. + +A third day passed in vain--an empty desert of hours. I would not lose a +chance, and loitered all afternoon in the court where (to give myself a +countenance) I spoke more than usual with the Senora. God knows it was +with a most tender and sincere interest that I now studied her; and even +as for Felipe, so now for the mother, I was conscious of a growing warmth +of toleration. And yet I wondered. Even while I spoke with her, she +would doze off into a little sleep, and presently awake again without +embarrassment; and this composure staggered me. And again, as I marked +her make infinitesimal changes in her posture, savouring and lingering on +the bodily pleasure of the movement, I was driven to wonder at this depth +of passive sensuality. She lived in her body; and her consciousness was +all sunk into and disseminated through her members, where it luxuriously +dwelt. Lastly, I could not grow accustomed to her eyes. Each time she +turned on me these great beautiful and meaningless orbs, wide open to the +day, but closed against human inquiry--each time I had occasion to +observe the lively changes of her pupils which expanded and contracted in +a breath--I know not what it was came over me, I can find no name for the +mingled feeling of disappointment, annoyance, and distaste that jarred +along my nerves. I tried her on a variety of subjects, equally in vain; +and at last led the talk to her daughter. But even there she proved +indifferent; said she was pretty, which (as with children) was her +highest word of commendation, but was plainly incapable of any higher +thought; and when I remarked that Olalla seemed silent, merely yawned in +my face and replied that speech was of no great use when you had nothing +to say. 'People speak much, very much,' she added, looking at me with +expanded pupils; and then again yawned and again showed me a mouth that +was as dainty as a toy. This time I took the hint, and, leaving her to +her repose, went up into my own chamber to sit by the open window, +looking on the hills and not beholding them, sunk in lustrous and deep +dreams, and hearkening in fancy to the note of a voice that I had never +heard. + +I awoke on the fifth morning with a brightness of anticipation that +seemed to challenge fate. I was sure of myself, light of heart and foot, +and resolved to put my love incontinently to the touch of knowledge. It +should lie no longer under the bonds of silence, a dumb thing, living by +the eye only, like the love of beasts; but should now put on the spirit, +and enter upon the joys of the complete human intimacy. I thought of it +with wild hopes, like a voyager to El Dorado; into that unknown and +lovely country of her soul, I no longer trembled to adventure. Yet when +I did indeed encounter her, the same force of passion descended on me and +at once submerged my mind; speech seemed to drop away from me like a +childish habit; and I but drew near to her as the giddy man draws near to +the margin of a gulf. She drew back from me a little as I came; but her +eyes did not waver from mine, and these lured me forward. At last, when +I was already within reach of her, I stopped. Words were denied me; if I +advanced I could but clasp her to my heart in silence; and all that was +sane in me, all that was still unconquered, revolted against the thought +of such an accost. So we stood for a second, all our life in our eyes, +exchanging salvos of attraction and yet each resisting; and then, with a +great effort of the will, and conscious at the same time of a sudden +bitterness of disappointment, I turned and went away in the same silence. + +What power lay upon me that I could not speak? And she, why was she also +silent? Why did she draw away before me dumbly, with fascinated eyes? +Was this love? or was it a mere brute attraction, mindless and +inevitable, like that of the magnet for the steel? We had never spoken, +we were wholly strangers: and yet an influence, strong as the grasp of a +giant, swept us silently together. On my side, it filled me with +impatience; and yet I was sure that she was worthy; I had seen her books, +read her verses, and thus, in a sense, divined the soul of my mistress. +But on her side, it struck me almost cold. Of me, she knew nothing but +my bodily favour; she was drawn to me as stones fall to the earth; the +laws that rule the earth conducted her, unconsenting, to my arms; and I +drew back at the thought of such a bridal, and began to be jealous for +myself. It was not thus that I desired to be loved. And then I began to +fall into a great pity for the girl herself. I thought how sharp must be +her mortification, that she, the student, the recluse, Felipe's saintly +monitress, should have thus confessed an overweening weakness for a man +with whom she had never exchanged a word. And at the coming of pity, all +other thoughts were swallowed up; and I longed only to find and console +and reassure her; to tell her how wholly her love was returned on my +side, and how her choice, even if blindly made, was not unworthy. + +The next day it was glorious weather; depth upon depth of blue +over-canopied the mountains; the sun shone wide; and the wind in the +trees and the many falling torrents in the mountains filled the air with +delicate and haunting music. Yet I was prostrated with sadness. My +heart wept for the sight of Olalla, as a child weeps for its mother. I +sat down on a boulder on the verge of the low cliffs that bound the +plateau to the north. Thence I looked down into the wooded valley of a +stream, where no foot came. In the mood I was in, it was even touching +to behold the place untenanted; it lacked Olalla; and I thought of the +delight and glory of a life passed wholly with her in that strong air, +and among these rugged and lovely surroundings, at first with a +whimpering sentiment, and then again with such a fiery joy that I seemed +to grow in strength and stature, like a Samson. + +And then suddenly I was aware of Olalla drawing near. She appeared out +of a grove of cork-trees, and came straight towards me; and I stood up +and waited. She seemed in her walking a creature of such life and fire +and lightness as amazed me; yet she came quietly and slowly. Her energy +was in the slowness; but for inimitable strength, I felt she would have +run, she would have flown to me. Still, as she approached, she kept her +eyes lowered to the ground; and when she had drawn quite near, it was +without one glance that she addressed me. At the first note of her voice +I started. It was for this I had been waiting; this was the last test of +my love. And lo, her enunciation was precise and clear, not lisping and +incomplete like that of her family; and the voice, though deeper than +usual with women, was still both youthful and womanly. She spoke in a +rich chord; golden contralto strains mingled with hoarseness, as the red +threads were mingled with the brown among her tresses. It was not only a +voice that spoke to my heart directly; but it spoke to me of her. And +yet her words immediately plunged me back upon despair. + +'You will go away,' she said, 'to-day.' + +Her example broke the bonds of my speech; I felt as lightened of a +weight, or as if a spell had been dissolved. I know not in what words I +answered; but, standing before her on the cliffs, I poured out the whole +ardour of my love, telling her that I lived upon the thought of her, +slept only to dream of her loveliness, and would gladly forswear my +country, my language, and my friends, to live for ever by her side. And +then, strongly commanding myself, I changed the note; I reassured, I +comforted her; I told her I had divined in her a pious and heroic spirit, +with which I was worthy to sympathise, and which I longed to share and +lighten. 'Nature,' I told her, 'was the voice of God, which men disobey +at peril; and if we were thus humbly drawn together, ay, even as by a +miracle of love, it must imply a divine fitness in our souls; we must be +made,' I said--'made for one another. We should be mad rebels,' I cried +out--'mad rebels against God, not to obey this instinct.' + +She shook her head. 'You will go to-day,' she repeated, and then with a +gesture, and in a sudden, sharp note--'no, not to-day,' she cried, 'to- +morrow!' + +But at this sign of relenting, power came in upon me in a tide. I +stretched out my arms and called upon her name; and she leaped to me and +clung to me. The hills rocked about us, the earth quailed; a shock as of +a blow went through me and left me blind and dizzy. And the next moment +she had thrust me back, broken rudely from my arms, and fled with the +speed of a deer among the cork-trees. + +I stood and shouted to the mountains; I turned and went back towards the +residencia, waltzing upon air. She sent me away, and yet I had but to +call upon her name and she came to me. These were but the weaknesses of +girls, from which even she, the strangest of her sex, was not exempted. +Go? Not I, Olalla--O, not I, Olalla, my Olalla! A bird sang near by; +and in that season, birds were rare. It bade me be of good cheer. And +once more the whole countenance of nature, from the ponderous and stable +mountains down to the lightest leaf and the smallest darting fly in the +shadow of the groves, began to stir before me and to put on the +lineaments of life and wear a face of awful joy. The sunshine struck +upon the hills, strong as a hammer on the anvil, and the hills shook; the +earth, under that vigorous insulation, yielded up heady scents; the woods +smouldered in the blaze. I felt the thrill of travail and delight run +through the earth. Something elemental, something rude, violent, and +savage, in the love that sang in my heart, was like a key to nature's +secrets; and the very stones that rattled under my feet appeared alive +and friendly. Olalla! Her touch had quickened, and renewed, and strung +me up to the old pitch of concert with the rugged earth, to a swelling of +the soul that men learn to forget in their polite assemblies. Love +burned in me like rage; tenderness waxed fierce; I hated, I adored, I +pitied, I revered her with ecstasy. She seemed the link that bound me in +with dead things on the one hand, and with our pure and pitying God upon +the other: a thing brutal and divine, and akin at once to the innocence +and to the unbridled forces of the earth. + +My head thus reeling, I came into the courtyard of the residencia, and +the sight of the mother struck me like a revelation. She sat there, all +sloth and contentment, blinking under the strong sunshine, branded with a +passive enjoyment, a creature set quite apart, before whom my ardour fell +away like a thing ashamed. I stopped a moment, and, commanding such +shaken tones as I was able, said a word or two. She looked at me with +her unfathomable kindness; her voice in reply sounded vaguely out of the +realm of peace in which she slumbered, and there fell on my mind, for the +first time, a sense of respect for one so uniformly innocent and happy, +and I passed on in a kind of wonder at myself, that I should be so much +disquieted. + +On my table there lay a piece of the same yellow paper I had seen in the +north room; it was written on with pencil in the same hand, Olalla's +hand, and I picked it up with a sudden sinking of alarm, and read, 'If +you have any kindness for Olalla, if you have any chivalry for a creature +sorely wrought, go from here to-day; in pity, in honour, for the sake of +Him who died, I supplicate that you shall go.' I looked at this awhile +in mere stupidity, then I began to awaken to a weariness and horror of +life; the sunshine darkened outside on the bare hills, and I began to +shake like a man in terror. The vacancy thus suddenly opened in my life +unmanned me like a physical void. It was not my heart, it was not my +happiness, it was life itself that was involved. I could not lose her. I +said so, and stood repeating it. And then, like one in a dream, I moved +to the window, put forth my hand to open the casement, and thrust it +through the pane. The blood spurted from my wrist; and with an +instantaneous quietude and command of myself, I pressed my thumb on the +little leaping fountain, and reflected what to do. In that empty room +there was nothing to my purpose; I felt, besides, that I required +assistance. There shot into my mind a hope that Olalla herself might be +my helper, and I turned and went down stairs, still keeping my thumb upon +the wound. + +There was no sign of either Olalla or Felipe, and I addressed myself to +the recess, whither the Senora had now drawn quite back and sat dozing +close before the fire, for no degree of heat appeared too much for her. + +'Pardon me,' said I, 'if I disturb you, but I must apply to you for +help.' + +She looked up sleepily and asked me what it was, and with the very words +I thought she drew in her breath with a widening of the nostrils and +seemed to come suddenly and fully alive. + +'I have cut myself,' I said, 'and rather badly. See!' And I held out my +two hands from which the blood was oozing and dripping. + +Her great eyes opened wide, the pupils shrank into points; a veil seemed +to fall from her face, and leave it sharply expressive and yet +inscrutable. And as I still stood, marvelling a little at her +disturbance, she came swiftly up to me, and stooped and caught me by the +hand; and the next moment my hand was at her mouth, and she had bitten me +to the bone. The pang of the bite, the sudden spurting of blood, and the +monstrous horror of the act, flashed through me all in one, and I beat +her back; and she sprang at me again and again, with bestial cries, cries +that I recognised, such cries as had awakened me on the night of the high +wind. Her strength was like that of madness; mine was rapidly ebbing +with the loss of blood; my mind besides was whirling with the abhorrent +strangeness of the onslaught, and I was already forced against the wall, +when Olalla ran betwixt us, and Felipe, following at a bound, pinned down +his mother on the floor. + +A trance-like weakness fell upon me; I saw, heard, and felt, but I was +incapable of movement. I heard the struggle roll to and fro upon the +floor, the yells of that catamount ringing up to Heaven as she strove to +reach me. I felt Olalla clasp me in her arms, her hair falling on my +face, and, with the strength of a man, raise and half drag, half carry me +upstairs into my own room, where she cast me down upon the bed. Then I +saw her hasten to the door and lock it, and stand an instant listening to +the savage cries that shook the residencia. And then, swift and light as +a thought, she was again beside me, binding up my hand, laying it in her +bosom, moaning and mourning over it with dove-like sounds. They were not +words that came to her, they were sounds more beautiful than speech, +infinitely touching, infinitely tender; and yet as I lay there, a thought +stung to my heart, a thought wounded me like a sword, a thought, like a +worm in a flower, profaned the holiness of my love. Yes, they were +beautiful sounds, and they were inspired by human tenderness; but was +their beauty human? + +All day I lay there. For a long time the cries of that nameless female +thing, as she struggled with her half-witted whelp, resounded through the +house, and pierced me with despairing sorrow and disgust. They were the +death-cry of my love; my love was murdered; was not only dead, but an +offence to me; and yet, think as I pleased, feel as I must, it still +swelled within me like a storm of sweetness, and my heart melted at her +looks and touch. This horror that had sprung out, this doubt upon +Olalla, this savage and bestial strain that ran not only through the +whole behaviour of her family, but found a place in the very foundations +and story of our love--though it appalled, though it shocked and sickened +me, was yet not of power to break the knot of my infatuation. + +When the cries had ceased, there came a scraping at the door, by which I +knew Felipe was without; and Olalla went and spoke to him--I know not +what. With that exception, she stayed close beside me, now kneeling by +my bed and fervently praying, now sitting with her eyes upon mine. So +then, for these six hours I drank in her beauty, and silently perused the +story in her face. I saw the golden coin hover on her breaths; I saw her +eyes darken and brighter, and still speak no language but that of an +unfathomable kindness; I saw the faultless face, and, through the robe, +the lines of the faultless body. Night came at last, and in the growing +darkness of the chamber, the sight of her slowly melted; but even then +the touch of her smooth hand lingered in mine and talked with me. To lie +thus in deadly weakness and drink in the traits of the beloved, is to +reawake to love from whatever shock of disillusion. I reasoned with +myself; and I shut my eyes on horrors, and again I was very bold to +accept the worst. What mattered it, if that imperious sentiment +survived; if her eyes still beckoned and attached me; if now, even as +before, every fibre of my dull body yearned and turned to her? Late on +in the night some strength revived in me, and I spoke:-- + +'Olalla,' I said, 'nothing matters; I ask nothing; I am content; I love +you.' + +She knelt down awhile and prayed, and I devoutly respected her devotions. +The moon had begun to shine in upon one side of each of the three +windows, and make a misty clearness in the room, by which I saw her +indistinctly. When she rearose she made the sign of the cross. + +'It is for me to speak,' she said, 'and for you to listen. I know; you +can but guess. I prayed, how I prayed for you to leave this place. I +begged it of you, and I know you would have granted me even this; or if +not, O let me think so!' + +'I love you,' I said. + +'And yet you have lived in the world,' she said; after a pause, 'you are +a man and wise; and I am but a child. Forgive me, if I seem to teach, +who am as ignorant as the trees of the mountain; but those who learn much +do but skim the face of knowledge; they seize the laws, they conceive the +dignity of the design--the horror of the living fact fades from their +memory. It is we who sit at home with evil who remember, I think, and +are warned and pity. Go, rather, go now, and keep me in mind. So I +shall have a life in the cherished places of your memory: a life as much +my own, as that which I lead in this body.' + +'I love you,' I said once more; and reaching out my weak hand, took hers, +and carried it to my lips, and kissed it. Nor did she resist, but winced +a little; and I could see her look upon me with a frown that was not +unkindly, only sad and baffled. And then it seemed she made a call upon +her resolution; plucked my hand towards her, herself at the same time +leaning somewhat forward, and laid it on the beating of her heart. +'There,' she cried, 'you feel the very footfall of my life. It only +moves for you; it is yours. But is it even mine? It is mine indeed to +offer you, as I might take the coin from my neck, as I might break a live +branch from a tree, and give it you. And yet not mine! I dwell, or I +think I dwell (if I exist at all), somewhere apart, an impotent prisoner, +and carried about and deafened by a mob that I disown. This capsule, +such as throbs against the sides of animals, knows you at a touch for its +master; ay, it loves you! But my soul, does my soul? I think not; I +know not, fearing to ask. Yet when you spoke to me your words were of +the soul; it is of the soul that you ask--it is only from the soul that +you would take me.' + +'Olalla,' I said, 'the soul and the body are one, and mostly so in love. +What the body chooses, the soul loves; where the body clings, the soul +cleaves; body for body, soul to soul, they come together at God's signal; +and the lower part (if we can call aught low) is only the footstool and +foundation of the highest.' + +'Have you,' she said, 'seen the portraits in the house of my fathers? +Have you looked at my mother or at Felipe? Have your eyes never rested +on that picture that hangs by your bed? She who sat for it died ages +ago; and she did evil in her life. But, look-again: there is my hand to +the least line, there are my eyes and my hair. What is mine, then, and +what am I? If not a curve in this poor body of mine (which you love, and +for the sake of which you dotingly dream that you love me) not a gesture +that I can frame, not a tone of my voice, not any look from my eyes, no, +not even now when I speak to him I love, but has belonged to others? +Others, ages dead, have wooed other men with my eyes; other men have +heard the pleading of the same voice that now sounds in your ears. The +hands of the dead are in my bosom; they move me, they pluck me, they +guide me; I am a puppet at their command; and I but reinform features and +attributes that have long been laid aside from evil in the quiet of the +grave. Is it me you love, friend? or the race that made me? The girl +who does not know and cannot answer for the least portion of herself? or +the stream of which she is a transitory eddy, the tree of which she is +the passing fruit? The race exists; it is old, it is ever young, it +carries its eternal destiny in its bosom; upon it, like waves upon the +sea, individual succeeds to individual, mocked with a semblance of self- +control, but they are nothing. We speak of the soul, but the soul is in +the race.' + +'You fret against the common law,' I said. 'You rebel against the voice +of God, which he has made so winning to convince, so imperious to +command. Hear it, and how it speaks between us! Your hand clings to +mine, your heart leaps at my touch, the unknown elements of which we are +compounded awake and run together at a look; the clay of the earth +remembers its independent life and yearns to join us; we are drawn +together as the stars are turned about in space, or as the tides ebb and +flow, by things older and greater than we ourselves.' + +'Alas!' she said, 'what can I say to you? My fathers, eight hundred +years ago, ruled all this province: they were wise, great, cunning, and +cruel; they were a picked race of the Spanish; their flags led in war; +the king called them his cousin; the people, when the rope was slung for +them or when they returned and found their hovels smoking, blasphemed +their name. Presently a change began. Man has risen; if he has sprung +from the brutes, he can descend again to the same level. The breath of +weariness blew on their humanity and the cords relaxed; they began to go +down; their minds fell on sleep, their passions awoke in gusts, heady and +senseless like the wind in the gutters of the mountains; beauty was still +handed down, but no longer the guiding wit nor the human heart; the seed +passed on, it was wrapped in flesh, the flesh covered the bones, but they +were the bones and the flesh of brutes, and their mind was as the mind of +flies. I speak to you as I dare; but you have seen for yourself how the +wheel has gone backward with my doomed race. I stand, as it were, upon a +little rising ground in this desperate descent, and see both before and +behind, both what we have lost and to what we are condemned to go farther +downward. And shall I--I that dwell apart in the house of the dead, my +body, loathing its ways--shall I repeat the spell? Shall I bind another +spirit, reluctant as my own, into this bewitched and tempest-broken +tenement that I now suffer in? Shall I hand down this cursed vessel of +humanity, charge it with fresh life as with fresh poison, and dash it, +like a fire, in the faces of posterity? But my vow has been given; the +race shall cease from off the earth. At this hour my brother is making +ready; his foot will soon be on the stair; and you will go with him and +pass out of my sight for ever. Think of me sometimes as one to whom the +lesson of life was very harshly told, but who heard it with courage; as +one who loved you indeed, but who hated herself so deeply that her love +was hateful to her; as one who sent you away and yet would have longed to +keep you for ever; who had no dearer hope than to forget you, and no +greater fear than to be forgotten.' + +She had drawn towards the door as she spoke, her rich voice sounding +softer and farther away; and with the last word she was gone, and I lay +alone in the moonlit chamber. What I might have done had not I lain +bound by my extreme weakness, I know not; but as it was there fell upon +me a great and blank despair. It was not long before there shone in at +the door the ruddy glimmer of a lantern, and Felipe coming, charged me +without a word upon his shoulders, and carried me down to the great gate, +where the cart was waiting. In the moonlight the hills stood out +sharply, as if they were of cardboard; on the glimmering surface of the +plateau, and from among the low trees which swung together and sparkled +in the wind, the great black cube of the residencia stood out bulkily, +its mass only broken by three dimly lighted windows in the northern front +above the gate. They were Olalla's windows, and as the cart jolted +onwards I kept my eyes fixed upon them till, where the road dipped into a +valley, they were lost to my view forever. Felipe walked in silence +beside the shafts, but from time to time he would cheek the mule and seem +to look back upon me; and at length drew quite near and laid his hand +upon my head. There was such kindness in the touch, and such a +simplicity, as of the brutes, that tears broke from me like the bursting +of an artery. + +'Felipe,' I said, 'take me where they will ask no questions.' + +He said never a word, but he turned his mule about, end for end, retraced +some part of the way we had gone, and, striking into another path, led me +to the mountain village, which was, as we say in Scotland, the kirkton of +that thinly peopled district. Some broken memories dwell in my mind of +the day breaking over the plain, of the cart stopping, of arms that +helped me down, of a bare room into which I was carried, and of a swoon +that fell upon me like sleep. + +The next day and the days following the old priest was often at my side +with his snuff-box and prayer book, and after a while, when I began to +pick up strength, he told me that I was now on a fair way to recovery, +and must as soon as possible hurry my departure; whereupon, without +naming any reason, he took snuff and looked at me sideways. I did not +affect ignorance; I knew he must have seen Olalla. 'Sir,' said I, 'you +know that I do not ask in wantonness. What of that family?' + +He said they were very unfortunate; that it seemed a declining race, and +that they were very poor and had been much neglected. + +'But she has not,' I said. 'Thanks, doubtless, to yourself, she is +instructed and wise beyond the use of women.' + +'Yes,' he said; 'the Senorita is well-informed. But the family has been +neglected.' + +'The mother?' I queried. + +'Yes, the mother too,' said the Padre, taking snuff. 'But Felipe is a +well-intentioned lad.' + +'The mother is odd?' I asked. + +'Very odd,' replied the priest. + +'I think, sir, we beat about the bush,' said I. 'You must know more of +my affairs than you allow. You must know my curiosity to be justified on +many grounds. Will you not be frank with me?' + +'My son,' said the old gentleman, 'I will be very frank with you on +matters within my competence; on those of which I know nothing it does +not require much discretion to be silent. I will not fence with you, I +take your meaning perfectly; and what can I say, but that we are all in +God's hands, and that His ways are not as our ways? I have even advised +with my superiors in the church, but they, too, were dumb. It is a great +mystery.' + +'Is she mad?' I asked. + +'I will answer you according to my belief. She is not,' returned the +Padre, 'or she was not. When she was young--God help me, I fear I +neglected that wild lamb--she was surely sane; and yet, although it did +not run to such heights, the same strain was already notable; it had been +so before her in her father, ay, and before him, and this inclined me, +perhaps, to think too lightly of it. But these things go on growing, not +only in the individual but in the race.' + +'When she was young,' I began, and my voice failed me for a moment, and +it was only with a great effort that I was able to add, 'was she like +Olalla?' + +'Now God forbid!' exclaimed the Padre. 'God forbid that any man should +think so slightingly of my favourite penitent. No, no; the Senorita (but +for her beauty, which I wish most honestly she had less of) has not a +hair's resemblance to what her mother was at the same age. I could not +bear to have you think so; though, Heaven knows, it were, perhaps, better +that you should.' + +At this, I raised myself in bed, and opened my heart to the old man; +telling him of our love and of her decision, owning my own horrors, my +own passing fancies, but telling him that these were at an end; and with +something more than a purely formal submission, appealing to his +judgment. + +He heard me very patiently and without surprise; and when I had done, he +sat for some time silent. Then he began: 'The church,' and instantly +broke off again to apologise. 'I had forgotten, my child, that you were +not a Christian,' said he. 'And indeed, upon a point so highly unusual, +even the church can scarce be said to have decided. But would you have +my opinion? The Senorita is, in a matter of this kind, the best judge; I +would accept her judgment.' + +On the back of that he went away, nor was he thenceforward so assiduous +in his visits; indeed, even when I began to get about again, he plainly +feared and deprecated my society, not as in distaste but much as a man +might be disposed to flee from the riddling sphynx. The villagers, too, +avoided me; they were unwilling to be my guides upon the mountain. I +thought they looked at me askance, and I made sure that the more +superstitious crossed themselves on my approach. At first I set this +down to my heretical opinions; but it began at length to dawn upon me +that if I was thus redoubted it was because I had stayed at the +residencia. All men despise the savage notions of such peasantry; and +yet I was conscious of a chill shadow that seemed to fall and dwell upon +my love. It did not conquer, but I may not deny that it restrained my +ardour. + +Some miles westward of the village there was a gap in the sierra, from +which the eye plunged direct upon the residencia; and thither it became +my daily habit to repair. A wood crowned the summit; and just where the +pathway issued from its fringes, it was overhung by a considerable shelf +of rock, and that, in its turn, was surmounted by a crucifix of the size +of life and more than usually painful in design. This was my perch; +thence, day after day, I looked down upon the plateau, and the great old +house, and could see Felipe, no bigger than a fly, going to and fro about +the garden. Sometimes mists would draw across the view, and be broken up +again by mountain winds; sometimes the plain slumbered below me in +unbroken sunshine; it would sometimes be all blotted out by rain. This +distant post, these interrupted sights of the place where my life had +been so strangely changed, suited the indecision of my humour. I passed +whole days there, debating with myself the various elements of our +position; now leaning to the suggestions of love, now giving an ear to +prudence, and in the end halting irresolute between the two. + +One day, as I was sitting on my rock, there came by that way a somewhat +gaunt peasant wrapped in a mantle. He was a stranger, and plainly did +not know me even by repute; for, instead of keeping the other side, he +drew near and sat down beside me, and we had soon fallen in talk. Among +other things he told me he had been a muleteer, and in former years had +much frequented these mountains; later on, he had followed the army with +his mules, had realised a competence, and was now living retired with his +family. + +'Do you know that house?' I inquired, at last, pointing to the +residencia, for I readily wearied of any talk that kept me from the +thought of Olalla. + +He looked at me darkly and crossed himself. + +'Too well,' he said, 'it was there that one of my comrades sold himself +to Satan; the Virgin shield us from temptations! He has paid the price; +he is now burning in the reddest place in Hell!' + +A fear came upon me; I could answer nothing; and presently the man +resumed, as if to himself: 'Yes,' he said, 'O yes, I know it. I have +passed its doors. There was snow upon the pass, the wind was driving it; +sure enough there was death that night upon the mountains, but there was +worse beside the hearth. I took him by the arm, Senor, and dragged him +to the gate; I conjured him, by all he loved and respected, to go forth +with me; I went on my knees before him in the snow; and I could see he +was moved by my entreaty. And just then she came out on the gallery, and +called him by his name; and he turned, and there was she standing with a +lamp in her hand and smiling on him to come back. I cried out aloud to +God, and threw my arms about him, but he put me by, and left me alone. He +had made his choice; God help us. I would pray for him, but to what end? +there are sins that not even the Pope can loose.' + +'And your friend,' I asked, 'what became of him?' + +'Nay, God knows,' said the muleteer. 'If all be true that we hear, his +end was like his sin, a thing to raise the hair.' + +'Do you mean that he was killed?' I asked. + +'Sure enough, he was killed,' returned the man. 'But how? Ay, how? But +these are things that it is sin to speak of.' + +'The people of that house . . . ' I began. + +But he interrupted me with a savage outburst. 'The people?' he cried. +'What people? There are neither men nor women in that house of Satan's! +What? have you lived here so long, and never heard?' And here he put his +mouth to my ear and whispered, as if even the fowls of the mountain might +have over-heard and been stricken with horror. + +What he told me was not true, nor was it even original; being, indeed, +but a new edition, vamped up again by village ignorance and superstition, +of stories nearly as ancient as the race of man. It was rather the +application that appalled me. In the old days, he said, the church would +have burned out that nest of basilisks; but the arm of the church was now +shortened; his friend Miguel had been unpunished by the hands of men, and +left to the more awful judgment of an offended God. This was wrong; but +it should be so no more. The Padre was sunk in age; he was even +bewitched himself; but the eyes of his flock were now awake to their own +danger; and some day--ay, and before long--the smoke of that house should +go up to heaven. + +He left me filled with horror and fear. Which way to turn I knew not; +whether first to warn the Padre, or to carry my ill-news direct to the +threatened inhabitants of the residencia. Fate was to decide for me; +for, while I was still hesitating, I beheld the veiled figure of a woman +drawing near to me up the pathway. No veil could deceive my penetration; +by every line and every movement I recognised Olalla; and keeping hidden +behind a corner of the rock, I suffered her to gain the summit. Then I +came forward. She knew me and paused, but did not speak; I, too, +remained silent; and we continued for some time to gaze upon each other +with a passionate sadness. + +'I thought you had gone,' she said at length. 'It is all that you can do +for me--to go. It is all I ever asked of you. And you still stay. But +do you know, that every day heaps up the peril of death, not only on your +head, but on ours? A report has gone about the mountain; it is thought +you love me, and the people will not suffer it.' + +I saw she was already informed of her danger, and I rejoiced at it. +'Olalla,' I said, 'I am ready to go this day, this very hour, but not +alone.' + +She stepped aside and knelt down before the crucifix to pray, and I stood +by and looked now at her and now at the object of her adoration, now at +the living figure of the penitent, and now at the ghastly, daubed +countenance, the painted wounds, and the projected ribs of the image. The +silence was only broken by the wailing of some large birds that circled +sidelong, as if in surprise or alarm, about the summit of the hills. +Presently Olalla rose again, turned towards me, raised her veil, and, +still leaning with one hand on the shaft of the crucifix, looked upon me +with a pale and sorrowful countenance. + +'I have laid my hand upon the cross,' she said. 'The Padre says you are +no Christian; but look up for a moment with my eyes, and behold the face +of the Man of Sorrows. We are all such as He was--the inheritors of sin; +we must all bear and expiate a past which was not ours; there is in all +of us--ay, even in me--a sparkle of the divine. Like Him, we must endure +for a little while, until morning returns bringing peace. Suffer me to +pass on upon my way alone; it is thus that I shall be least lonely, +counting for my friend Him who is the friend of all the distressed; it is +thus that I shall be the most happy, having taken my farewell of earthly +happiness, and willingly accepted sorrow for my portion.' + +I looked at the face of the crucifix, and, though I was no friend to +images, and despised that imitative and grimacing art of which it was a +rude example, some sense of what the thing implied was carried home to my +intelligence. The face looked down upon me with a painful and deadly +contraction; but the rays of a glory encircled it, and reminded me that +the sacrifice was voluntary. It stood there, crowning the rock, as it +still stands on so many highway sides, vainly preaching to passers-by, an +emblem of sad and noble truths; that pleasure is not an end, but an +accident; that pain is the choice of the magnanimous; that it is best to +suffer all things and do well. I turned and went down the mountain in +silence; and when I looked back for the last time before the wood closed +about my path, I saw Olalla still leaning on the crucifix. + + + + +THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD. + + +CHAPTER I. BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK. + + +They had sent for the doctor from Bourron before six. About eight some +villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters +stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real +people, and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was +gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street for Doctor Desprez. + +The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the little +dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in another, when the +messenger arrived. + +'Sapristi!' said the Doctor, 'you should have sent for me before. It was +a case for hurry.' And he followed the messenger as he was, in his +slippers and skull-cap. + +The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop there; +he went in at one door and out by another into the court, and then led +the way by a flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft where the +mountebank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live a thousand years, he +would never forget his arrival in that room; for not only was the scene +picturesque, but the moment made a date in his existence. We reckon our +lives, I hardly know why, from the date of our first sorry appearance in +society, as if from a first humiliation; for no actor can come upon the +stage with a worse grace. Not to go further back, which would be judged +too curious, there are subsequently many moving and decisive accidents in +the lives of all, which would make as logical a period as this of birth. +And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, who had made +what is called a failure in life, and was moreover married, found himself +at a new point of departure when he opened the door of the loft above +Tentaillon's stable. + +It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set upon the floor. +The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man, with a +Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over +him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a +chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet +dangling. These three were the only occupants, except the shadows. But +the shadows were a company in themselves; the extent of the room +exaggerated them to a gigantic size, and from the low position of the +candle the light struck upwards and produced deformed foreshortenings. +The mountebank's profile was enlarged upon the wall in caricature, and it +was strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was blown +about by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than +a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. The +chair legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy set perched +atop of them, like a cloud, in the corner of the roof. + +It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched skull, +the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes. It +was not merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the softest +ruddy brown. There was a look in them, besides, which thrilled the +Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He was sure he had seen such a look +before, and yet he could not remember how or where. It was as if this +boy, who was quite a stranger to him, had the eyes of an old friend or an +old enemy. And the boy would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly +indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in a +superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet against the bars of +the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But, for all that, +his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room with a thoughtful +fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether he was fascinating the +boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He busied himself over the sick +man: he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot +and swore: and still, whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes +waiting for his with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze. + +At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered the look +now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a dart, had the +eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not at all deformed, and +yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at you from below his brows. +The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so much relieved to find a theory +(for he loved theories) and to explain away his interest. + +For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, still +kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round and looked the +boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but +looked placidly back at the Doctor. + +'Is this your father?' asked Desprez. + +'Oh, no,' returned the boy; 'my master.' + +'Are you fond of him?' continued the Doctor. + +'No, sir,' said the boy. + +Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances. + +'That is bad, my man,' resumed the latter, with a shade of sternness. +'Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their sentiments; and +your master here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while +stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappointment when he flies +away over my garden wall, and I see him steer for the forest and vanish. +How much more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute, so richly +endowed with faculties! When I think that, in a few hours, the speech +will be silenced, the breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from +the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, +are touched with some affection.' + +The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting. + +'You did not know him,' he replied at last, 'he was a bad man.' + +'He is a little pagan,' said the landlady. 'For that matter, they are +all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what not. They +have no interior.' + +But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his eyebrows +knotted and uplifted. + +'What is your name?' he asked. + +'Jean-Marie,' said the lad. + +Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of excitement, and +felt his head all over from an ethnological point of view. + +'Celtic, Celtic!' he said. + +'Celtic!' cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word +with hydrocephalous. 'Poor lad! is it dangerous?' + +'That depends,' returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more +addressing the boy: 'And what do you do for your living, Jean-Marie?' he +inquired. + +'I tumble,' was the answer. + +'So! Tumble?' repeated Desprez. 'Probably healthful. I hazard the +guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And +have you never done anything else but tumble?' + +'Before I learned that, I used to steal,' answered Jean-Marie gravely. + +'Upon my word!' cried the doctor. 'You are a nice little man for your +age. Madame, when my _confrere_ comes from Bourron, you will communicate +my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his hands; but of course, +on any alarming symptom, above all if there should be a sign of rally, do +not hesitate to knock me up. I am a doctor no longer, I thank God; but I +have been one. Good night, madame. Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie.' + + + +CHAPTER II. MORNING TALK + + +Doctor Desprez always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before the +first cart rattled over the bridge to the day's labour in the fields, he +was to be found wandering in his garden. Now he would pick a bunch of +grapes; now he would eat a big pear under the trellice; now he would draw +all sorts of fancies on the path with the end of his cane; now he would +go down and watch the river running endlessly past the timber landing- +place at which he moored his boat. There was no time, he used to say, +for making theories like the early morning. 'I rise earlier than any one +else in the village,' he once boasted. 'It is a fair consequence that I +know more and wish to do less with my knowledge.' + +The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a good theatrical +effect to usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by which he could +predict the weather. Indeed, most things served him to that end: the +sound of the bells from all the neighbouring villages, the smell of the +forest, the visits and the behaviour of both birds and fishes, the look +of the plants in his garden, the disposition of cloud, the colour of the +light, and last, although not least, the arsenal of meteorological +instruments in a louvre-boarded hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had +settled at Gretz, he had been growing more and more into the local +meteorologist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He thought at +first there was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the end +of the second year, he protested there was none so wholesome in the whole +department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had been +prepared to challenge all France and the better part of Europe for a +rival to his chosen spot. + +'Doctor,' he would say--'doctor is a foul word. It should not be used to +ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our civilisation, +that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now I, for my part, have +washed my hands of it; I have renounced my laureation; I am no doctor; I +am only a worshipper of the true goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe me, it is +she who has the cestus! And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she +placed her shrine: here she dwells and lavishes her gifts; here I walk +with her in the early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made +the peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow up +tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the river become clean +and agile at her presence.--Rheumatism!' he would cry, on some malapert +interruption, 'O, yes, I believe we do have a little rheumatism. That +could hardly be avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the place +stands a little low; and the meadows are marshy, there's no doubt. But, +my dear sir, look at Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to +the forest; plenty of ozone there, you would say. Well, compared with +Gretz, Bourron is a perfect shambles.' + +The morning after he had been summoned to the dying mountebank, the +Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long look +at the running water. This he called prayer; but whether his adorations +were addressed to the goddess Hygieia or some more orthodox deity, never +plainly appeared. For he had uttered doubtful oracles, sometimes +declaring that a river was the type of bodily health, sometimes extolling +it as the great moral preacher, continually preaching peace, continuity, +and diligence to man's tormented spirits. After he had watched a mile or +so of the clear water running by before his eyes, seen a fish or two come +to the surface with a gleam of silver, and sufficiently admired the long +shadows of the trees falling half across the river from the opposite +bank, with patches of moving sunlight in between, he strolled once more +up the garden and through his house into the street, feeling cool and +renovated. + +The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the business of the day; +for the village was still sound asleep. The church tower looked very +airy in the sunlight; a few birds that turned about it, seemed to swim in +an atmosphere of more than usual rarity; and the Doctor, walking in long +transparent shadows, filled his lungs amply, and proclaimed himself well +contented with the morning. + +On one of the posts before Tentaillon's carriage entry he espied a little +dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, and immediately recognised +Jean-Marie. + +'Aha!' he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand on either +knee. 'So we rise early in the morning, do we? It appears to me that we +have all the vices of a philosopher.' + +The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation. + +'And how is our patient?' asked Desprez. + +It appeared the patient was about the same. + +'And why do you rise early in the morning?' he pursued. + +Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly knew. + +'You hardly know?' repeated Desprez. 'We hardly know anything, my man, +until we try to learn. Interrogate your consciousness. Come, push me +this inquiry home. Do you like it?' + +'Yes,' said the boy slowly; 'yes, I like it.' + +'And why do you like it?' continued the Doctor. '(We are now pursuing +the Socratic method.) Why do you like it?' + +'It is quiet,' answered Jean-Marie; 'and I have nothing to do; and then I +feel as if I were good.' + +Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite side. He was +beginning to take an interest in the talk, for the boy plainly thought +before he spoke, and tried to answer truly. 'It appears you have a taste +for feeling good,' said the Doctor. 'Now, there you puzzle me extremely; +for I thought you said you were a thief; and the two are incompatible.' + +'Is it very bad to steal?' asked Jean-Marie. + +'Such is the general opinion, little boy,' replied the Doctor. + +'No; but I mean as I stole,' explained the other. 'For I had no choice. +I think it is surely right to have bread; it must be right to have bread, +there comes so plain a want of it. And then they beat me cruelly if I +returned with nothing,' he added. 'I was not ignorant of right and +wrong; for before that I had been well taught by a priest, who was very +kind to me.' (The Doctor made a horrible grimace at the word 'priest.') +'But it seemed to me, when one had nothing to eat and was beaten, it was +a different affair. I would not have stolen for tartlets, I believe; but +any one would steal for baker's bread.' + +'And so I suppose,' said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, 'you prayed God +to forgive you, and explained the case to Him at length.' + +'Why, sir?' asked Jean-Marie. 'I do not see.' + +'Your priest would see, however,' retorted Desprez. + +'Would he?' asked the boy, troubled for the first time. 'I should have +thought God would have known.' + +'Eh?' snarled the Doctor. + +'I should have thought God would have understood me,' replied the other. +'You do not, I see; but then it was God that made me think so, was it +not?' + +'Little boy, little boy,' said Dr. Desprez, 'I told you already you had +the vices of philosophy; if you display the virtues also, I must go. I +am a student of the blessed laws of health, an observer of plain and +temperate nature in her common walks; and I cannot preserve my equanimity +in presence of a monster. Do you understand?' + +'No, sir,' said the boy. + +'I will make my meaning clear to you,' replied the doctor. 'Look there +at the sky--behind the belfry first, where it is so light, and then up +and up, turning your chin back, right to the top of the dome, where it is +already as blue as at noon. Is not that a beautiful colour? Does it not +please the heart? We have seen it all our lives, until it has grown in +with our familiar thoughts. Now,' changing his tone, 'suppose that sky +to become suddenly of a live and fiery amber, like the colour of clear +coals, and growing scarlet towards the top--I do not say it would be any +the less beautiful; but would you like it as well?' + +'I suppose not,' answered Jean-Marie. + +'Neither do I like you,' returned the Doctor, roughly. 'I hate all odd +people, and you are the most curious little boy in all the world.' + +Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then he raised his head +again and looked over at the Doctor with an air of candid inquiry. 'But +are not you a very curious gentleman?' he asked. + +The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the boy, clasped him to his +bosom, and kissed him on both cheeks. 'Admirable, admirable imp!' he +cried. 'What a morning, what an hour for a theorist of forty-two! No,' +he continued, apostrophising heaven, 'I did not know such boys existed; I +was ignorant they made them so; I had doubted of my race; and now! It is +like,' he added, picking up his stick, 'like a lovers' meeting. I have +bruised my favourite staff in that moment of enthusiasm. The injury, +however, is not grave.' He caught the boy looking at him in obvious +wonder, embarrassment, and alarm. 'Hullo!' said he, 'why do you look at +me like that? Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do you despise me, +boy?' + +'O, no,' replied Jean-Marie, seriously; 'only I do not understand.' + +'You must excuse me, sir,' returned the Doctor, with gravity; 'I am still +so young. O, hang him!' he added to himself. And he took his seat again +and observed the boy sardonically. 'He has spoiled the quiet of my +morning,' thought he. 'I shall be nervous all day, and have a febricule +when I digest. Let me compose myself.' And so he dismissed his +pre-occupations by an effort of the will which he had long practised, and +let his soul roam abroad in the contemplation of the morning. He inhaled +the air, tasting it critically as a connoisseur tastes a vintage, and +prolonging the expiration with hygienic gusto. He counted the little +flecks of cloud along the sky. He followed the movements of the birds +round the church tower--making long sweeps, hanging poised, or turning +airy somersaults in fancy, and beating the wind with imaginary pinions. +And in this way he regained peace of mind and animal composure, conscious +of his limbs, conscious of the sight of his eyes, conscious that the air +had a cool taste, like a fruit, at the top of his throat; and at last, in +complete abstraction, he began to sing. The Doctor had but one air--, +'Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre;' even with that he was on terms of mere +politeness; and his musical exploits were always reserved for moments +when he was alone and entirely happy. + +He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on the boy's face. +'What do you think of my singing?' he inquired, stopping in the middle of +a note; and then, after he had waited some little while and received no +answer, 'What do you think of my singing?' he repeated, imperiously. + +'I do not like it,' faltered Jean-Marie. + +'Oh, come!' cried the Doctor. 'Possibly you are a performer yourself?' + +'I sing better than that,' replied the boy. + +The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction. He was aware that +he was angry, and blushed for himself in consequence, which made him +angrier. 'If this is how you address your master!' he said at last, with +a shrug and a flourish of his arms. + +'I do not speak to him at all,' returned the boy. 'I do not like him.' + +'Then you like me?' snapped Doctor Desprez, with unusual eagerness. + +'I do not know,' answered Jean-Marie. + +The Doctor rose. 'I shall wish you a good morning,' he said. 'You are +too much for me. Perhaps you have blood in your veins, perhaps celestial +ichor, or perhaps you circulate nothing more gross than respirable air; +but of one thing I am inexpugnably assured:--that you are no human being. +No, boy'--shaking his stick at him--'you are not a human being. Write, +write it in your memory--"I am not a human being--I have no pretension to +be a human being--I am a dive, a dream, an angel, an acrostic, an +illusion--what you please, but not a human being." And so accept my +humble salutations and farewell!' + +And with that the Doctor made off along the street in some emotion, and +the boy stood, mentally gaping, where he left him. + + + +CHAPTER III. THE ADOPTION. + + +Madame Desprez, who answered to the Christian name of Anastasie, +presented an agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly wholesome to look +upon, a stout _brune_, with cool smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, and +hands that neither art nor nature could improve. She was the sort of +person over whom adversity passes like a summer cloud; she might, in the +worst of conjunctions, knit her brows into one vertical furrow for a +moment, but the next it would be gone. She had much of the placidity of +a contented nun; with little of her piety, however; for Anastasie was of +a very mundane nature, fond of oysters and old wine, and somewhat bold +pleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her own sake rather than for +his. She was imperturbably good-natured, but had no idea of +self-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden +behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best, +to gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear stays +or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to be kept in +a continual supply of racy novels, and to be married to Doctor Desprez +and have no ground of jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim. +Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor days, when he had aired quite +as many theories, but of a different order, attributed his present +philosophy to the study of Anastasie. It was her brute enjoyment that he +rationalised and perhaps vainly imitated. + +Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a nicety. +She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected the Doctor; +everything was in its place; everything capable of polish shone +gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her empire. Aline, their +single servant, had no other business in the world but to scour and +burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted calf, warmed +and cosseted to his heart's content. + +The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from the +river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a +dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a +bottle _plus_ one glass, the wife half a bottle _minus_ the same +quantity, which was a marital privilege, of an excellent Cote-Rotie, +seven years old. Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse +for madame, for the Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; and +then Aline left the wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion. + +'It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,' observed the +Doctor--'this coffee is adorable--a very fortunate circumstance upon the +whole--Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for to-day; only +one day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation.' + +'What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?' inquired Anastasie, not +heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence. + +'That we have no children, my beautiful,' replied the Doctor. 'I think +of it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more gratitude +towards the Power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health, my +darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they would +all have suffered, how they would all have been sacrificed! And for +what? Children are the last word of human imperfection. Health flees +before their face. They cry, my dear; they put vexatious questions; they +demand to be fed, to be washed, to be educated, to have their noses +blown; and then, when the time comes, they break our hearts, as I break +this piece of sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you and me, +should avoid offspring, like an infidelity.' + +'Indeed!' said she; and she laughed. 'Now, that is like you--to take +credit for the thing you could not help.' + +'My dear,' returned the Doctor, solemnly, 'we might have adopted.' + +'Never!' cried madame. 'Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the child +were my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take another +person's indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have too much +sense.' + +'Precisely,' replied the Doctor. 'We both had. And I am all the better +pleased with our wisdom, because--because--' He looked at her sharply. + +'Because what?' she asked, with a faint premonition of danger. + +'Because I have found the right person,' said the Doctor firmly, 'and +shall adopt him this afternoon.' + +Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. 'You have lost your reason,' she +said; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed to threaten trouble. + +'Not so, my dear,' he replied; 'I retain its complete exercise. To the +proof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I have, by way of +preparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will there, I think, +recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to call you wife. The fact +is, I have been reckoning all this while without an accident. I never +thought to find a son of my own. Now, last night, I found one. Do not +unnecessarily alarm yourself, my dear; he is not a drop of blood to me +that I know. It is his mind, darling, his mind that calls me father.' + +'His mind!' she repeated with a titter between scorn and hysterics. 'His +mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are you mad? His +mind! And what of my mind?' + +'Truly,' replied the Doctor with a shrug, 'you have your finger on the +hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautiful +Anastasie. She will never understand him; he will never understand her. +You married the animal side of my nature, dear and it is on the spiritual +side that I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much so, that, to be +perfectly frank, I stand in some awe of him myself. You will easily +perceive that I am announcing a calamity for you. Do not,' he broke out +in tones of real solicitude--'do not give way to tears after a meal, +Anastasie. You will certainly give yourself a false digestion.' + +Anastasie controlled herself. 'You know how willing I am to humour you,' +she said, 'in all reasonable matters. But on this point--' + +'My dear love,' interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal, 'who +wished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the opera, and the +boulevard, and my social relations, and all that was my life before I +knew you? Have I been faithful? Have I been obedient? Have I not borne +my doom with cheerfulness? In all honesty, Anastasie, have I not a right +to a stipulation on my side? I have, and you know it. I stipulate my +son.' + +Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly. 'You +will break my heart,' she sighed. + +'Not in the least,' said he. 'You will feel a trifling inconvenience for +a month, just as I did when I was first brought to this vile hamlet; then +your admirable sense and temper will prevail, and I see you already as +content as ever, and making your husband the happiest of men.' + +'You know I can refuse you nothing,' she said, with a last flicker of +resistance; 'nothing that will make you truly happier. But will this? +Are you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found him! He may be +the worst of humbugs.' + +'I think not,' replied the Doctor. 'But do not suppose me so unwary as +to adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a finished man of the +world; I have had all possibilities in view; my plan is contrived to meet +them all. I take the lad as stable boy. If he pilfer, if he grumble, if +he desire to change, I shall see I was mistaken; I shall recognise him +for no son of mine, and send him tramping.' + +'You will never do so when the time comes,' said his wife; 'I know your +good heart.' + +She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as he +took it and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with greater +ease than he had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth time he had +proved the efficacy of his trusty argument, his Excalibur, the hint of a +return to Paris. Six months in the capital, for a man of the Doctor's +antecedents and relations, implied no less a calamity than total ruin. +Anastasie had saved the remainder of his fortune by keeping him strictly +in the country. The very name of Paris put her in a blue fear; and she +would have allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the back garden, +let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather than permit the question of +return to be discussed. + +About four of the afternoon, the mountebank rendered up his ghost; he had +never been conscious since his seizure. Doctor Desprez was present at +his last passage, and declared the farce over. Then he took Jean-Marie +by the shoulder and led him out into the inn garden where there was a +convenient bench beside the river. Here he sat him down and made the boy +place himself on his left. + +'Jean-Marie,' he said very gravely, 'this world is exceedingly vast; and +even France, which is only a small corner of it, is a great place for a +little lad like you. Unfortunately it is full of eager, shouldering +people moving on; and there are very few bakers' shops for so many +eaters. Your master is dead; you are not fit to gain a living by +yourself; you do not wish to steal? No. Your situation then is +undesirable; it is, for the moment, critical. On the other hand, you +behold in me a man not old, though elderly, still enjoying the youth of +the heart and the intelligence; a man of instruction; easily situated in +this world's affairs; keeping a good table:--a man, neither as friend nor +host, to be despised. I offer you your food and clothes, and to teach +you lessons in the evening, which will be infinitely more to the purpose +for a lad of your stamp than those of all the priests in Europe. I +propose no wages, but if ever you take a thought to leave me, the door +shall be open, and I will give you a hundred francs to start the world +upon. In return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you would very +speedily learn to clean and keep in order. Do not hurry yourself to +answer, and take it or leave it as you judge aright. Only remember this, +that I am no sentimentalist or charitable person, but a man who lives +rigorously to himself; and that if I make the proposal, it is for my own +ends--it is because I perceive clearly an advantage to myself. And now, +reflect.' + +'I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can do. I thank you, +sir, most kindly, and I will try to be useful,' said the boy. + +'Thank you,' said the Doctor warmly, rising at the same time and wiping +his brow, for he had suffered agonies while the thing hung in the wind. A +refusal, after the scene at noon, would have placed him in a ridiculous +light before Anastasie. 'How hot and heavy is the evening, to be sure! I +have always had a fancy to be a fish in summer, Jean-Marie, here in the +Loing beside Gretz. I should lie under a water-lily and listen to the +bells, which must sound most delicately down below. That would be a +life--do you not think so too?' + +'Yes,' said Jean-Marie. + +'Thank God you have imagination!' cried the Doctor, embracing the boy +with his usual effusive warmth, though it was a proceeding that seemed to +disconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had been an English +schoolboy of the same age. 'And now,' he added, 'I will take you to my +wife.' + +Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool wrapper. All the blinds +were down, and the tile floor had been recently sprinkled with water; her +eyes were half shut, but she affected to be reading a novel as the they +entered. Though she was a bustling woman, she enjoyed repose between +whiles and had a remarkable appetite for sleep. + +The Doctor went through a solemn form of introduction, adding, for the +benefit of both parties, 'You must try to like each other for my sake.' + +'He is very pretty,' said Anastasie. 'Will you kiss me, my pretty little +fellow?' + +The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the passage. 'Are you a +fool, Anastasie?' he said. 'What is all this I hear about the tact of +women? Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my experience. You +address my little philosopher as if he were an infant. He must be spoken +to with more respect, I tell you; he must not be kissed and +Georgy-porgy'd like an ordinary child.' + +'I only did it to please you, I am sure,' replied Anastasie; 'but I will +try to do better.' + +The Doctor apologised for his warmth. 'But I do wish him,' he continued, +'to feel at home among us. And really your conduct was so idiotic, my +cherished one, and so utterly and distantly out of place, that a saint +might have been pardoned a little vehemence in disapproval. Do, do +try--if it is possible for a woman to understand young people--but of +course it is not, and I waste my breath. Hold your tongue as much as +possible at least, and observe my conduct narrowly; it will serve you for +a model.' + +Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered the Doctor's behaviour. +She observed that he embraced the boy three times in the course of the +evening, and managed generally to confound and abash the little fellow +out of speech and appetite. But she had the true womanly heroism in +little affairs. Not only did she refrain from the cheap revenge of +exposing the Doctor's errors to himself, but she did her best to remove +their ill-effect on Jean-Marie. When Desprez went out for his last +breath of air before retiring for the night, she came over to the boy's +side and took his hand. + +'You must not be surprised nor frightened by my husband's manners,' she +said. 'He is the kindest of men, but so clever that he is sometimes +difficult to understand. You will soon grow used to him, and then you +will love him, for that nobody can help. As for me, you may be sure, I +shall try to make you happy, and will not bother you at all. I think we +should be excellent friends, you and I. I am not clever, but I am very +good-natured. Will you give me a kiss?' + +He held up his face, and she took him in her arms and then began to cry. +The woman had spoken in complaisance; but she had warmed to her own +words, and tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering, found them +enlaced: he concluded that his wife was in fault; and he was just +beginning, in an awful voice, 'Anastasie--,' when she looked up at him, +smiling, with an upraised finger; and he held his peace, wondering, while +she led the boy to his attic. + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER. + + +The installation of the adopted stable-boy was thus happily effected, and +the wheels of life continued to run smoothly in the Doctor's house. Jean- +Marie did his horse and carriage duty in the morning; sometimes helped in +the housework; sometimes walked abroad with the Doctor, to drink wisdom +from the fountain-head; and was introduced at night to the sciences and +the dead tongues. He retained his singular placidity of mind and manner; +he was rarely in fault; but he made only a very partial progress in his +studies, and remained much of a stranger in the family. + +The Doctor was a pattern of regularity. All forenoon he worked on his +great book, the 'Comparative Pharmacopoeia, or Historical Dictionary of +all Medicines,' which as yet consisted principally of slips of paper and +pins. When finished, it was to fill many personable volumes, and to +combine antiquarian interest with professional utility. But the Doctor +was studious of literary graces and the picturesque; an anecdote, a touch +of manners, a moral qualification, or a sounding epithet was sure to be +preferred before a piece of science; a little more, and he would have +written the 'Comparative Pharmacopoeia' in verse! The article 'Mummia,' +for instance, was already complete, though the remainder of the work had +not progressed beyond the letter A. It was exceedingly copious and +entertaining, written with quaintness and colour, exact, erudite, a +literary article; but it would hardly have afforded guidance to a +practising physician of to-day. The feminine good sense of his wife had +led her to point this out with uncompromising sincerity; for the +Dictionary was duly read aloud to her, betwixt sleep and waning, as it +proceeded towards an infinitely distant completion; and the Doctor was a +little sore on the subject of mummies, and sometimes resented an allusion +with asperity. + +After the midday meal and a proper period of digestion, he walked, +sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Jean-Marie; for madame would +have preferred any hardship rather than walk. + +She was, as I have said, a very busy person, continually occupied about +material comforts, and ready to drop asleep over a novel the instant she +was disengaged. This was the less objectionable, as she never snored or +grew distempered in complexion when she slept. On the contrary, she +looked the very picture of luxurious and appetising ease, and woke +without a start to the perfect possession of her faculties. I am afraid +she was greatly an animal, but she was a very nice animal to have about. +In this way, she had little to do with Jean-Marie; but the sympathy which +had been established between them on the first night remained unbroken; +they held occasional conversations, mostly on household matters; to the +extreme disappointment of the Doctor, they occasionally sallied off +together to that temple of debasing superstition, the village church; +madame and he, both in their Sunday's best, drove twice a month to +Fontainebleau and returned laden with purchases; and in short, although +the Doctor still continued to regard them as irreconcilably +anti-pathetic, their relation was as intimate, friendly, and confidential +as their natures suffered. + +I fear, however, that in her heart of hearts, madame kindly despised and +pitied the boy. She had no admiration for his class of virtues; she +liked a smart, polite, forward, roguish sort of boy, cap in hand, light +of foot, meeting the eye; she liked volubility, charm, a little vice--the +promise of a second Doctor Desprez. And it was her indefeasible belief +that Jean-Marie was dull. 'Poor dear boy,' she had said once, 'how sad +it is that he should be so stupid!' She had never repeated that remark, +for the Doctor had raged like a wild bull, denouncing the brutal +bluntness of her mind, bemoaning his own fate to be so unequally mated +with an ass, and, what touched Anastasie more nearly, menacing the table +china by the fury of his gesticulations. But she adhered silently to her +opinion; and when Jean-Marie was sitting, stolid, blank, but not unhappy, +over his unfinished tasks, she would snatch her opportunity in the +Doctor's absence, go over to him, put her arms about his neck, lay her +cheek to his, and communicate her sympathy with his distress. 'Do not +mind,' she would say; 'I, too, am not at all clever, and I can assure you +that it makes no difference in life.' + +The Doctor's view was naturally different. That gentleman never wearied +of the sound of his own voice, which was, to say the truth, agreeable +enough to hear. He now had a listener, who was not so cynically +indifferent as Anastasie, and who sometimes put him on his mettle by the +most relevant objections. Besides, was he not educating the boy? And +education, philosophers are agreed, is the most philosophical of duties. +What can be more heavenly to poor mankind than to have one's hobby grow +into a duty to the State? Then, indeed, do the ways of life become ways +of pleasantness. Never had the Doctor seen reason to be more content +with his endowments. Philosophy flowed smoothly from his lips. He was +so agile a dialectician that he could trace his nonsense, when +challenged, back to some root in sense, and prove it to be a sort of +flower upon his system. He slipped out of antinomies like a fish, and +left his disciple marvelling at the rabbi's depth. + +Moreover, deep down in his heart the Doctor was disappointed with the ill- +success of his more formal education. A boy, chosen by so acute an +observer for his aptitude, and guided along the path of learning by so +philosophic an instructor, was bound, by the nature of the universe, to +make a more obvious and lasting advance. Now Jean-Marie was slow in all +things, impenetrable in others; and his power of forgetting was fully on +a level with his power to learn. Therefore the Doctor cherished his +peripatetic lectures, to which the boy attended, which he generally +appeared to enjoy, and by which he often profited. + +Many and many were the talks they had together; and health and moderation +proved the subject of the Doctor's divagations. To these he lovingly +returned. + +'I lead you,' he would say, 'by the green pastures. My system, my +beliefs, my medicines, are resumed in one phrase--to avoid excess. +Blessed nature, healthy, temperate nature, abhors and exterminates +excess. Human law, in this matter, imitates at a great distance her +provisions; and we must strive to supplement the efforts of the law. Yes, +boy, we must be a law to ourselves and for ourselves and for our +neighbours--lex armata--armed, emphatic, tyrannous law. If you see a +crapulous human ruin snuffing, dash from him his box! The judge, though +in a way an admission of disease, is less offensive to me than either the +doctor or the priest. Above all the doctor--the doctor and the purulent +trash and garbage of his pharmacopoeia! Pure air--from the neighbourhood +of a pinetum for the sake of the turpentine--unadulterated wine, and the +reflections of an unsophisticated spirit in the presence of the works of +nature--these, my boy, are the best medical appliances and the best +religious comforts. Devote yourself to these. Hark! there are the bells +of Bourron (the wind is in the north, it will be fair). How clear and +airy is the sound! The nerves are harmonised and quieted; the mind +attuned to silence; and observe how easily and regularly beats the heart! +Your unenlightened doctor would see nothing in these sensations; and yet +you yourself perceive they are a part of health.--Did you remember your +cinchona this morning? Good. Cinchona also is a work of nature; it is, +after all, only the bark of a tree which we might gather for ourselves if +we lived in the locality.--What a world is this! Though a professed +atheist, I delight to bear my testimony to the world. Look at the +gratuitous remedies and pleasures that surround our path! The river runs +by the garden end, our bath, our fishpond, our natural system of +drainage. There is a well in the court which sends up sparkling water +from the earth's very heart, clean, cool, and, with a little wine, most +wholesome. The district is notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is +the only prevalent complaint, and I myself have never had a touch of it. +I tell you--and my opinion is based upon the coldest, clearest processes +of reason--if I, if you, desired to leave this home of pleasures, it +would be the duty, it would be the privilege, of our best friend to +prevent us with a pistol bullet.' + +One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside the village. The +river, as blue as heaven, shone here and there among the foliage. The +indefatigable birds turned and flickered about Gretz church tower. A +healthy wind blew from over the forest, and the sound of innumerable +thousands of tree-tops and innumerable millions on millions of green +leaves was abroad in the air, and filled the ear with something between +whispered speech and singing. It seemed as if every blade of grass must +hide a cigale; and the fields rang merrily with their music, jingling far +and near as with the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. From their station +on the slope the eye embraced a large space of poplar'd plain upon the +one hand, the waving hill-tops of the forest on the other, and Gretz +itself in the middle, a handful of roofs. Under the bestriding arch of +the blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It seemed +incredible that people dwelt, and could find room to turn or air to +breathe, in such a corner of the world. The thought came home to the +boy, perhaps for the first time, and he gave it words. + +'How small it looks!' he sighed. + +'Ay,' replied the Doctor, 'small enough now. Yet it was once a walled +city; thriving, full of furred burgesses and men in armour, humming with +affairs;--with tall spires, for aught that I know, and portly towers +along the battlements. A thousand chimneys ceased smoking at the curfew +bell. There were gibbets at the gate as thick as scarecrows. In time of +war, the assault swarmed against it with ladders, the arrows fell like +leaves, the defenders sallied hotly over the drawbridge, each side +uttered its cry as they plied their weapons. Do you know that the walls +extended as far as the Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas, what a +long way off is all this confusion--nothing left of it but my quiet words +spoken in your ear--and the town itself shrunk to the hamlet underneath +us! By-and-by came the English wars--you shall hear more of the English, +a stupid people, who sometimes blundered into good--and Gretz was taken, +sacked, and burned. It is the history of many towns; but Gretz never +rose again; it was never rebuilt; its ruins were a quarry to serve the +growth of rivals; and the stones of Gretz are now erect along the streets +of Nemours. It gratifies me that our old house was the first to rise +after the calamity; when the town had come to an end, it inaugurated the +hamlet.' + +'I, too, am glad of that,' said Jean-Marie. + +'It should be the temple of the humbler virtues,' responded the Doctor +with a savoury gusto. 'Perhaps one of the reasons why I love my little +hamlet as I do, is that we have a similar history, she and I. Have I +told you that I was once rich?' + +'I do not think so,' answered Jean-Marie. 'I do not think I should have +forgotten. I am sorry you should have lost your fortune.' + +'Sorry?' cried the Doctor. 'Why, I find I have scarce begun your +education after all. Listen to me! Would you rather live in the old +Gretz or in the new, free from the alarms of war, with the green country +at the door, without noise, passports, the exactions of the soldiery, or +the jangle of the curfew-bell to send us off to bed by sundown?' + +'I suppose I should prefer the new,' replied the boy. + +'Precisely,' returned the Doctor; 'so do I. And, in the same way, I +prefer my present moderate fortune to my former wealth. Golden +mediocrity! cried the adorable ancients; and I subscribe to their +enthusiasm. Have I not good wine, good food, good air, the fields and +the forest for my walk, a house, an admirable wife, a boy whom I protest +I cherish like a son? Now, if I were still rich, I should indubitably +make my residence in Paris--you know Paris--Paris and Paradise are not +convertible terms. This pleasant noise of the wind streaming among +leaves changed into the grinding Babel of the street, the stupid glare of +plaster substituted for this quiet pattern of greens and greys, the +nerves shattered, the digestion falsified--picture the fall! Already you +perceive the consequences; the mind is stimulated, the heart steps to a +different measure, and the man is himself no longer. I have passionately +studied myself--the true business of philosophy. I know my character as +the musician knows the ventages of his flute. Should I return to Paris, +I should ruin myself gambling; nay, I go further--I should break the +heart of my Anastasie with infidelities.' + +This was too much for Jean-Marie. That a place should so transform the +most excellent of men transcended his belief. Paris, he protested, was +even an agreeable place of residence. 'Nor when I lived in that city did +I feel much difference,' he pleaded. + +'What!' cried the Doctor. 'Did you not steal when you were there?' + +But the boy could never be brought to see that he had done anything wrong +when he stole. Nor, indeed, did the Doctor think he had; but that +gentleman was never very scrupulous when in want of a retort. + +'And now,' he concluded, 'do you begin to understand? My only friends +were those who ruined me. Gretz has been my academy, my sanatorium, my +heaven of innocent pleasures. If millions are offered me, I wave them +back: _Retro_, _Sathanas_!--Evil one, begone! Fix your mind on my +example; despise riches, avoid the debasing influence of cities. +Hygiene--hygiene and mediocrity of fortune--these be your watchwords +during life!' + +The Doctor's system of hygiene strikingly coincided with his tastes; and +his picture of the perfect life was a faithful description of the one he +was leading at the time. But it is easy to convince a boy, whom you +supply with all the facts for the discussion. And besides, there was one +thing admirable in the philosophy, and that was the enthusiasm of the +philosopher. There was never any one more vigorously determined to be +pleased; and if he was not a great logician, and so had no right to +convince the intellect, he was certainly something of a poet, and had a +fascination to seduce the heart. What he could not achieve in his +customary humour of a radiant admiration of himself and his +circumstances, he sometimes effected in his fits of gloom. + +'Boy,' he would say, 'avoid me to-day. If I were superstitious, I should +even beg for an interest in your prayers. I am in the black fit; the +evil spirit of King Saul, the hag of the merchant Abudah, the personal +devil of the mediaeval monk, is with me--is in me,' tapping on his +breast. 'The vices of my nature are now uppermost; innocent pleasures +woo me in vain; I long for Paris, for my wallowing in the mire. See,' he +would continue, producing a handful of silver, 'I denude myself, I am not +to be trusted with the price of a fare. Take it, keep it for me, +squander it on deleterious candy, throw it in the deepest of the river--I +will homologate your action. Save me from that part of myself which I +disown. If you see me falter, do not hesitate; if necessary, wreck the +train! I speak, of course, by a parable. Any extremity were better than +for me to reach Paris alive.' + +Doubtless the Doctor enjoyed these little scenes, as a variation in his +part; they represented the Byronic element in the somewhat artificial +poetry of his existence; but to the boy, though he was dimly aware of +their theatricality, they represented more. The Doctor made perhaps too +little, the boy possibly too much, of the reality and gravity of these +temptations. + +One day a great light shone for Jean-Marie. 'Could not riches be used +well?' he asked. + +'In theory, yes,' replied the Doctor. 'But it is found in experience +that no one does so. All the world imagine they will be exceptional when +they grow wealthy; but possession is debasing, new desires spring up; and +the silly taste for ostentation eats out the heart of pleasure.' + +'Then you might be better if you had less,' said the boy. + +'Certainly not,' replied the Doctor; but his voice quavered as he spoke. + +'Why?' demanded pitiless innocence. + +Doctor Desprez saw all the colours of the rainbow in a moment; the stable +universe appeared to be about capsizing with him. 'Because,' said +he--affecting deliberation after an obvious pause--'because I have formed +my life for my present income. It is not good for men of my years to be +violently dissevered from their habits.' + +That was a sharp brush. The Doctor breathed hard, and fell into +taciturnity for the afternoon. As for the boy, he was delighted with the +resolution of his doubts; even wondered that he had not foreseen the +obvious and conclusive answer. His faith in the Doctor was a stout piece +of goods. Desprez was inclined to be a sheet in the wind's eye after +dinner, especially after Rhone wine, his favourite weakness. He would +then remark on the warmth of his feeling for Anastasie, and with inflamed +cheeks and a loose, flustered smile, debate upon all sorts of topics, and +be feebly and indiscreetly witty. But the adopted stable-boy would not +permit himself to entertain a doubt that savoured of ingratitude. It is +quite true that a man may be a second father to you, and yet take too +much to drink; but the best natures are ever slow to accept such truths. + +The Doctor thoroughly possessed his heart, but perhaps he exaggerated his +influence over his mind. Certainly Jean-Marie adopted some of his +master's opinions, but I have yet to learn that he ever surrendered one +of his own. Convictions existed in him by divine right; they were +virgin, unwrought, the brute metal of decision. He could add others +indeed, but he could not put away; neither did he care if they were +perfectly agreed among themselves; and his spiritual pleasures had +nothing to do with turning them over or justifying them in words. Words +were with him a mere accomplishment, like dancing. When he was by +himself, his pleasures were almost vegetable. He would slip into the +woods towards Acheres, and sit in the mouth of a cave among grey birches. +His soul stared straight out of his eyes; he did not move or think; +sunlight, thin shadows moving in the wind, the edge of firs against the +sky, occupied and bound his faculties. He was pure unity, a spirit +wholly abstracted. A single mood filled him, to which all the objects of +sense contributed, as the colours of the spectrum merge and disappear in +white light. + +So while the Doctor made himself drunk with words, the adopted stable-boy +bemused himself with silence. + + + +CHAPTER V. TREASURE TROVE. + + +The Doctor's carriage was a two-wheeled gig with a hood; a kind of +vehicle in much favour among country doctors. On how many roads has one +not seen it, a great way off between the poplars!--in how many village +streets, tied to a gate-post! This sort of chariot is +affected--particularly at the trot--by a kind of pitching movement to and +fro across the axle, which well entitles it to the style of a Noddy. The +hood describes a considerable arc against the landscape, with a solemnly +absurd effect on the contemplative pedestrian. To ride in such a +carriage cannot be numbered among the things that appertain to glory; but +I have no doubt it may be useful in liver complaint. Thence, perhaps, +its wide popularity among physicians. + +One morning early, Jean-Marie led forth the Doctor's noddy, opened the +gate, and mounted to the driving-seat. The Doctor followed, arrayed from +top to toe in spotless linen, armed with an immense flesh-coloured +umbrella, and girt with a botanical case on a baldric; and the equipage +drove off smartly in a breeze of its own provocation. They were bound +for Franchard, to collect plants, with an eye to the 'Comparative +Pharmacopoeia.' + +A little rattling on the open roads, and they came to the borders of the +forest and struck into an unfrequented track; the noddy yawed softly over +the sand, with an accompaniment of snapping twigs. There was a great, +green, softly murmuring cloud of congregated foliage overhead. In the +arcades of the forest the air retained the freshness of the night. The +athletic bearing of the trees, each carrying its leafy mountain, pleased +the mind like so many statues; and the lines of the trunk led the eye +admiringly upward to where the extreme leaves sparkled in a patch of +azure. Squirrels leaped in mid air. It was a proper spot for a devotee +of the goddess Hygieia. + +'Have you been to Franchard, Jean-Marie?' inquired the Doctor. 'I fancy +not.' + +'Never,' replied the boy. + +'It is ruin in a gorge,' continued Desprez, adopting his expository +voice; 'the ruin of a hermitage and chapel. History tells us much of +Franchard; how the recluse was often slain by robbers; how he lived on a +most insufficient diet; how he was expected to pass his days in prayer. A +letter is preserved, addressed to one of these solitaries by the superior +of his order, full of admirable hygienic advice; bidding him go from his +book to praying, and so back again, for variety's sake, and when he was +weary of both to stroll about his garden and observe the honey bees. It +is to this day my own system. You must often have remarked me leaving +the "Pharmacopoeia"--often even in the middle of a phrase--to come forth +into the sun and air. I admire the writer of that letter from my heart; +he was a man of thought on the most important subjects. But, indeed, had +I lived in the Middle Ages (I am heartily glad that I did not) I should +have been an eremite myself--if I had not been a professed buffoon, that +is. These were the only philosophical lives yet open: laughter or +prayer; sneers, we might say, and tears. Until the sun of the Positive +arose, the wise man had to make his choice between these two.' + +'I have been a buffoon, of course,' observed Jean-Marie. + +'I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your profession,' said the +Doctor, admiring the boy's gravity. 'Do you ever laugh?' + +'Oh, yes,' replied the other. 'I laugh often. I am very fond of jokes.' + +'Singular being!' said Desprez. 'But I divagate (I perceive in a +thousand ways that I grow old). Franchard was at length destroyed in the +English wars, the same that levelled Gretz. But--here is the point--the +hermits (for there were already more than one) had foreseen the danger +and carefully concealed the sacrificial vessels. These vessels were of +monstrous value, Jean-Marie--monstrous value--priceless, we may say; +exquisitely worked, of exquisite material. And now, mark me, they have +never been found. In the reign of Louis Quatorze some fellows were +digging hard by the ruins. Suddenly--tock!--the spade hit upon an +obstacle. Imagine the men fooling one to another; imagine how their +hearts bounded, how their colour came and went. It was a coffer, and in +Franchard the place of buried treasure! They tore it open like famished +beasts. Alas! it was not the treasure; only some priestly robes, which, +at the touch of the eating air, fell upon themselves and instantly wasted +into dust. The perspiration of these good fellows turned cold upon them, +Jean-Marie. I will pledge my reputation, if there was anything like a +cutting wind, one or other had a pneumonia for his trouble.' + +'I should like to have seen them turning into dust,' said Jean-Marie. +'Otherwise, I should not have cared so greatly.' + +'You have no imagination,' cried the Doctor. 'Picture to yourself the +scene. Dwell on the idea--a great treasure lying in the earth for +centuries: the material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence not +employed; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen; the swiftest galloping +horses not stirring a hoof, arrested by a spell; women with the beautiful +faculty of smiles, not smiling; cards, dice, opera singing, orchestras, +castles, beautiful parks and gardens, big ships with a tower of +sailcloth, all lying unborn in a coffin--and the stupid trees growing +overhead in the sunlight, year after year. The thought drives one +frantic.' + +'It is only money,' replied Jean-Marie. 'It would do harm.' + +'O, come!' cried Desprez, 'that is philosophy; it is all very fine, but +not to the point just now. And besides, it is not "only money," as you +call it; there are works of art in the question; the vessels were carved. +You speak like a child. You weary me exceedingly, quoting my words out +of all logical connection, like a parroquet.' + +'And at any rate, we have nothing to do with it,' returned the boy +submissively. + +They struck the Route Ronde at that moment; and the sudden change to the +rattling causeway combined, with the Doctor's irritation, to keep him +silent. The noddy jigged along; the trees went by, looking on silently, +as if they had something on their minds. The Quadrilateral was passed; +then came Franchard. They put up the horse at the little solitary inn, +and went forth strolling. The gorge was dyed deeply with heather; the +rocks and birches standing luminous in the sun. A great humming of bees +about the flowers disposed Jean-Marie to sleep, and he sat down against a +clump of heather, while the Doctor went briskly to and fro, with quick +turns, culling his simples. + +The boy's head had fallen a little forward, his eyes were closed, his +fingers had fallen lax about his knees, when a sudden cry called him to +his feet. It was a strange sound, thin and brief; it fell dead, and +silence returned as though it had never been interrupted. He had not +recognised the Doctor's voice; but, as there was no one else in all the +valley, it was plainly the Doctor who had given utterance to the sound. +He looked right and left, and there was Desprez, standing in a niche +between two boulders, and looking round on his adopted son with a +countenance as white as paper. + +'A viper!' cried Jean-Marie, running towards him. 'A viper! You are +bitten!' + +The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and, advanced in silence +to meet the boy, whom he took roughly by the shoulder. + +'I have found it,' he said, with a gasp. + +'A plant?' asked Jean-Marie. + +Desprez had a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the rocks took up and +mimicked. 'A plant!' he repeated scornfully. 'Well--yes--a plant. And +here,' he added suddenly, showing his right hand, which he had hitherto +concealed behind his back--'here is one of the bulbs.' + +Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth. + +'That?' said he. 'It is a plate!' + +'It is a coach and horses,' cried the Doctor. 'Boy,' he continued, +growing warmer, 'I plucked away a great pad of moss from between these +boulders, and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what do you +suppose I saw? I saw a house in Paris with a court and garden, I saw my +wife shining with diamonds, I saw myself a deputy, I saw you--well, I--I +saw your future,' he concluded, rather feebly. 'I have just discovered +America,' he added. + +'But what is it?' asked the boy. + +'The Treasure of Franchard,' cried the Doctor; and, throwing his brown +straw hat upon the ground, he whooped like an Indian and sprang upon Jean- +Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and bedewed with tears. Then he +flung himself down among the heather and once more laughed until the +valley rang. + +But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy's interest. No sooner +was he released from the Doctor's accolade than he ran to the boulders, +sprang into the niche, and, thrusting his hand into the crevice, drew +forth one after another, encrusted with the earth of ages, the flagons, +candlesticks, and patens of the hermitage of Franchard. A casket came +last, tightly shut and very heavy. + +'O what fun!' he cried. + +But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had followed close behind and +was silently observing, the words died from his lips. Desprez was once +more the colour of ashes; his lip worked and trembled; a sort of bestial +greed possessed him. + +'This is childish,' he said. 'We lose precious time. Back to the inn, +harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your life, and +remember--not one whisper. I stay here to watch.' + +Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The noddy was +brought round to the spot indicated; and the two gradually transported +the treasure from its place of concealment to the boot below the driving +seat. Once it was all stored the Doctor recovered his gaiety. + +'I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,' he said. 'O, for +a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in the vein for +sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at +Franchard. English pale ale is to be had--not classical, indeed, but +excellent. Boy, we shall drink ale.' + +'But I thought it was so unwholesome,' said Jean-Marie, 'and very dear +besides.' + +'Fiddle-de-dee!' exclaimed the Doctor gaily. 'To the inn!' + +And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head, with an elastic, +youthful air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew up +beside the palings of the inn garden. + +'Here,' said Desprez--'here, near the table, so that we may keep an eye +upon things.' + +They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, now in +fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from his chest. +He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter with +witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at length produced, far more +charged with gas than the most delirious champagne, he filled out a long +glassful of froth and pushed it over to Jean-Marie. 'Drink,' he said; +'drink deep.' + +'I would rather not,' faltered the boy, true to his training. + +'What?' thundered Desprez. + +'I am afraid of it,' said Jean-Marie: 'my stomach--' + +'Take it or leave it,' interrupted Desprez fiercely; 'but understand it +once for all--there is nothing so contemptible as a precisian.' + +Here was a new lesson! The boy sat bemused, looking at the glass but not +tasting it, while the Doctor emptied and refilled his own, at first with +clouded brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the heady, prickling +beverage, and his own predisposition to be happy. + +'Once in a way,' he said at last, by way of a concession to the boy's +more rigorous attitude, 'once in a way, and at so critical a moment, this +ale is a nectar for the gods. The habit, indeed, is debasing; wine, the +juice of the grape, is the true drink of the Frenchman, as I have often +had occasion to point out; and I do not know that I can blame you for +refusing this outlandish stimulant. You can have some wine and cakes. Is +the bottle empty? Well, we will not be proud; we will have pity on your +glass.' + +The beer being done, the Doctor chafed bitterly while Jean-Marie finished +his cakes. 'I burn to be gone,' he said, looking at his watch. 'Good +God, how slow you eat!' And yet to eat slowly was his own particular +prescription, the main secret of longevity! + +His martyrdom, however, reached an end at last; the pair resumed their +places in the buggy, and Desprez, leaning luxuriously back, announced his +intention of proceeding to Fontainebleau. + +'To Fontainebleau?' repeated Jean-Marie. + +'My words are always measured,' said the Doctor. 'On!' + +The Doctor was driven through the glades of paradise; the air, the light, +the shining leaves, the very movements of the vehicle, seemed to fall in +tune with his golden meditations; with his head thrown back, he dreamed a +series of sunny visions, ale and pleasure dancing in his veins. At last +he spoke. + +'I shall telegraph for Casimir,' he said. 'Good Casimir! a fellow of the +lower order of intelligence, Jean-Marie, distinctly not creative, not +poetic; and yet he will repay your study; his fortune is vast, and is +entirely due to his own exertions. He is the very fellow to help us to +dispose of our trinkets, find us a suitable house in Paris, and manage +the details of our installation. Admirable Casimir, one of my oldest +comrades! It was on his advice, I may add, that I invested my little +fortune in Turkish bonds; when we have added these spoils of the mediaeval +church to our stake in the Mahometan empire, little boy, we shall +positively roll among doubloons, positively roll! Beautiful forest,' he +cried, 'farewell! Though called to other scenes, I will not forget thee. +Thy name is graven in my heart. Under the influence of prosperity I +become dithyrambic, Jean-Marie. Such is the impulse of the natural soul; +such was the constitution of primaeval man. And I--well, I will not +refuse the credit--I have preserved my youth like a virginity; another, +who should have led the same snoozing, countryfied existence for these +years, another had become rusted, become stereotype; but I, I praise my +happy constitution, retain the spring unbroken. Fresh opulence and a new +sphere of duties find me unabated in ardour and only more mature by +knowledge. For this prospective change, Jean-Marie--it may probably have +shocked you. Tell me now, did it not strike you as an inconsistency? +Confess--it is useless to dissemble--it pained you?' + +'Yes,' said the boy. + +'You see,' returned the Doctor, with sublime fatuity, 'I read your +thoughts! Nor am I surprised--your education is not yet complete; the +higher duties of men have not been yet presented to you fully. A +hint--till we have leisure--must suffice. Now that I am once more in +possession of a modest competence; now that I have so long prepared +myself in silent meditation, it becomes my superior duty to proceed to +Paris. My scientific training, my undoubted command of language, mark me +out for the service of my country. Modesty in such a case would be a +snare. If sin were a philosophical expression, I should call it sinful. +A man must not deny his manifest abilities, for that is to evade his +obligations. I must be up and doing; I must be no skulker in life's +battle.' + +So he rattled on, copiously greasing the joint of his inconsistency with +words; while the boy listened silently, his eyes fixed on the horse, his +mind seething. It was all lost eloquence; no array of words could +unsettle a belief of Jean-Marie's; and he drove into Fontainebleau filled +with pity, horror, indignation, and despair. + +In the town Jean-Marie was kept a fixture on the driving-seat, to guard +the treasure; while the Doctor, with a singular, slightly tipsy airiness +of manner, fluttered in and out of cafes, where he shook hands with +garrison officers, and mixed an absinthe with the nicety of old +experience; in and out of shops, from which he returned laden with costly +fruits, real turtle, a magnificent piece of silk for his wife, a +preposterous cane for himself, and a kepi of the newest fashion for the +boy; in and out of the telegraph office, whence he despatched his +telegram, and where three hours later he received an answer promising a +visit on the morrow; and generally pervaded Fontainebleau with the first +fine aroma of his divine good humour. + +The sun was very low when they set forth again; the shadows of the forest +trees extended across the broad white road that led them home; the +penetrating odour of the evening wood had already arisen, like a cloud of +incense, from that broad field of tree-tops; and even in the streets of +the town, where the air had been baked all day between white walls, it +came in whiffs and pulses, like a distant music. Half-way home, the last +gold flicker vanished from a great oak upon the left; and when they came +forth beyond the borders of the wood, the plain was already sunken in +pearly greyness, and a great, pale moon came swinging skyward through the +filmy poplars. + +The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor talked. He spoke of the +woods, and the wars, and the deposition of dew; he brightened and babbled +of Paris; he soared into cloudy bombast on the glories of the political +arena. All was to be changed; as the day departed, it took with it the +vestiges of an outworn existence, and to-morrow's sun was to inaugurate +the new. 'Enough,' he cried, 'of this life of maceration!' His wife +(still beautiful, or he was sadly partial) was to be no longer buried; +she should now shine before society. Jean-Marie would find the world at +his feet; the roads open to success, wealth, honour, and post-humous +renown. 'And O, by the way,' said he, 'for God's sake keep your tongue +quiet! You are, of course, a very silent fellow; it is a quality I +gladly recognise in you--silence, golden silence! But this is a matter +of gravity. No word must get abroad; none but the good Casimir is to be +trusted; we shall probably dispose of the vessels in England.' + +'But are they not even ours?' the boy said, almost with a sob--it was the +only time he had spoken. + +'Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else's,' replied the Doctor. +'But the State would have some claim. If they were stolen, for instance, +we should be unable to demand their restitution; we should have no title; +we should be unable even to communicate with the police. Such is the +monstrous condition of the law. {263} It is a mere instance of what +remains to be done, of the injustices that may yet be righted by an +ardent, active, and philosophical deputy.' + +Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and as they drove forward +down the road from Bourron, between the rustling poplars, he prayed in +his teeth, and whipped up the horse to an unusual speed. Surely, as soon +as they arrived, madame would assert her character, and bring this waking +nightmare to an end. + +Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and accompanied by a most furious +barking; all the dogs in the village seemed to smell the treasure in the +noddy. But there was no one in the street, save three lounging landscape +painters at Tentaillon's door. Jean-Marie opened the green gate and led +in the horse and carriage; and almost at the same moment Madame Desprez +came to the kitchen threshold with a lighted lantern; for the moon was +not yet high enough to clear the garden walls. + +'Close the gates, Jean-Marie!' cried the Doctor, somewhat unsteadily +alighting. 'Anastasie, where is Aline?' + +'She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,' said madame. + +'All is for the best!' exclaimed the Doctor fervently. 'Here, quick, +come near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud,' he continued. +'Darling, we are wealthy!' + +'Wealthy!' repeated the wife. + +'I have found the treasure of Franchard,' replied her husband. 'See, +here are the first fruits; a pineapple, a dress for my ever-beautiful--it +will suit her--trust a husband's, trust a lover's, taste! Embrace me, +darling! This grimy episode is over; the butterfly unfolds its painted +wings. To-morrow Casimir will come; in a week we may be in Paris--happy +at last! You shall have diamonds. Jean-Marie, take it out of the boot, +with religious care, and bring it piece by piece into the dining-room. We +shall have plate at table! Darling, hasten and prepare this turtle; it +will be a whet--it will be an addition to our meagre ordinary. I myself +will proceed to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that little +Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage; there are still three +bottles left. Worthy wine for a worthy occasion.' + +'But, my husband; you put me in a whirl,' she cried. 'I do not +comprehend.' + +'The turtle, my adored, the turtle!' cried the doctor; and he pushed her +towards the kitchen, lantern and all. + +Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured to himself a different +scene--a more immediate protest, and his hope began to dwindle on the +spot. + +The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps, and +now and then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long since he +had tasted absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that the absinthe +had been a misconception. Not that he regretted excess on such a +glorious day, but he made a mental memorandum to beware; he must not, a +second time, become the victim of a deleterious habit. He had his wine +out of the cellar in a twinkling; he arranged the sacrificial vessels, +some on the white table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still crusted with +historic earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, plying Anastasie with +vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, estimating their new +wealth at ever larger figures; and before they sat down to supper, the +lady's virtue had melted in the fire of his enthusiasm, her timidity had +disappeared; she, too, had begun to speak disparagingly of the life at +Gretz; and as she took her place and helped the soup, her eyes shone with +the glitter of prospective diamonds. + +All through the meal, she and the Doctor made and unmade fairy plans. +They bobbed and bowed and pledged each other. Their faces ran over with +smiles; their eyes scattered sparkles, as they projected the Doctor's +political honours and the lady's drawing-room ovations. + +'But you will not be a Red!' cried Anastasie. + +'I am Left Centre to the core,' replied the Doctor. + +'Madame Gastein will present us--we shall find ourselves forgotten,' said +the lady. + +'Never,' protested the Doctor. 'Beauty and talent leave a mark.' + +'I have positively forgotten how to dress,' she sighed. + +'Darling, you make me blush,' cried he. 'Yours has been a tragic +marriage!' + +'But your success--to see you appreciated, honoured, your name in all the +papers, that will be more than pleasure--it will be heaven!' she cried. + +'And once a week,' said the Doctor, archly scanning the syllables, 'once +a week--one good little game of baccarat?' + +'Only once a week?' she questioned, threatening him with a finger. + +'I swear it by my political honour,' cried he. + +'I spoil you,' she said, and gave him her hand. + +He covered it with kisses. + +Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon swung high over Gretz. He +went down to the garden end and sat on the jetty. The river ran by with +eddies of oily silver, and a low, monotonous song. Faint veils of mist +moved among the poplars on the farther side. The reeds were quietly +nodding. A hundred times already had the boy sat, on such a night, and +watched the streaming river with untroubled fancy. And this perhaps was +to be the last. He was to leave this familiar hamlet, this green, +rustling country, this bright and quiet stream; he was to pass into the +great city; his dear lady mistress was to move bedizened in saloons; his +good, garrulous, kind-hearted master to become a brawling deputy; and +both be lost for ever to Jean-Marie and their better selves. He knew his +own defects; he knew he must sink into less and less consideration in the +turmoil of a city life, sink more and more from the child into the +servant. And he began dimly to believe the Doctor's prophecies of evil. +He could see a change in both. His generous incredulity failed him for +this once; a child must have perceived that the Hermitage had completed +what the absinthe had begun. If this were the first day, what would be +the last? 'If necessary, wreck the train,' thought he, remembering the +Doctor's parable. He looked round on the delightful scene; he drank deep +of the charmed night air, laden with the scent of hay. 'If necessary, +wreck the train,' he repeated. And he rose and returned to the house. + + + +CHAPTER VI. A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS. + + +The next morning there was a most unusual outcry, in the Doctor's house. +The last thing before going to bed, the Doctor had locked up some +valuables in the dining-room cupboard; and behold, when he rose again, as +he did about four o'clock, the cupboard had been broken open, and the +valuables in question had disappeared. Madame and Jean-Marie were +summoned from their rooms, and appeared in hasty toilets; they found the +Doctor raving, calling the heavens to witness and avenge his injury, +pacing the room bare-footed, with the tails of his night-shirt flirting +as he turned. + +'Gone!' he said; 'the things are gone, the fortune gone! We are paupers +once more. Boy! what do you know of this? Speak up, sir, speak up. Do +you know of it? Where are they?' He had him by the arm, shaking him +like a bag, and the boy's words, if he had any, were jolted forth in +inarticulate murmurs. The Doctor, with a revulsion from his own +violence, set him down again. He observed Anastasie in tears. +'Anastasie,' he said, in quite an altered voice, 'compose yourself, +command your feelings. I would not have you give way to passion like the +vulgar. This--this trifling accident must be lived down. Jean-Marie, +bring me my smaller medicine chest. A gentle laxative is indicated.' + +And he dosed the family all round, leading the way himself with a double +quantity. The wretched Anastasie, who had never been ill in the whole +course of her existence, and whose soul recoiled from remedies, wept +floods of tears as she sipped, and shuddered, and protested, and then was +bullied and shouted at until she sipped again. As for Jean-Marie, he +took his portion down with stoicism. + +'I have given him a less amount,' observed the Doctor, 'his youth +protecting him against emotion. And now that we have thus parried any +morbid consequences, let us reason.' + +'I am so cold,' wailed Anastasie. + +'Cold!' cried the Doctor. 'I give thanks to God that I am made of +fierier material. Why, madam, a blow like this would set a frog into a +transpiration. If you are cold, you can retire; and, by the way, you +might throw me down my trousers. It is chilly for the legs.' + +'Oh, no!' protested Anastasie; 'I will stay with you.' + +'Nay, madam, you shall not suffer for your devotion,' said the Doctor. 'I +will myself fetch you a shawl.' And he went upstairs and returned more +fully clad and with an armful of wraps for the shivering Anastasie. 'And +now,' he resumed, 'to investigate this crime. Let us proceed by +induction. Anastasie, do you know anything that can help us?' Anastasie +knew nothing. 'Or you, Jean-Marie?' + +'Not I,' replied the boy steadily. + +'Good,' returned the Doctor. 'We shall now turn our attention to the +material evidences. (I was born to be a detective; I have the eye and +the systematic spirit.) First, violence has been employed. The door was +broken open; and it may be observed, in passing, that the lock was dear +indeed at what I paid for it: a crow to pluck with Master Goguelat. +Second, here is the instrument employed, one of our own table-knives, one +of our best, my dear; which seems to indicate no preparation on the part +of the gang--if gang it was. Thirdly, I observe that nothing has been +removed except the Franchard dishes and the casket; our own silver has +been minutely respected. This is wily; it shows intelligence, a +knowledge of the code, a desire to avoid legal consequences. I argue +from this fact that the gang numbers persons of respectability--outward, +of course, and merely outward, as the robbery proves. But I argue, +second, that we must have been observed at Franchard itself by some +occult observer, and dogged throughout the day with a skill and patience +that I venture to qualify as consummate. No ordinary man, no occasional +criminal, would have shown himself capable of this combination. We have +in our neighbourhood, it is far from improbable, a retired bandit of the +highest order of intelligence.' + +'Good heaven!' cried the horrified Anastasie. 'Henri, how can you?' + +'My cherished one, this is a process of induction,' said the Doctor. 'If +any of my steps are unsound, correct me. You are silent? Then do not, I +beseech you, be so vulgarly illogical as to revolt from my conclusion. We +have now arrived,' he resumed, 'at some idea of the composition of the +gang--for I incline to the hypothesis of more than one--and we now leave +this room, which can disclose no more, and turn our attention to the +court and garden. (Jean-Marie, I trust you are observantly following my +various steps; this is an excellent piece of education for you.) Come +with me to the door. No steps on the court; it is unfortunate our court +should be paved. On what small matters hang the destiny of these +delicate investigations! Hey! What have we here? I have led on to the +very spot,' he said, standing grandly backward and indicating the green +gate. 'An escalade, as you can now see for yourselves, has taken place.' + +Sure enough, the green paint was in several places scratched and broken; +and one of the panels preserved the print of a nailed shoe. The foot had +slipped, however, and it was difficult to estimate the size of the shoe, +and impossible to distinguish the pattern of the nails. + +'The whole robbery,' concluded the Doctor, 'step by step, has been +reconstituted. Inductive science can no further go.' + +'It is wonderful,' said his wife. 'You should indeed have been a +detective, Henri. I had no idea of your talents.' + +'My dear,' replied Desprez, condescendingly, 'a man of scientific +imagination combines the lesser faculties; he is a detective just as he +is a publicist or a general; these are but local applications of his +special talent. But now,' he continued, 'would you have me go further? +Would you have me lay my finger on the culprits--or rather, for I cannot +promise quite so much, point out to you the very house where they +consort? It may be a satisfaction, at least it is all we are likely to +get, since we are denied the remedy of law. I reach the further stage in +this way. In order to fill my outline of the robbery, I require a man +likely to be in the forest idling, I require a man of education, I +require a man superior to considerations of morality. The three +requisites all centre in Tentaillon's boarders. They are painters, +therefore they are continually lounging in the forest. They are +painters, therefore they are not unlikely to have some smattering of +education. Lastly, because they are painters, they are probably immoral. +And this I prove in two ways. First, painting is an art which merely +addresses the eye; it does not in any particular exercise the moral +sense. And second, painting, in common with all the other arts, implies +the dangerous quality of imagination. A man of imagination is never +moral; he outsoars literal demarcations and reviews life under too many +shifting lights to rest content with the invidious distinctions of the +law!' + +'But you always say--at least, so I understood you'--said madame, 'that +these lads display no imagination whatever.' + +'My dear, they displayed imagination, and of a very fantastic order, +too,' returned the Doctor, 'when they embraced their beggarly profession. +Besides--and this is an argument exactly suited to your intellectual +level--many of them are English and American. Where else should we +expect to find a thief?--And now you had better get your coffee. Because +we have lost a treasure, there is no reason for starving. For my part, I +shall break my fast with white wine. I feel unaccountably heated and +thirsty to-day. I can only attribute it to the shock of the discovery. +And yet, you will bear me out, I supported the emotion nobly.' + +The Doctor had now talked himself back into an admirable humour; and as +he sat in the arbour and slowly imbibed a large allowance of white wine +and picked a little bread and cheese with no very impetuous appetite, if +a third of his meditations ran upon the missing treasure, the other two- +thirds were more pleasingly busied in the retrospect of his detective +skill. + +About eleven Casimir arrived; he had caught an early train to +Fontainebleau, and driven over to save time; and now his cab was stabled +at Tentaillon's, and he remarked, studying his watch, that he could spare +an hour and a half. He was much the man of business, decisively spoken, +given to frowning in an intellectual manner. Anastasie's born brother, +he did not waste much sentiment on the lady, gave her an English family +kiss, and demanded a meal without delay. + +'You can tell me your story while we eat,' he observed. 'Anything good +to-day, Stasie?' + +He was promised something good. The trio sat down to table in the +arbour, Jean-Marie waiting as well as eating, and the Doctor recounted +what had happened in his richest narrative manner. Casimir heard it with +explosions of laughter. + +'What a streak of luck for you, my good brother,' he observed, when the +tale was over. 'If you had gone to Paris, you would have played dick- +duck-drake with the whole consignment in three months. Your own would +have followed; and you would have come to me in a procession like the +last time. But I give you warning--Stasie may weep and Henri +ratiocinate--it will not serve you twice. Your next collapse will be +fatal. I thought I had told you so, Stasie? Hey? No sense?' + +The Doctor winced and looked furtively at Jean-Marie; but the boy seemed +apathetic. + +'And then again,' broke out Casimir, 'what children you are--vicious +children, my faith! How could you tell the value of this trash? It +might have been worth nothing, or next door.' + +'Pardon me,' said the Doctor. 'You have your usual flow of spirits, I +perceive, but even less than your usual deliberation. I am not entirely +ignorant of these matters.' + +'Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard of,' interrupted Casimir, +bowing, and raising his glass with a sort of pert politeness. + +'At least,' resumed the Doctor, 'I gave my mind to the subject--that you +may be willing to believe--and I estimated that our capital would be +doubled.' And he described the nature of the find. + +'My word of honour!' said Casimir, 'I half believe you! But much would +depend on the quality of the gold.' + +'The quality, my dear Casimir, was--' And the Doctor, in default of +language, kissed his finger-tips. + +'I would not take your word for it, my good friend,' retorted the man of +business. 'You are a man of very rosy views. But this robbery,' he +continued--'this robbery is an odd thing. Of course I pass over your +nonsense about gangs and landscape-painters. For me, that is a dream. +Who was in the house last night?' + +'None but ourselves,' replied the Doctor. + +'And this young gentleman?' asked Casimir, jerking a nod in the direction +of Jean-Marie. + +'He too'--the Doctor bowed. + +'Well; and if it is a fair question, who is he?' pursued the brother-in- +law. + +'Jean-Marie,' answered the Doctor, 'combines the functions of a son and +stable-boy. He began as the latter, but he rose rapidly to the more +honourable rank in our affections. He is, I may say, the greatest +comfort in our lives.' + +'Ha!' said Casimir. 'And previous to becoming one of you?' + +'Jean-Marie has lived a remarkable existence; his experience his been +eminently formative,' replied Desprez. 'If I had had to choose an +education for my son, I should have chosen such another. Beginning life +with mountebanks and thieves, passing onward to the society and +friendship of philosophers, he may be said to have skimmed the volume of +human life.' + +'Thieves?' repeated the brother-in-law, with a meditative air. + +The Doctor could have bitten his tongue out. He foresaw what was coming, +and prepared his mind for a vigorous defence. + +'Did you ever steal yourself?' asked Casimir, turning suddenly on Jean- +Marie, and for the first time employing a single eyeglass which hung +round his neck. + +'Yes, sir,' replied the boy, with a deep blush. + +Casimir turned to the others with pursed lips, and nodded to them +meaningly. 'Hey?' said he; 'how is that?' + +'Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth,' returned the Doctor, throwing out +his bust. + +'He has never told a lie,' added madame. 'He is the best of boys.' + +'Never told a lie, has he not?' reflected Casimir. 'Strange, very +strange. Give me your attention, my young friend,' he continued. 'You +knew about this treasure?' + +'He helped to bring it home,' interposed the Doctor. + +'Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your tongue,' returned Casimir. +'I mean to question this stable-boy of yours; and if you are so certain +of his innocence, you can afford to let him answer for himself. Now, +sir,' he resumed, pointing his eyeglass straight at Jean-Marie. 'You +knew it could be stolen with impunity? You knew you could not be +prosecuted? Come! Did you, or did you not?' + +'I did,' answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable whisper. He sat there +changing colour like a revolving pharos, twisting his fingers +hysterically, swallowing air, the picture of guilt. + +'You knew where it was put?' resumed the inquisitor. + +'Yes,' from Jean-Marie. + +'You say you have been a thief before,' continued Casimir. 'Now how am I +to know that you are not one still? I suppose you could climb the green +gate?' + +'Yes,' still lower, from the culprit. + +'Well, then, it was you who stole these things. You know it, and you +dare not deny it. Look me in the face! Raise your sneak's eyes, and +answer!' + +But in place of anything of that sort Jean-Marie broke into a dismal howl +and fled from the arbour. Anastasie, as she pursued to capture and +reassure the victim, found time to send one Parthian arrow--'Casimir, you +are a brute!' + +'My brother,' said Desprez, with the greatest dignity, 'you take upon +yourself a licence--' + +'Desprez,' interrupted Casimir, 'for Heaven's sake be a man of the world. +You telegraph me to leave my business and come down here on yours. I +come, I ask the business, you say "Find me this thief!" Well, I find +him; I say "There he is!" You need not like it, but you have no manner +of right to take offence.' + +'Well,' returned the Doctor, 'I grant that; I will even thank you for +your mistaken zeal. But your hypothesis was so extravagantly monstrous--' + +'Look here,' interrupted Casimir; 'was it you or Stasie?' + +'Certainly not,' answered the Doctor. + +'Very well; then it was the boy. Say no more about it,' said the brother- +in-law, and he produced his cigar-case. + +'I will say this much more,' returned Desprez: 'if that boy came and told +me so himself, I should not believe him; and if I did believe him, so +implicit is my trust, I should conclude that he had acted for the best.' + +'Well, well,' said Casimir, indulgently. 'Have you a light? I must be +going. And by the way, I wish you would let me sell your Turks for you. +I always told you, it meant smash. I tell you so again. Indeed, it was +partly that that brought me down. You never acknowledge my letters--a +most unpardonable habit.' + +'My good brother,' replied the Doctor blandly, 'I have never denied your +ability in business; but I can perceive your limitations.' + +'Egad, my friend, I can return the compliment,' observed the man of +business. 'Your limitation is to be downright irrational.' + +'Observe the relative position,' returned the Doctor with a smile. 'It +is your attitude to believe through thick and thin in one man's +judgment--your own. I follow the same opinion, but critically and with +open eyes. Which is the more irrational?--I leave it to yourself.' + +'O, my dear fellow!' cried Casimir, 'stick to your Turks, stick to your +stable-boy, go to the devil in general in your own way and be done with +it. But don't ratiocinate with me--I cannot bear it. And so, ta-ta. I +might as well have stayed away for any good I've done. Say good-bye from +me to Stasie, and to the sullen hang-dog of a stable-boy, if you insist +on it; I'm off.' + +And Casimir departed. The Doctor, that night, dissected his character +before Anastasie. 'One thing, my beautiful,' he said, 'he has learned +one thing from his lifelong acquaintance with your husband: the word +_ratiocinate_. It shines in his vocabulary, like a jewel in a muck-heap. +And, even so, he continually misapplies it. For you must have observed +he uses it as a sort of taunt, in the sense of to _ergotise_, implying, +as it were--the poor, dear fellow!--a vein of sophistry. As for his +cruelty to Jean-Marie, it must be forgiven him--it is not his nature, it +is the nature of his life. A man who deals with money, my dear, is a man +lost.' + +With Jean-Marie the process of reconciliation had been somewhat slow. At +first he was inconsolable, insisted on leaving the family, went from +paroxysm to paroxysm of tears; and it was only after Anastasie had been +closeted for an hour with him, alone, that she came forth, sought out the +Doctor, and, with tears in her eyes, acquainted that gentleman with what +had passed. + +'At first, my husband, he would hear of nothing,' she said. 'Imagine! if +he had left us! what would the treasure be to that? Horrible treasure, +it has brought all this about! At last, after he has sobbed his very +heart out, he agrees to stay on a condition--we are not to mention this +matter, this infamous suspicion, not even to mention the robbery. On +that agreement only, the poor, cruel boy will consent to remain among his +friends.' + +'But this inhibition,' said the Doctor, 'this embargo--it cannot possibly +apply to me?' + +'To all of us,' Anastasie assured him. + +'My cherished one,' Desprez protested, 'you must have misunderstood. It +cannot apply to me. He would naturally come to me.' + +'Henri,' she said, 'it does; I swear to you it does.' + +'This is a painful, a very painful circumstance,' the Doctor said, +looking a little black. 'I cannot affect, Anastasie, to be anything but +justly wounded. I feel this, I feel it, my wife, acutely.' + +'I knew you would,' she said. 'But if you had seen his distress! We +must make allowances, we must sacrifice our feelings.' + +'I trust, my dear, you have never found me averse to sacrifices,' +returned the Doctor very stiffly. + +'And you will let me go and tell him that you have agreed? It will be +like your noble nature,' she cried. + +So it would, he perceived--it would be like his noble nature! Up jumped +his spirits, triumphant at the thought. 'Go, darling,' he said nobly, +'reassure him. The subject is buried; more--I make an effort, I have +accustomed my will to these exertions--and it is forgotten.' + +A little after, but still with swollen eyes and looking mortally +sheepish, Jean-Marie reappeared and went ostentatiously about his +business. He was the only unhappy member of the party that sat down that +night to supper. As for the Doctor, he was radiant. He thus sang the +requiem of the treasure:-- + +'This has been, on the whole, a most amusing episode,' he said. 'We are +not a penny the worse--nay, we are immensely gainers. Our philosophy has +been exercised; some of the turtle is still left--the most wholesome of +delicacies; I have my staff, Anastasie has her new dress, Jean-Marie is +the proud possessor of a fashionable kepi. Besides, we had a glass of +Hermitage last night; the glow still suffuses my memory. I was growing +positively niggardly with that Hermitage, positively niggardly. Let me +take the hint: we had one bottle to celebrate the appearance of our +visionary fortune; let us have a second to console us for its +occultation. The third I hereby dedicate to Jean-Marie's wedding +breakfast.' + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ. + + +The Doctor's house has not yet received the compliment of a description, +and it is now high time that the omission were supplied, for the house is +itself an actor in the story, and one whose part is nearly at an end. Two +stories in height, walls of a warm yellow, tiles of an ancient ruddy +brown diversified with moss and lichen, it stood with one wall to the +street in the angle of the Doctor's property. It was roomy, draughty, +and inconvenient. The large rafters were here and there engraven with +rude marks and patterns; the handrail of the stair was carved in +countrified arabesque; a stout timber pillar, which did duty to support +the dining-room roof, bore mysterious characters on its darker side, +runes, according to the Doctor; nor did he fail, when he ran over the +legendary history of the house and its possessors, to dwell upon the +Scandinavian scholar who had left them. Floors, doors, and rafters made +a great variety of angles; every room had a particular inclination; the +gable had tilted towards the garden, after the manner of a leaning tower, +and one of the former proprietors had buttressed the building from that +side with a great strut of wood, like the derrick of a crane. Altogether, +it had many marks of ruin; it was a house for the rats to desert; and +nothing but its excellent brightness--the window-glass polished and +shining, the paint well scoured, the brasses radiant, the very prop all +wreathed about with climbing flowers--nothing but its air of a +well-tended, smiling veteran, sitting, crutch and all, in the sunny +corner of a garden, marked it as a house for comfortable people to +inhabit. In poor or idle management it would soon have hurried into the +blackguard stages of decay. As it was, the whole family loved it, and +the Doctor was never better inspired than when he narrated its imaginary +story and drew the character of its successive masters, from the Hebrew +merchant who had re-edified its walls after the sack of the town, and +past the mysterious engraver of the runes, down to the long-headed, dirty- +handed boor from whom he had himself acquired it at a ruinous expense. As +for any alarm about its security, the idea had never presented itself. +What had stood four centuries might well endure a little longer. + +Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding and losing of the +treasure, the Desprez' had an anxiety of a very different order, and one +which lay nearer their hearts. Jean-Marie was plainly not himself. He +had fits of hectic activity, when he made unusual exertions to please, +spoke more and faster, and redoubled in attention to his lessons. But +these were interrupted by spells of melancholia and brooding silence, +when the boy was little better than unbearable. + +'Silence,' the Doctor moralised--'you see, Anastasie, what comes of +silence. Had the boy properly unbosomed himself, the little +disappointment about the treasure, the little annoyance about Casimir's +incivility, would long ago have been forgotten. As it is, they prey upon +him like a disease. He loses flesh, his appetite is variable and, on the +whole, impaired. I keep him on the strictest regimen, I exhibit the most +powerful tonics; both in vain.' + +'Don't you think you drug him too much?' asked madame, with an +irrepressible shudder. + +'Drug?' cried the Doctor; 'I drug? Anastasie, you are mad!' + +Time went on, and the boy's health still slowly declined. The Doctor +blamed the weather, which was cold and boisterous. He called in his +_confrere_ from Bourron, took a fancy for him, magnified his capacity, +and was pretty soon under treatment himself--it scarcely appeared for +what complaint. He and Jean-Marie had each medicine to take at different +periods of the day. The Doctor used to lie in wait for the exact moment, +watch in hand. 'There is nothing like regularity,' he would say, fill +out the doses, and dilate on the virtues of the draught; and if the boy +seemed none the better, the Doctor was not at all the worse. + +Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It was scowling, squally +weather. Huge broken companies of cloud sailed swiftly overhead; raking +gleams of sunlight swept the village, and were followed by intervals of +darkness and white, flying rain. At times the wind lifted up its voice +and bellowed. The trees were all scourging themselves along the meadows, +the last leaves flying like dust. + +The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was in his element; he had a +theory to prove. He sat with his watch out and a barometer in front of +him, waiting for the squalls and noting their effect upon the human +pulse. 'For the true philosopher,' he remarked delightedly, 'every fact +in nature is a toy.' A letter came to him; but, as its arrival coincided +with the approach of another gust, he merely crammed it into his pocket, +gave the time to Jean-Marie, and the next moment they were both counting +their pulses as if for a wager. + +At nightfall the wind rose into a tempest. It besieged the hamlet, +apparently from every side, as if with batteries of cannon; the houses +shook and groaned; live coals were blown upon the floor. The uproar and +terror of the night kept people long awake, sitting with pallid faces +giving ear. + +It was twelve before the Desprez family retired. By half-past one, when +the storm was already somewhat past its height, the Doctor was awakened +from a troubled slumber, and sat up. A noise still rang in his ears, but +whether of this world or the world of dreams he was not certain. Another +clap of wind followed. It was accompanied by a sickening movement of the +whole house, and in the subsequent lull Desprez could hear the tiles +pouring like a cataract into the loft above his head. He plucked +Anastasie bodily out of bed. + +'Run!' he cried, thrusting some wearing apparel into her hands; 'the +house is falling! To the garden!' + +She did not pause to be twice bidden; she was down the stair in an +instant. She had never before suspected herself of such activity. The +Doctor meanwhile, with the speed of a piece of pantomime business, and +undeterred by broken shins, proceeded to rout out Jean-Marie, tore Aline +from her virgin slumbers, seized her by the hand, and tumbled downstairs +and into the garden, with the girl tumbling behind him, still not half +awake. + +The fugitives rendezvous'd in the arbour by some common instinct. Then +came a bull's-eye flash of struggling moonshine, which disclosed their +four figures standing huddled from the wind in a raffle of flying +drapery, and not without a considerable need for more. At the +humiliating spectacle Anastasie clutched her nightdress desperately about +her and burst loudly into tears. The Doctor flew to console her; but she +elbowed him away. She suspected everybody of being the general public, +and thought the darkness was alive with eyes. + +Another gleam and another violent gust arrived together; the house was +seen to rock on its foundation, and, just as the light was once more +eclipsed, a crash which triumphed over the shouting of the wind announced +its fall, and for a moment the whole garden was alive with skipping tiles +and brickbats. One such missile grazed the Doctor's ear; another +descended on the bare foot of Aline, who instantly made night hideous +with her shrieks. + +By this time the hamlet was alarmed, lights flashed from the windows, +hails reached the party, and the Doctor answered, nobly contending +against Aline and the tempest. But this prospect of help only awakened +Anastasie to a more active stage of terror. + +'Henri, people will be coming,' she screamed in her husband's ear. + +'I trust so,' he replied. + +'They cannot. I would rather die,' she wailed. + +'My dear,' said the Doctor reprovingly, 'you are excited. I gave you +some clothes. What have you done with them?' + +'Oh, I don't know--I must have thrown them away! Where are they?' she +sobbed. + +Desprez groped about in the darkness. 'Admirable!' he remarked; 'my grey +velveteen trousers! This will exactly meet your necessities.' + +'Give them to me!' she cried fiercely; but as soon as she had them in her +hands her mood appeared to alter--she stood silent for a moment, and then +pressed the garment back upon the Doctor. 'Give it to Aline,' she +said--'poor girl.' + +'Nonsense!' said the Doctor. 'Aline does not know what she is about. +Aline is beside herself with terror; and at any rate, she is a peasant. +Now I am really concerned at this exposure for a person of your +housekeeping habits; my solicitude and your fantastic modesty both point +to the same remedy--the pantaloons.' He held them ready. + +'It is impossible. You do not understand,' she said with dignity. + +By this time rescue was at hand. It had been found impracticable to +enter by the street, for the gate was blocked with masonry, and the +nodding ruin still threatened further avalanches. But between the +Doctor's garden and the one on the right hand there was that very +picturesque contrivance--a common well; the door on the Desprez' side had +chanced to be unbolted, and now, through the arched aperture a man's +bearded face and an arm supporting a lantern were introduced into the +world of windy darkness, where Anastasie concealed her woes. The light +struck here and there among the tossing apple boughs, it glinted on the +grass; but the lantern and the glowing face became the centre of the +world. Anastasie crouched back from the intrusion. + +'This way!' shouted the man. 'Are you all safe?' Aline, still +screaming, ran to the new comer, and was presently hauled head-foremost +through the wall. + +'Now, Anastasie, come on; it is your turn,' said the husband. + +'I cannot,' she replied. + +'Are we all to die of exposure, madame?' thundered Doctor Desprez. + +'You can go!' she cried. 'Oh, go, go away! I can stay here; I am quite +warm.' + +The Doctor took her by the shoulders with an oath. + +'Stop!' she screamed. 'I will put them on.' + +She took the detested lendings in her hand once more; but her repulsion +was stronger than shame. 'Never!' she cried, shuddering, and flung them +far away into the night. + +Next moment the Doctor had whirled her to the well. The man was there +and the lantern; Anastasie closed her eyes and appeared to herself to be +about to die. How she was transported through the arch she knew not; but +once on the other side she was received by the neighbour's wife, and +enveloped in a friendly blanket. + +Beds were made ready for the two women, clothes of very various sizes for +the Doctor and Jean-Marie; and for the remainder of the night, while +madame dozed in and out on the borderland of hysterics, her husband sat +beside the fire and held forth to the admiring neighbours. He showed +them, at length, the causes of the accident; for years, he explained, the +fall had been impending; one sign had followed another, the joints had +opened, the plaster had cracked, the old walls bowed inward; last, not +three weeks ago, the cellar door had begun to work with difficulty in its +grooves. 'The cellar!' he said, gravely shaking his head over a glass of +mulled wine. 'That reminds me of my poor vintages. By a manifest +providence the Hermitage was nearly at an end. One bottle--I lose but +one bottle of that incomparable wine. It had been set apart against Jean- +Marie's wedding. Well, I must lay down some more; it will be an interest +in life. I am, however, a man somewhat advanced in years. My great work +is now buried in the fall of my humble roof; it will never be +completed--my name will have been writ in water. And yet you find me +calm--I would say cheerful. Can your priest do more?' + +By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth from the fireside +into the street. The wind had fallen, but still charioted a world of +troubled clouds; the air bit like frost; and the party, as they stood +about the ruins in the rainy twilight of the morning, beat upon their +breasts and blew into their hands for warmth. The house had entirely +fallen, the walls outward, the roof in; it was a mere heap of rubbish, +with here and there a forlorn spear of broken rafter. A sentinel was +placed over the ruins to protect the property, and the party adjourned to +Tentaillon's to break their fast at the Doctor's expense. The bottle +circulated somewhat freely; and before they left the table it had begun +to snow. + +For three days the snow continued to fall, and the ruins, covered with +tarpaulin and watched by sentries, were left undisturbed. The Desprez' +meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon's. Madame spent her +time in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, with the admiring aid +of Madame Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire in thoughtful abstraction. +The fall of the house affected her wonderfully little; that blow had been +parried by another; and in her mind she was continually fighting over +again the battle of the trousers. Had she done right? Had she done +wrong? And now she would applaud her determination; and anon, with a +horrid flush of unavailing penitence, she would regret the trousers. No +juncture in her life had so much exercised her judgment. In the meantime +the Doctor had become vastly pleased with his situation. Two of the +summer boarders still lingered behind the rest, prisoners for lack of a +remittance; they were both English, but one of them spoke French pretty +fluently, and was, besides, a humorous, agile-minded fellow, with whom +the Doctor could reason by the hour, secure of comprehension. Many were +the glasses they emptied, many the topics they discussed. + +'Anastasie,' the Doctor said on the third morning, 'take an example from +your husband, from Jean-Marie! The excitement has done more for the boy +than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with positive gusto. As +for me, you behold me. I have made friends with the Egyptians; and my +Pharaoh is, I swear it, a most agreeable companion. You alone are +hipped. About a house--a few dresses? What are they in comparison to +the "Pharmacopoeia"--the labour of years lying buried below stones and +sticks in this depressing hamlet? The snow falls; I shake it from my +cloak! Imitate me. Our income will be impaired, I grant it, since we +must rebuild; but moderation, patience, and philosophy will gather about +the hearth. In the meanwhile, the Tentaillons are obliging; the table, +with your additions, will pass; only the wine is execrable--well, I shall +send for some to-day. My Pharaoh will be gratified to drink a decent +glass; aha! and I shall see if he possesses that acme of organisation--a +palate. If he has a palate, he is perfect.' + +'Henri,' she said, shaking her head, 'you are a man; you cannot +understand my feelings; no woman could shake off the memory of so public +a humiliation.' The Doctor could not restrain a titter. 'Pardon me, +darling,' he said; 'but really, to the philosophical intelligence, the +incident appears so small a trifle. You looked extremely well--' + +'Henri!' she cried. + +'Well, well, I will say no more,' he replied. 'Though, to be sure, if +you had consented to indue--_A propos_,' he broke off, 'and my trousers! +They are lying in the snow--my favourite trousers!' And he dashed in +quest of Jean-Marie. + +Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under one +arm and a curious sop of clothing under the other. + +The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands. 'They have been!' he said. +'Their tense is past. Excellent pantaloons, you are no more! Stay, +something in the pocket,' and he produced a piece of paper. 'A letter! +ay, now I mind me; it was received on the morning of the gale, when I was +absorbed in delicate investigations. It is still legible. From poor, +dear Casimir! It is as well,' he chuckled, 'that I have educated him to +patience. Poor Casimir and his correspondence--his infinitesimal, +timorous, idiotic correspondence!' + +He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he bent +himself to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his brow. + +'_Bigre_!' he cried, with a galvanic start. + +And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor's cap was +on his head in the turn of a hand. + +'Ten minutes! I can catch it, if I run,' he cried. 'It is always late. +I go to Paris. I shall telegraph.' + +'Henri! what is wrong?' cried his wife. + +'Ottoman Bonds!' came from the disappearing Doctor; and Anastasie and +Jean-Marie were left face to face with the wet trousers. Desprez had +gone to Paris, for the second time in seven years; he had gone to Paris +with a pair of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer, a black blouse, a country +nightcap, and twenty francs in his pocket. The fall of the house was but +a secondary marvel; the whole world might have fallen and scarce left his +family more petrified. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY. + + +On the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of himself, +was brought back in the custody of Casimir. They found Anastasie and the +boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, who had exchanged his +toilette for a ready-made rig-out of poor materials, waved his hand as he +entered, and sank speechless on the nearest chair. Madame turned direct +to Casimir. + +'What is wrong?' she cried. + +'Well,' replied Casimir, 'what have I told you all along? It has come. +It is a clean shave, this time; so you may as well bear up and make the +best of it. House down, too, eh? Bad luck, upon my soul.' + +'Are we--are we--ruined?' she gasped. + +The Doctor stretched out his arms to her. 'Ruined,' he replied, 'you are +ruined by your sinister husband.' + +Casimir observed the consequent embrace through his eyeglass; then he +turned to Jean-Marie. 'You hear?' he said. 'They are ruined; no more +pickings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes me, my friend, +that you had best be packing; the present speculation is about worked +out.' And he nodded to him meaningly. + +'Never!' cried Desprez, springing up. 'Jean-Marie, if you prefer to +leave me, now that I am poor, you can go; you shall receive your hundred +francs, if so much remains to me. But if you will consent to stay'--the +Doctor wept a little--'Casimir offers me a place--as clerk,' he resumed. +'The emoluments are slender, but they will be enough for three. It is +too much already to have lost my fortune; must I lose my son?' + +Jean-Marie sobbed bitterly, but without a word. + +'I don't like boys who cry,' observed Casimir. 'This one is always +crying. Here! you clear out of this for a little; I have business with +your master and mistress, and these domestic feelings may be settled +after I am gone. March!' and he held the door open. + +Jean-Marie slunk out, like a detected thief. + +By twelve they were all at table but Jean-Marie. + +'Hey?' said Casimir. 'Gone, you see. Took the hint at once.' + +'I do not, I confess,' said Desprez, 'I do not seek to excuse his +absence. It speaks a want of heart that disappoints me sorely.' + +'Want of manners,' corrected Casimir. 'Heart, he never had. Why, +Desprez, for a clever fellow, you are the most gullible mortal in +creation. Your ignorance of human nature and human business is beyond +belief. You are swindled by heathen Turks, swindled by vagabond +children, swindled right and left, upstairs and downstairs. I think it +must be your imagination. I thank my stars I have none.' + +'Pardon me,' replied Desprez, still humbly, but with a return of spirit +at sight of a distinction to be drawn; 'pardon me, Casimir. You possess, +even to an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. It was the lack +of that in me--it appears it is my weak point--that has led to these +repeated shocks. By the commercial imagination the financier forecasts +the destiny of his investments, marks the falling house--' + +'Egad,' interrupted Casimir: 'our friend the stable-boy appears to have +his share of it.' + +The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was continued and finished +principally to the tune of the brother-in-law's not very consolatory +conversation. He entirely ignored the two young English painters, +turning a blind eyeglass to their salutations, and continuing his remarks +as if he were alone in the bosom of his family; and with every second +word he ripped another stitch out of the air balloon of Desprez's vanity. +By the time coffee was over the poor Doctor was as limp as a napkin. + +'Let us go and see the ruins,' said Casimir. + +They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the house, like the +loss of a front tooth, had quite transformed the village. Through the +gap the eye commanded a great stretch of open snowy country, and the +place shrank in comparison. It was like a room with an open door. The +sentinel stood by the green gate, looking very red and cold, but he had a +pleasant word for the Doctor and his wealthy kinsman. + +Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the quality of the +tarpaulin. 'H'm,' he said, 'I hope the cellar arch has stood. If it +has, my good brother, I will give you a good price for the wines.' + +'We shall start digging to-morrow,' said the sentry. 'There is no more +fear of snow.' + +'My friend,' returned Casimir sententiously, 'you had better wait till +you get paid.' + +The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offensive brother-in-law +towards Tentaillon's. In the house there would be fewer auditors, and +these already in the secret of his fall. + +'Hullo!' cried Casimir, 'there goes the stable-boy with his luggage; no, +egad, he is taking it into the inn.' + +And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the snowy street and enter +Tentaillon's, staggering under a large hamper. + +The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope. + +'What can he have?' he said. 'Let us go and see.' And he hurried on. + +'His luggage, to be sure,' answered Casimir. 'He is on the move--thanks +to the commercial imagination.' + +'I have not seen that hamper for--for ever so long,' remarked the Doctor. + +'Nor will you see it much longer,' chuckled Casimir; 'unless, indeed, we +interfere. And by the way, I insist on an examination.' + +'You will not require,' said Desprez, positively with a sob; and, casting +a moist, triumphant glance at Casimir, he began to run. + +'What the devil is up with him, I wonder?' Casimir reflected; and then, +curiosity taking the upper hand, he followed the Doctor's example and +took to his heels. + +The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-Marie himself so little and +so weary, that it had taken him a great while to bundle it upstairs to +the Desprez' private room; and he had just set it down on the floor in +front of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and was closely followed by +the man of business. Boy and hamper were both in a most sorry plight; +for the one had passed four months underground in a certain cave on the +way to Acheres, and the other had run about five miles as hard as his +legs would carry him, half that distance under a staggering weight. + +'Jean-Marie,' cried the Doctor, in a voice that was only too seraphic to +be called hysterical, 'is it--? It is!' he cried. 'O, my son, my son!' +And he sat down upon the hamper and sobbed like a little child. + +'You will not go to Paris now,' said Jean-Marie sheepishly. + +'Casimir,' said Desprez, raising his wet face, 'do you see that boy, that +angel boy? He is the thief; he took the treasure from a man unfit to be +entrusted with its use; he brings it back to me when I am sobered and +humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits of my Teaching, and this moment +is the Reward of my Life.' + +'_Tiens_,' said Casimir. + +PRINTED BY +SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE +LONDON + + + + +Footnotes + + +{5} Boggy. + +{15} Clock + +{16} Enjoy. + +{140} To come forrit--to offer oneself as a communicant. + +{144} It was a common belief in Scotland that the devil appeared as a +black man. This appears in several witch trials and I think in Law's +_Memorials_, that delightful store-house of the quaint and grisly. + +{263} Let it be so, for my tale! + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MERRY MEN*** + + +******* This file should be named 344.txt or 344.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/344 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois + Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Illinois Benedictine College". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +The Merry Men - Robert Louis Stevenson. 1904 edition +Scanned and proofed by David Price, ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +*** +Contents: + +The Merry Men + +i. Eilean Aros +ii. What the wreck had brought to Aros +iii. Land and sea in Sandag Bay +iv. The gale +v. A man out of the sea + +Will o' the Mill +i. The plain and the stars +ii. The Parson's Marjory +iii. Death + +Markheim + +Thrawn Janet + +Olalla + +The Treasure of Franchard +i. By the dying Mountebank +ii. Morning tale +iii. The adoption +iv. The education of the philosopher +v. Treasure trove +vi. A criminal investigation, in two parts +vii. The fall of the House of Desprez +viii. The wages of philosophy + + + + +*** +THE MERRY MEN + + + + +CHAPTER I. EILEAN AROS. + + +IT WAS a beautiful morning in the late July when I set forth on +foot for the last time for Aros. A boat had put me ashore the +night before at Grisapol; I had such breakfast as the little inn +afforded, and, leaving all my baggage till I had an occasion to +come round for it by sea, struck right across the promontory with a +cheerful heart. + +I was far from being a native of these parts, springing, as I did, +from an unmixed lowland stock. But an uncle of mine, Gordon +Darnaway, after a poor, rough youth, and some years at sea, had +married a young wife in the islands; Mary Maclean she was called, +the last of her family; and when she died in giving birth to a +daughter, Aros, the sea-girt farm, had remained in his possession. +It brought him in nothing but the means of life, as I was well +aware; but he was a man whom ill-fortune had pursued; he feared, +cumbered as he was with the young child, to make a fresh adventure +upon life; and remained in Aros, biting his nails at destiny. +Years passed over his head in that isolation, and brought neither +help nor contentment. Meantime our family was dying out in the +lowlands; there is little luck for any of that race; and perhaps my +father was the luckiest of all, for not only was he one of the last +to die, but he left a son to his name and a little money to support +it. I was a student of Edinburgh University, living well enough at +my own charges, but without kith or kin; when some news of me found +its way to Uncle Gordon on the Ross of Grisapol; and he, as he was +a man who held blood thicker than water, wrote to me the day he +heard of my existence, and taught me to count Aros as my home. +Thus it was that I came to spend my vacations in that part of the +country, so far from all society and comfort, between the codfish +and the moorcocks; and thus it was that now, when I had done with +my classes, I was returning thither with so light a heart that July +day. + +The Ross, as we call it, is a promontory neither wide nor high, but +as rough as God made it to this day; the deep sea on either hand of +it, full of rugged isles and reefs most perilous to seamen - all +overlooked from the eastward by some very high cliffs and the great +peals of Ben Kyaw. THE MOUNTAIN OF THE MIST, they say the words +signify in the Gaelic tongue; and it is well named. For that hill- +top, which is more than three thousand feet in height, catches all +the clouds that come blowing from the seaward; and, indeed, I used +often to think that it must make them for itself; since when all +heaven was clear to the sea level, there would ever be a streamer +on Ben Kyaw. It brought water, too, and was mossy (1) to the top +in consequence. I have seen us sitting in broad sunshine on the +Ross, and the rain falling black like crape upon the mountain. But +the wetness of it made it often appear more beautiful to my eyes; +for when the sun struck upon the hill sides, there were many wet +rocks and watercourses that shone like jewels even as far as Aros, +fifteen miles away. + +The road that I followed was a cattle-track. It twisted so as +nearly to double the length of my journey; it went over rough +boulders so that a man had to leap from one to another, and through +soft bottoms where the moss came nearly to the knee. There was no +cultivation anywhere, and not one house in the ten miles from +Grisapol to Aros. Houses of course there were - three at least; +but they lay so far on the one side or the other that no stranger +could have found them from the track. A large part of the Ross is +covered with big granite rocks, some of them larger than a two- +roomed house, one beside another, with fern and deep heather in +between them where the vipers breed. Anyway the wind was, it was +always sea air, as salt as on a ship; the gulls were as free as +moorfowl over all the Ross; and whenever the way rose a little, +your eye would kindle with the brightness of the sea. From the +very midst of the land, on a day of wind and a high spring, I have +heard the Roost roaring, like a battle where it runs by Aros, and +the great and fearful voices of the breakers that we call the Merry +Men. + +Aros itself - Aros Jay, I have heard the natives call it, and they +say it means THE HOUSE OF GOD - Aros itself was not properly a +piece of the Ross, nor was it quite an islet. It formed the south- +west corner of the land, fitted close to it, and was in one place +only separated from the coast by a little gut of the sea, not forty +feet across the narrowest. When the tide was full, this was clear +and still, like a pool on a land river; only there was a difference +in the weeds and fishes, and the water itself was green instead of +brown; but when the tide went out, in the bottom of the ebb, there +was a day or two in every month when you could pass dryshod from +Aros to the mainland. There was some good pasture, where my uncle +fed the sheep he lived on; perhaps the feed was better because the +ground rose higher on the islet than the main level of the Ross, +but this I am not skilled enough to settle. The house was a good +one for that country, two storeys high. It looked westward over a +bay, with a pier hard by for a boat, and from the door you could +watch the vapours blowing on Ben Kyaw. + +On all this part of the coast, and especially near Aros, these +great granite rocks that I have spoken of go down together in +troops into the sea, like cattle on a summer's day. There they +stand, for all the world like their neighbours ashore; only the +salt water sobbing between them instead of the quiet earth, and +clots of sea-pink blooming on their sides instead of heather; and +the great sea conger to wreathe about the base of them instead of +the poisonous viper of the land. On calm days you can go wandering +between them in a boat for hours, echoes following you about the +labyrinth; but when the sea is up, Heaven help the man that hears +that cauldron boiling. + +Off the south-west end of Aros these blocks are very many, and much +greater in size. Indeed, they must grow monstrously bigger out to +sea, for there must be ten sea miles of open water sown with them +as thick as a country place with houses, some standing thirty feet +above the tides, some covered, but all perilous to ships; so that +on a clear, westerly blowing day, I have counted, from the top of +Aros, the great rollers breaking white and heavy over as many as +six-and-forty buried reefs. But it is nearer in shore that the +danger is worst; for the tide, here running like a mill race, makes +a long belt of broken water - a ROOST we call it - at the tail of +the land. I have often been out there in a dead calm at the slack +of the tide; and a strange place it is, with the sea swirling and +combing up and boiling like the cauldrons of a linn, and now and +again a little dancing mutter of sound as though the ROOST were +talking to itself. But when the tide begins to run again, and +above all in heavy weather, there is no man could take a boat +within half a mile of it, nor a ship afloat that could either steer +or live in such a place. You can hear the roaring of it six miles +away. At the seaward end there comes the strongest of the bubble; +and it's here that these big breakers dance together - the dance of +death, it may be called - that have got the name, in these parts, +of the Merry Men. I have heard it said that they run fifty feet +high; but that must be the green water only, for the spray runs +twice as high as that. Whether they got the name from their +movements, which are swift and antic, or from the shouting they +make about the turn of the tide, so that all Aros shakes with it, +is more than I can tell. + +The truth is, that in a south-westerly wind, that part of our +archipelago is no better than a trap. If a ship got through the +reefs, and weathered the Merry Men, it would be to come ashore on +the south coast of Aros, in Sandag Bay, where so many dismal things +befell our family, as I propose to tell. The thought of all these +dangers, in the place I knew so long, makes me particularly welcome +the works now going forward to set lights upon the headlands and +buoys along the channels of our iron-bound, inhospitable islands. + +The country people had many a story about Aros, as I used to hear +from my uncle's man, Rorie, an old servant of the Macleans, who had +transferred his services without afterthought on the occasion of +the marriage. There was some tale of an unlucky creature, a sea- +kelpie, that dwelt and did business in some fearful manner of his +own among the boiling breakers of the Roost. A mermaid had once +met a piper on Sandag beach, and there sang to him a long, bright +midsummer's night, so that in the morning he was found stricken +crazy, and from thenceforward, till the day he died, said only one +form of words; what they were in the original Gaelic I cannot tell, +but they were thus translated: 'Ah, the sweet singing out of the +sea.' Seals that haunted on that coast have been known to speak to +man in his own tongue, presaging great disasters. It was here that +a certain saint first landed on his voyage out of Ireland to +convert the Hebrideans. And, indeed, I think he had some claim to +be called saint; for, with the boats of that past age, to make so +rough a passage, and land on such a ticklish coast, was surely not +far short of the miraculous. It was to him, or to some of his +monkish underlings who had a cell there, that the islet owes its +holy and beautiful name, the House of God. + +Among these old wives' stories there was one which I was inclined +to hear with more credulity. As I was told, in that tempest which +scattered the ships of the Invincible Armada over all the north and +west of Scotland, one great vessel came ashore on Aros, and before +the eyes of some solitary people on a hill-top, went down in a +moment with all hands, her colours flying even as she sank. There +was some likelihood in this tale; for another of that fleet lay +sunk on the north side, twenty miles from Grisapol. It was told, I +thought, with more detail and gravity than its companion stories, +and there was one particularity which went far to convince me of +its truth: the name, that is, of the ship was still remembered, and +sounded, in my ears, Spanishly. The ESPIRITO SANTO they called it, +a great ship of many decks of guns, laden with treasure and +grandees of Spain, and fierce soldadoes, that now lay fathom deep +to all eternity, done with her wars and voyages, in Sandag bay, +upon the west of Aros. No more salvos of ordnance for that tall +ship, the 'Holy Spirit,' no more fair winds or happy ventures; only +to rot there deep in the sea-tangle and hear the shoutings of the +Merry Men as the tide ran high about the island. It was a strange +thought to me first and last, and only grew stranger as I learned +the more of Spain, from which she had set sail with so proud a +company, and King Philip, the wealthy king, that sent her on that +voyage. + +And now I must tell you, as I walked from Grisapol that day, the +ESPIRITO SANTO was very much in my reflections. I had been +favourably remarked by our then Principal in Edinburgh College, +that famous writer, Dr. Robertson, and by him had been set to work +on some papers of an ancient date to rearrange and sift of what was +worthless; and in one of these, to my great wonder, I found a note +of this very ship, the ESPIRITO SANTO, with her captain's name, and +how she carried a great part of the Spaniard's treasure, and had +been lost upon the Ross of Grisapol; but in what particular spot, +the wild tribes of that place and period would give no information +to the king's inquiries. Putting one thing with another, and +taking our island tradition together with this note of old King +Jamie's perquisitions after wealth, it had come strongly on my mind +that the spot for which he sought in vain could be no other than +the small bay of Sandag on my uncle's land; and being a fellow of a +mechanical turn, I had ever since been plotting how to weigh that +good ship up again with all her ingots, ounces, and doubloons, and +bring back our house of Darnaway to its long-forgotten dignity and +wealth. + +This was a design of which I soon had reason to repent. My mind +was sharply turned on different reflections; and since I became the +witness of a strange judgment of God's, the thought of dead men's +treasures has been intolerable to my conscience. But even at that +time I must acquit myself of sordid greed; for if I desired riches, +it was not for their own sake, but for the sake of a person who was +dear to my heart - my uncle's daughter, Mary Ellen. She had been +educated well, and had been a time to school upon the mainland; +which, poor girl, she would have been happier without. For Aros +was no place for her, with old Rorie the servant, and her father, +who was one of the unhappiest men in Scotland, plainly bred up in a +country place among Cameronians, long a skipper sailing out of the +Clyde about the islands, and now, with infinite discontent, +managing his sheep and a little 'long shore fishing for the +necessary bread. If it was sometimes weariful to me, who was there +but a month or two, you may fancy what it was to her who dwelt in +that same desert all the year round, with the sheep and flying sea- +gulls, and the Merry Men singing and dancing in the Roost! + + + + +CHAPTER II. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS. + + +IT was half-flood when I got the length of Aros; and there was +nothing for it but to stand on the far shore and whistle for Rorie +with the boat. I had no need to repeat the signal. At the first +sound, Mary was at the door flying a handkerchief by way of answer, +and the old long-legged serving-man was shambling down the gravel +to the pier. For all his hurry, it took him a long while to pull +across the bay; and I observed him several times to pause, go into +the stern, and look over curiously into the wake. As he came +nearer, he seemed to me aged and haggard, and I thought he avoided +my eye. The coble had been repaired, with two new thwarts and +several patches of some rare and beautiful foreign wood, the name +of it unknown to me. + +'Why, Rorie,' said I, as we began the return voyage, 'this is fine +wood. How came you by that?' + +'It will be hard to cheesel,' Rorie opined reluctantly; and just +then, dropping the oars, he made another of those dives into the +stern which I had remarked as he came across to fetch me, and, +leaning his hand on my shoulder, stared with an awful look into the +waters of the bay. + +'What is wrong?' I asked, a good deal startled. + +'It will be a great feesh,' said the old man, returning to his +oars; and nothing more could I get out of him, but strange glances +and an ominous nodding of the head. In spite of myself, I was +infected with a measure of uneasiness; I turned also, and studied +the wake. The water was still and transparent, but, out here in +the middle of the bay, exceeding deep. For some time I could see +naught; but at last it did seem to me as if something dark - a +great fish, or perhaps only a shadow - followed studiously in the +track of the moving coble. And then I remembered one of Rorie's +superstitions: how in a ferry in Morven, in some great, +exterminating feud among the clans; a fish, the like of it unknown +in all our waters, followed for some years the passage of the +ferry-boat, until no man dared to make the crossing. + +'He will be waiting for the right man,' said Rorie. + +Mary met me on the beach, and led me up the brae and into the house +of Aros. Outside and inside there were many changes. The garden +was fenced with the same wood that I had noted in the boat; there +were chairs in the kitchen covered with strange brocade; curtains +of brocade hung from the window; a clock stood silent on the +dresser; a lamp of brass was swinging from the roof; the table was +set for dinner with the finest of linen and silver; and all these +new riches were displayed in the plain old kitchen that I knew so +well, with the high-backed settle, and the stools, and the closet +bed for Rorie; with the wide chimney the sun shone into, and the +clear-smouldering peats; with the pipes on the mantelshelf and the +three-cornered spittoons, filled with sea-shells instead of sand, +on the floor; with the bare stone walls and the bare wooden floor, +and the three patchwork rugs that were of yore its sole adornment - +poor man's patchwork, the like of it unknown in cities, woven with +homespun, and Sunday black, and sea-cloth polished on the bench of +rowing. The room, like the house, had been a sort of wonder in +that country-side, it was so neat and habitable; and to see it now, +shamed by these incongruous additions, filled me with indignation +and a kind of anger. In view of the errand I had come upon to +Aros, the feeling was baseless and unjust; but it burned high, at +the first moment, in my heart. + +'Mary, girl,' said I, 'this is the place I had learned to call my +home, and I do not know it.' + +'It is my home by nature, not by the learning,' she replied; 'the +place I was born and the place I'm like to die in; and I neither +like these changes, nor the way they came, nor that which came with +them. I would have liked better, under God's pleasure, they had +gone down into the sea, and the Merry Men were dancing on them +now.' + +Mary was always serious; it was perhaps the only trait that she +shared with her father; but the tone with which she uttered these +words was even graver than of custom. + +'Ay,' said I, 'I feared it came by wreck, and that's by death; yet +when my father died, I took his goods without remorse.' + +'Your father died a clean strae death, as the folk say,' said Mary. + +'True,' I returned; 'and a wreck is like a judgment. What was she +called?' + +'They ca'd her the CHRIST-ANNA,' said a voice behind me; and, +turning round, I saw my uncle standing in the doorway. + +He was a sour, small, bilious man, with a long face and very dark +eyes; fifty-six years old, sound and active in body, and with an +air somewhat between that of a shepherd and that of a man following +the sea. He never laughed, that I heard; read long at the Bible; +prayed much, like the Cameronians he had been brought up among; and +indeed, in many ways, used to remind me of one of the hill- +preachers in the killing times before the Revolution. But he never +got much comfort, nor even, as I used to think, much guidance, by +his piety. He had his black fits when he was afraid of hell; but +he had led a rough life, to which he would look back with envy, and +was still a rough, cold, gloomy man. + +As he came in at the door out of the sunlight, with his bonnet on +his head and a pipe hanging in his button-hole, he seemed, like +Rorie, to have grown older and paler, the lines were deeplier +ploughed upon his face, and the whites of his eyes were yellow, +like old stained ivory, or the bones of the dead. + +'Ay' he repeated, dwelling upon the first part of the word, 'the +CHRIST-ANNA. It's an awfu' name.' + +I made him my salutations, and complimented him upon his look of +health; for I feared he had perhaps been ill. + +'I'm in the body,' he replied, ungraciously enough; 'aye in the +body and the sins of the body, like yoursel'. Denner,' he said +abruptly to Mary, and then ran on to me: 'They're grand braws, thir +that we hae gotten, are they no? Yon's a bonny knock (2), but +it'll no gang; and the napery's by ordnar. Bonny, bairnly braws; +it's for the like o' them folk sells the peace of God that passeth +understanding; it's for the like o' them, an' maybe no even sae +muckle worth, folk daunton God to His face and burn in muckle hell; +and it's for that reason the Scripture ca's them, as I read the +passage, the accursed thing. Mary, ye girzie,' he interrupted +himself to cry with some asperity, 'what for hae ye no put out the +twa candlesticks?' + +'Why should we need them at high noon?' she asked. + +But my uncle was not to be turned from his idea. 'We'll bruik (3) +them while we may,' he said; and so two massive candlesticks of +wrought silver were added to the table equipage, already so +unsuited to that rough sea-side farm. + +'She cam' ashore Februar' 10, about ten at nicht,' he went on to +me. 'There was nae wind, and a sair run o' sea; and she was in the +sook o' the Roost, as I jaloose. We had seen her a' day, Rorie and +me, beating to the wind. She wasnae a handy craft, I'm thinking, +that CHRIST-ANNA; for she would neither steer nor stey wi' them. A +sair day they had of it; their hands was never aff the sheets, and +it perishin' cauld - ower cauld to snaw; and aye they would get a +bit nip o' wind, and awa' again, to pit the emp'y hope into them. +Eh, man! but they had a sair day for the last o't! He would have +had a prood, prood heart that won ashore upon the back o' that.' + +'And were all lost?' I cried. 'God held them!' + +'Wheesht!' he said sternly. 'Nane shall pray for the deid on my +hearth-stane.' + +I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation; and he seemed to +accept my disclaimer with unusual facility, and ran on once more +upon what had evidently become a favourite subject. + +'We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an' me, and a' thae braws in the +inside of her. There's a kittle bit, ye see, about Sandag; whiles +the sook rins strong for the Merry Men; an' whiles again, when the +tide's makin' hard an' ye can hear the Roost blawin' at the far-end +of Aros, there comes a back-spang of current straucht into Sandag +Bay. Weel, there's the thing that got the grip on the CHRIST-ANNA. +She but to have come in ram-stam an' stern forrit; for the bows of +her are aften under, and the back-side of her is clear at hie-water +o' neaps. But, man! the dunt that she cam doon wi' when she +struck! Lord save us a'! but it's an unco life to be a sailor - a +cauld, wanchancy life. Mony's the gliff I got mysel' in the great +deep; and why the Lord should hae made yon unco water is mair than +ever I could win to understand. He made the vales and the +pastures, the bonny green yaird, the halesome, canty land - + + +And now they shout and sing to Thee, +For Thou hast made them glad, + + +as the Psalms say in the metrical version. No that I would preen +my faith to that clink neither; but it's bonny, and easier to mind. +"Who go to sea in ships," they hae't again - + + +And in +Great waters trading be, +Within the deep these men God's works +And His great wonders see. + + +Weel, it's easy sayin' sae. Maybe Dauvit wasnae very weel acquant +wi' the sea. But, troth, if it wasnae prentit in the Bible, I wad +whiles be temp'it to think it wasnae the Lord, but the muckle, +black deil that made the sea. There's naething good comes oot o't +but the fish; an' the spentacle o' God riding on the tempest, to be +shure, whilk would be what Dauvit was likely ettling at. But, man, +they were sair wonders that God showed to the CHRIST-ANNA - +wonders, do I ca' them? Judgments, rather: judgments in the mirk +nicht among the draygons o' the deep. And their souls - to think +o' that - their souls, man, maybe no prepared! The sea - a muckle +yett to hell!' + +I observed, as my uncle spoke, that his voice was unnaturally moved +and his manner unwontedly demonstrative. He leaned forward at +these last words, for example, and touched me on the knee with his +spread fingers, looking up into my face with a certain pallor, and +I could see that his eyes shone with a deep-seated fire, and that +the lines about his mouth were drawn and tremulous. + +Even the entrance of Rorie, and the beginning of our meal, did not +detach him from his train of thought beyond a moment. He +condescended, indeed, to ask me some questions as to my success at +college, but I thought it was with half his mind; and even in his +extempore grace, which was, as usual, long and wandering, I could +find the trace of his preoccupation, praying, as he did, that God +would 'remember in mercy fower puir, feckless, fiddling, sinful +creatures here by their lee-lane beside the great and dowie +waters.' + +Soon there came an interchange of speeches between him and Rorie. + +'Was it there?' asked my uncle. + +'Ou, ay!' said Rorie. + +I observed that they both spoke in a manner of aside, and with some +show of embarrassment, and that Mary herself appeared to colour, +and looked down on her plate. Partly to show my knowledge, and so +relieve the party from an awkward strain, partly because I was +curious, I pursued the subject. + +'You mean the fish?' I asked. + +'Whatten fish?' cried my uncle. 'Fish, quo' he! Fish! Your een +are fu' o' fatness, man; your heid dozened wi' carnal leir. Fish! +it's a bogle!' + +He spoke with great vehemence, as though angry; and perhaps I was +not very willing to be put down so shortly, for young men are +disputatious. At least I remember I retorted hotly, crying out +upon childish superstitions. + +'And ye come frae the College!' sneered Uncle Gordon. 'Gude kens +what they learn folk there; it's no muckle service onyway. Do ye +think, man, that there's naething in a' yon saut wilderness o' a +world oot wast there, wi' the sea grasses growin', an' the sea +beasts fechtin', an' the sun glintin' down into it, day by day? +Na; the sea's like the land, but fearsomer. If there's folk +ashore, there's folk in the sea - deid they may be, but they're +folk whatever; and as for deils, there's nane that's like the sea +deils. There's no sae muckle harm in the land deils, when a's said +and done. Lang syne, when I was a callant in the south country, I +mind there was an auld, bald bogle in the Peewie Moss. I got a +glisk o' him mysel', sittin' on his hunkers in a hag, as gray's a +tombstane. An', troth, he was a fearsome-like taed. But he +steered naebody. Nae doobt, if ane that was a reprobate, ane the +Lord hated, had gane by there wi' his sin still upon his stamach, +nae doobt the creature would hae lowped upo' the likes o' him. But +there's deils in the deep sea would yoke on a communicant! Eh, +sirs, if ye had gane doon wi' the puir lads in the CHRIST-ANNA, ye +would ken by now the mercy o' the seas. If ye had sailed it for as +lang as me, ye would hate the thocht of it as I do. If ye had but +used the een God gave ye, ye would hae learned the wickedness o' +that fause, saut, cauld, bullering creature, and of a' that's in it +by the Lord's permission: labsters an' partans, an' sic like, +howking in the deid; muckle, gutsy, blawing whales; an' fish - the +hale clan o' them - cauld-wamed, blind-eed uncanny ferlies. O, +sirs,' he cried, 'the horror - the horror o' the sea!' + +We were all somewhat staggered by this outburst; and the speaker +himself, after that last hoarse apostrophe, appeared to sink +gloomily into his own thoughts. But Rorie, who was greedy of +superstitious lore, recalled him to the subject by a question. + +'You will not ever have seen a teevil of the sea?' he asked. + +'No clearly,' replied the other. 'I misdoobt if a mere man could +see ane clearly and conteenue in the body. I hae sailed wi' a lad +- they ca'd him Sandy Gabart; he saw ane, shure eneueh, an' shure +eneueh it was the end of him. We were seeven days oot frae the +Clyde - a sair wark we had had - gaun north wi' seeds an' braws an' +things for the Macleod. We had got in ower near under the +Cutchull'ns, an' had just gane about by soa, an' were off on a lang +tack, we thocht would maybe hauld as far's Copnahow. I mind the +nicht weel; a mune smoored wi' mist; a fine gaun breeze upon the +water, but no steedy; an' - what nane o' us likit to hear - anither +wund gurlin' owerheid, amang thae fearsome, auld stane craigs o' +the Cutchull'ns. Weel, Sandy was forrit wi' the jib sheet; we +couldnae see him for the mains'l, that had just begude to draw, +when a' at ance he gied a skirl. I luffed for my life, for I +thocht we were ower near Soa; but na, it wasnae that, it was puir +Sandy Gabart's deid skreigh, or near hand, for he was deid in half +an hour. A't he could tell was that a sea deil, or sea bogle, or +sea spenster, or sic-like, had clum up by the bowsprit, an' gi'en +him ae cauld, uncanny look. An', or the life was oot o' Sandy's +body, we kent weel what the thing betokened, and why the wund +gurled in the taps o' the Cutchull'ns; for doon it cam' - a wund do +I ca' it! it was the wund o' the Lord's anger - an' a' that nicht +we foucht like men dementit, and the niest that we kenned we were +ashore in Loch Uskevagh, an' the cocks were crawin' in Benbecula.' + +'It will have been a merman,' Rorie said. + +'A merman!' screamed my uncle with immeasurable scorn. 'Auld +wives' clavers! There's nae sic things as mermen.' + +'But what was the creature like?' I asked. + +'What like was it? Gude forbid that we suld ken what like it was! +It had a kind of a heid upon it - man could say nae mair.' + +Then Rorie, smarting under the affront, told several tales of +mermen, mermaids, and sea-horses that had come ashore upon the +islands and attacked the crews of boats upon the sea; and my uncle, +in spite of his incredulity, listened with uneasy interest. + +'Aweel, aweel,' he said, 'it may be sae; I may be wrang; but I find +nae word o' mermen in the Scriptures.' + +'And you will find nae word of Aros Roost, maybe,' objected Rorie, +and his argument appeared to carry weight. + +When dinner was over, my uncle carried me forth with him to a bank +behind the house. It was a very hot and quiet afternoon; scarce a +ripple anywhere upon the sea, nor any voice but the familiar voice +of sheep and gulls; and perhaps in consequence of this repose in +nature, my kinsman showed himself more rational and tranquil than +before. He spoke evenly and almost cheerfully of my career, with +every now and then a reference to the lost ship or the treasures it +had brought to Aros. For my part, I listened to him in a sort of +trance, gazing with all my heart on that remembered scene, and +drinking gladly the sea-air and the smoke of peats that had been +lit by Mary. + +Perhaps an hour had passed when my uncle, who had all the while +been covertly gazing on the surface of the little bay, rose to his +feet and bade me follow his example. Now I should say that the +great run of tide at the south-west end of Aros exercises a +perturbing influence round all the coast. In Sandag Bay, to the +south, a strong current runs at certain periods of the flood and +ebb respectively; but in this northern bay - Aros Bay, as it is +called - where the house stands and on which my uncle was now +gazing, the only sign of disturbance is towards the end of the ebb, +and even then it is too slight to be remarkable. When there is any +swell, nothing can be seen at all; but when it is calm, as it often +is, there appear certain strange, undecipherable marks - sea-runes, +as we may name them - on the glassy surface of the bay. The like +is common in a thousand places on the coast; and many a boy must +have amused himself as I did, seeking to read in them some +reference to himself or those he loved. It was to these marks that +my uncle now directed my attention, struggling, as he did so, with +an evident reluctance. + +'Do ye see yon scart upo' the water?' he inquired; 'yon ane wast +the gray stane? Ay? Weel, it'll no be like a letter, wull it?' + +'Certainly it is,' I replied. 'I have often remarked it. It is +like a C.' + +He heaved a sigh as if heavily disappointed with my answer, and +then added below his breath: 'Ay, for the CHRIST-ANNA.' + +'I used to suppose, sir, it was for myself,' said I; 'for my name +is Charles.' + +'And so ye saw't afore?', he ran on, not heeding my remark. 'Weel, +weel, but that's unco strange. Maybe, it's been there waitin', as +a man wad say, through a' the weary ages. Man, but that's awfu'.' +And then, breaking off: 'Ye'll no see anither, will ye?' he asked. + +'Yes,' said I. 'I see another very plainly, near the Ross side, +where the road comes down - an M.' + +'An M,' he repeated very low; and then, again after another pause: +'An' what wad ye make o' that?' he inquired. + +'I had always thought it to mean Mary, sir,' I answered, growing +somewhat red, convinced as I was in my own mind that I was on the +threshold of a decisive explanation. + +But we were each following his own train of thought to the +exclusion of the other's. My uncle once more paid no attention to +my words; only hung his head and held his peace; and I might have +been led to fancy that he had not heard me, if his next speech had +not contained a kind of echo from my own. + +'I would say naething o' thae clavers to Mary,' he observed, and +began to walk forward. + +There is a belt of turf along the side of Aros Bay, where walking +is easy; and it was along this that I silently followed my silent +kinsman. I was perhaps a little disappointed at having lost so +good an opportunity to declare my love; but I was at the same time +far more deeply exercised at the change that had befallen my uncle. +He was never an ordinary, never, in the strict sense, an amiable, +man; but there was nothing in even the worst that I had known of +him before, to prepare me for so strange a transformation. It was +impossible to close the eyes against one fact; that he had, as the +saying goes, something on his mind; and as I mentally ran over the +different words which might be represented by the letter M - +misery, mercy, marriage, money, and the like - I was arrested with +a sort of start by the word murder. I was still considering the +ugly sound and fatal meaning of the word, when the direction of our +walk brought us to a point from which a view was to be had to +either side, back towards Aros Bay and homestead, and forward on +the ocean, dotted to the north with isles, and lying to the +southward blue and open to the sky. There my guide came to a halt, +and stood staring for awhile on that expanse. Then he turned to me +and laid a hand on my arm. + +'Ye think there's naething there?' he said, pointing with his pipe; +and then cried out aloud, with a kind of exultation: 'I'll tell ye, +man! The deid are down there - thick like rattons!' + +He turned at once, and, without another word, we retraced our steps +to the house of Aros. + +I was eager to be alone with Mary; yet it was not till after +supper, and then but for a short while, that I could have a word +with her. I lost no time beating about the bush, but spoke out +plainly what was on my mind. + +'Mary,' I said, 'I have not come to Aros without a hope. If that +should prove well founded, we may all leave and go somewhere else, +secure of daily bread and comfort; secure, perhaps, of something +far beyond that, which it would seem extravagant in me to promise. +But there's a hope that lies nearer to my heart than money.' And +at that I paused. 'You can guess fine what that is, Mary,' I said. +She looked away from me in silence, and that was small +encouragement, but I was not to be put off. 'All my days I have +thought the world of you,' I continued; 'the time goes on and I +think always the more of you; I could not think to be happy or +hearty in my life without you: you are the apple of my eye.' Still +she looked away, and said never a word; but I thought I saw that +her hands shook. 'Mary,' I cried in fear, 'do ye no like me?' + +'O, Charlie man,' she said, 'is this a time to speak of it? Let me +be, a while; let me be the way I am; it'll not be you that loses by +the waiting!' + +I made out by her voice that she was nearly weeping, and this put +me out of any thought but to compose her. 'Mary Ellen,' I said, +'say no more; I did not come to trouble you: your way shall be +mine, and your time too; and you have told me all I wanted. Only +just this one thing more: what ails you?' + +She owned it was her father, but would enter into no particulars, +only shook her head, and said he was not well and not like himself, +and it was a great pity. She knew nothing of the wreck. 'I +havenae been near it,' said she. 'What for would I go near it, +Charlie lad? The poor souls are gone to their account long syne; +and I would just have wished they had ta'en their gear with them - +poor souls!' + +This was scarcely any great encouragement for me to tell her of the +ESPIRITO SANTO; yet I did so, and at the very first word she cried +out in surprise. 'There was a man at Grisapol,' she said, 'in the +month of May - a little, yellow, black-avised body, they tell me, +with gold rings upon his fingers, and a beard; and he was speiring +high and low for that same ship.' + +It was towards the end of April that I had been given these papers +to sort out by Dr. Robertson: and it came suddenly back upon my +mind that they were thus prepared for a Spanish historian, or a man +calling himself such, who had come with high recommendations to the +Principal, on a mission of inquiry as to the dispersion of the +great Armada. Putting one thing with another, I fancied that the +visitor 'with the gold rings upon his fingers' might be the same +with Dr. Robertson's historian from Madrid. If that were so, he +would be more likely after treasure for himself than information +for a learned society. I made up my mind, I should lose no time +over my undertaking; and if the ship lay sunk in Sandag Bay, as +perhaps both he and I supposed, it should not be for the advantage +of this ringed adventurer, but for Mary and myself, and for the +good, old, honest, kindly family of the Darnaways. + + + + +CHAPTER III. LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY. + + +I WAS early afoot next morning; and as soon as I had a bite to eat, +set forth upon a tour of exploration. Something in my heart +distinctly told me that I should find the ship of the Armada; and +although I did not give way entirely to such hopeful thoughts, I +was still very light in spirits and walked upon air. Aros is a +very rough islet, its surface strewn with great rocks and shaggy +with fernland heather; and my way lay almost north and south across +the highest knoll; and though the whole distance was inside of two +miles it took more time and exertion than four upon a level road. +Upon the summit, I paused. Although not very high - not three +hundred feet, as I think - it yet outtops all the neighbouring +lowlands of the Ross, and commands a great view of sea and islands. +The sun, which had been up some time, was already hot upon my neck; +the air was listless and thundery, although purely clear; away over +the north-west, where the isles lie thickliest congregated, some +half-a-dozen small and ragged clouds hung together in a covey; and +the head of Ben Kyaw wore, not merely a few streamers, but a solid +hood of vapour. There was a threat in the weather. The sea, it is +true, was smooth like glass: even the Roost was but a seam on that +wide mirror, and the Merry Men no more than caps of foam; but to my +eye and ear, so long familiar with these places, the sea also +seemed to lie uneasily; a sound of it, like a long sigh, mounted to +me where I stood; and, quiet as it was, the Roost itself appeared +to be revolving mischief. For I ought to say that all we dwellers +in these parts attributed, if not prescience, at least a quality of +warning, to that strange and dangerous creature of the tides. + +I hurried on, then, with the greater speed, and had soon descended +the slope of Aros to the part that we call Sandag Bay. It is a +pretty large piece of water compared with the size of the isle; +well sheltered from all but the prevailing wind; sandy and shoal +and bounded by low sand-hills to the west, but to the eastward +lying several fathoms deep along a ledge of rocks. It is upon that +side that, at a certain time each flood, the current mentioned by +my uncle sets so strong into the bay; a little later, when the +Roost begins to work higher, an undertow runs still more strongly +in the reverse direction; and it is the action of this last, as I +suppose, that has scoured that part so deep. Nothing is to be seen +out of Sandag Bay, but one small segment of the horizon and, in +heavy weather, the breakers flying high over a deep sea reef. + +From half-way down the hill, I had perceived the wreck of February +last, a brig of considerable tonnage, lying, with her back broken, +high and dry on the east corner of the sands; and I was making +directly towards it, and already almost on the margin of the turf, +when my eyes were suddenly arrested by a spot, cleared of fern and +heather, and marked by one of those long, low, and almost human- +looking mounds that we see so commonly in graveyards. I stopped +like a man shot. Nothing had been said to me of any dead man or +interment on the island; Rorie, Mary, and my uncle had all equally +held their peace; of her at least, I was certain that she must be +ignorant; and yet here, before my eyes, was proof indubitable of +the fact. Here was a grave; and I had to ask myself, with a chill, +what manner of man lay there in his last sleep, awaiting the signal +of the Lord in that solitary, sea-beat resting-place? My mind +supplied no answer but what I feared to entertain. Shipwrecked, at +least, he must have been; perhaps, like the old Armada mariners, +from some far and rich land over-sea; or perhaps one of my own +race, perishing within eyesight of the smoke of home. I stood +awhile uncovered by his side, and I could have desired that it had +lain in our religion to put up some prayer for that unhappy +stranger, or, in the old classic way, outwardly to honour his +misfortune. I knew, although his bones lay there, a part of Aros, +till the trumpet sounded, his imperishable soul was forth and far +away, among the raptures of the everlasting Sabbath or the pangs of +hell; and yet my mind misgave me even with a fear, that perhaps he +was near me where I stood, guarding his sepulchre, and lingering on +the scene of his unhappy fate. + +Certainly it was with a spirit somewhat over-shadowed that I turned +away from the grave to the hardly less melancholy spectacle of the +wreck. Her stem was above the first arc of the flood; she was +broken in two a little abaft the foremast - though indeed she had +none, both masts having broken short in her disaster; and as the +pitch of the beach was very sharp and sudden, and the bows lay many +feet below the stern, the fracture gaped widely open, and you could +see right through her poor hull upon the farther side. Her name +was much defaced, and I could not make out clearly whether she was +called CHRISTIANIA, after the Norwegian city, or CHRISTIANA, after +the good woman, Christian's wife, in that old book the 'Pilgrim's +Progress.' By her build she was a foreign ship, but I was not +certain of her nationality. She had been painted green, but the +colour was faded and weathered, and the paint peeling off in +strips. The wreck of the mainmast lay alongside, half buried in +sand. She was a forlorn sight, indeed, and I could not look +without emotion at the bits of rope that still hung about her, so +often handled of yore by shouting seamen; or the little scuttle +where they had passed up and down to their affairs; or that poor +noseless angel of a figure-head that had dipped into so many +running billows. + +I do not know whether it came most from the ship or from the grave, +but I fell into some melancholy scruples, as I stood there, leaning +with one hand against the battered timbers. The homelessness of +men and even of inanimate vessels, cast away upon strange shores, +came strongly in upon my mind. To make a profit of such pitiful +misadventures seemed an unmanly and a sordid act; and I began to +think of my then quest as of something sacrilegious in its nature. +But when I remembered Mary, I took heart again. My uncle would +never consent to an imprudent marriage, nor would she, as I was +persuaded, wed without his full approval. It behoved me, then, to +be up and doing for my wife; and I thought with a laugh how long it +was since that great sea-castle, the ESPIRITO SANTO, had left her +bones in Sandag Bay, and how weak it would be to consider rights so +long extinguished and misfortunes so long forgotten in the process +of time. + +I had my theory of where to seek for her remains. The set of the +current and the soundings both pointed to the east side of the bay +under the ledge of rocks. If she had been lost in Sandag Bay, and +if, after these centuries, any portion of her held together, it was +there that I should find it. The water deepens, as I have said, +with great rapidity, and even close along-side the rocks several +fathoms may be found. As I walked upon the edge I could see far +and wide over the sandy bottom of the bay; the sun shone clear and +green and steady in the deeps; the bay seemed rather like a great +transparent crystal, as one sees them in a lapidary's shop; there +was naught to show that it was water but an internal trembling, a +hovering within of sun-glints and netted shadows, and now and then +a faint lap and a dying bubble round the edge. The shadows of the +rocks lay out for some distance at their feet, so that my own +shadow, moving, pausing, and stooping on the top of that, reached +sometimes half across the bay. It was above all in this belt of +shadows that I hunted for the ESPIRITO SANTO; since it was there +the undertow ran strongest, whether in or out. Cool as the whole +water seemed this broiling day, it looked, in that part, yet +cooler, and had a mysterious invitation for the eyes. Peer as I +pleased, however, I could see nothing but a few fishes or a bush of +sea-tangle, and here and there a lump of rock that had fallen from +above and now lay separate on the sandy floor. Twice did I pass +from one end to the other of the rocks, and in the whole distance I +could see nothing of the wreck, nor any place but one where it was +possible for it to be. This was a large terrace in five fathoms of +water, raised off the surface of the sand to a considerable height, +and looking from above like a mere outgrowth of the rocks on which +I walked. It was one mass of great sea-tangles like a grove, which +prevented me judging of its nature, but in shape and size it bore +some likeness to a vessel's hull. At least it was my best chance. +If the ESPIRITO SANTO lay not there under the tangles, it lay +nowhere at all in Sandag Bay; and I prepared to put the question to +the proof, once and for all, and either go back to Aros a rich man +or cured for ever of my dreams of wealth. + +I stripped to the skin, and stood on the extreme margin with my +hands clasped, irresolute. The bay at that time was utterly quiet; +there was no sound but from a school of porpoises somewhere out of +sight behind the point; yet a certain fear withheld me on the +threshold of my venture. Sad sea-feelings, scraps of my uncle's +superstitions, thoughts of the dead, of the grave, of the old +broken ships, drifted through my mind. But the strong sun upon my +shoulders warmed me to the heart, and I stooped forward and plunged +into the sea. + +It was all that I could do to catch a trail of the sea-tangle that +grew so thickly on the terrace; but once so far anchored I secured +myself by grasping a whole armful of these thick and slimy stalks, +and, planting my feet against the edge, I looked around me. On all +sides the clear sand stretched forth unbroken; it came to the foot +of the rocks, scoured into the likeness of an alley in a garden by +the action of the tides; and before me, for as far as I could see, +nothing was visible but the same many-folded sand upon the sun- +bright bottom of the bay. Yet the terrace to which I was then +holding was as thick with strong sea-growths as a tuft of heather, +and the cliff from which it bulged hung draped below the water-line +with brown lianas. In this complexity of forms, all swaying +together in the current, things were hard to be distinguished; and +I was still uncertain whether my feet were pressed upon the natural +rock or upon the timbers of the Armada treasure-ship, when the +whole tuft of tangle came away in my hand, and in an instant I was +on the surface, and the shores of the bay and the bright water swam +before my eyes in a glory of crimson. + +I clambered back upon the rocks, and threw the plant of tangle at +my feet. Something at the same moment rang sharply, like a falling +coin. I stooped, and there, sure enough, crusted with the red +rust, there lay an iron shoe-buckle. The sight of this poor human +relic thrilled me to the heart, but not with hope nor fear, only +with a desolate melancholy. I held it in my hand, and the thought +of its owner appeared before me like the presence of an actual man. +His weather-beaten face, his sailor's hands, his sea-voice hoarse +with singing at the capstan, the very foot that had once worn that +buckle and trod so much along the swerving decks - the whole human +fact of him, as a creature like myself, with hair and blood and +seeing eyes, haunted me in that sunny, solitary place, not like a +spectre, but like some friend whom I had basely injured. Was the +great treasure ship indeed below there, with her guns and chain and +treasure, as she had sailed from Spain; her decks a garden for the +seaweed, her cabin a breeding place for fish, soundless but for the +dredging water, motionless but for the waving of the tangle upon +her battlements - that old, populous, sea-riding castle, now a reef +in Sandag Bay? Or, as I thought it likelier, was this a waif from +the disaster of the foreign brig - was this shoe-buckle bought but +the other day and worn by a man of my own period in the world's +history, hearing the same news from day to day, thinking the same +thoughts, praying, perhaps, in the same temple with myself? +However it was, I was assailed with dreary thoughts; my uncle's +words, 'the dead are down there,' echoed in my ears; and though I +determined to dive once more, it was with a strong repugnance that +I stepped forward to the margin of the rocks. + +A great change passed at that moment over the appearance of the +bay. It was no more that clear, visible interior, like a house +roofed with glass, where the green, submarine sunshine slept so +stilly. A breeze, I suppose, had flawed the surface, and a sort of +trouble and blackness filled its bosom, where flashes of light and +clouds of shadow tossed confusedly together. Even the terrace +below obscurely rocked and quivered. It seemed a graver thing to +venture on this place of ambushes; and when I leaped into the sea +the second time it was with a quaking in my soul. + +I secured myself as at first, and groped among the waving tangle. +All that met my touch was cold and soft and gluey. The thicket was +alive with crabs and lobsters, trundling to and fro lopsidedly, and +I had to harden my heart against the horror of their carrion +neighbourhood. On all sides I could feel the grain and the clefts +of hard, living stone; no planks, no iron, not a sign of any wreck; +the ESPIRITO SANTO was not there. I remember I had almost a sense +of relief in my disappointment, and I was about ready to leave go, +when something happened that sent me to the surface with my heart +in my mouth. I had already stayed somewhat late over my +explorations; the current was freshening with the change of the +tide, and Sandag Bay was no longer a safe place for a single +swimmer. Well, just at the last moment there came a sudden flush +of current, dredging through the tangles like a wave. I lost one +hold, was flung sprawling on my side, and, instinctively grasping +for a fresh support, my fingers closed on something hard and cold. +I think I knew at that moment what it was. At least I instantly +left hold of the tangle, leaped for the surface, and clambered out +next moment on the friendly rocks with the bone of a man's leg in +my grasp. + +Mankind is a material creature, slow to think and dull to perceive +connections. The grave, the wreck of the brig, and the rusty shoe- +buckle were surely plain advertisements. A child might have read +their dismal story, and yet it was not until I touched that actual +piece of mankind that the full horror of the charnel ocean burst +upon my spirit. I laid the bone beside the buckle, picked up my +clothes, and ran as I was along the rocks towards the human shore. +I could not be far enough from the spot; no fortune was vast enough +to tempt me back again. The bones of the drowned dead should +henceforth roll undisturbed by me, whether on tangle or minted +gold. But as soon as I trod the good earth again, and had covered +my nakedness against the sun, I knelt down over against the ruins +of the brig, and out of the fulness of my heart prayed long and +passionately for all poor souls upon the sea. A generous prayer is +never presented in vain; the petition may be refused, but the +petitioner is always, I believe, rewarded by some gracious +visitation. The horror, at least, was lifted from my mind; I could +look with calm of spirit on that great bright creature, God's +ocean; and as I set off homeward up the rough sides of Aros, +nothing remained of my concern beyond a deep determination to +meddle no more with the spoils of wrecked vessels or the treasures +of the dead. + +I was already some way up the hill before I paused to breathe and +look behind me. The sight that met my eyes was doubly strange. + +For, first, the storm that I had foreseen was now advancing with +almost tropical rapidity. The whole surface of the sea had been +dulled from its conspicuous brightness to an ugly hue of corrugated +lead; already in the distance the white waves, the 'skipper's +daughters,' had begun to flee before a breeze that was still +insensible on Aros; and already along the curve of Sandag Bay there +was a splashing run of sea that I could hear from where I stood. +The change upon the sky was even more remarkable. There had begun +to arise out of the south-west a huge and solid continent of +scowling cloud; here and there, through rents in its contexture, +the sun still poured a sheaf of spreading rays; and here and there, +from all its edges, vast inky streamers lay forth along the yet +unclouded sky. The menace was express and imminent. Even as I +gazed, the sun was blotted out. At any moment the tempest might +fall upon Aros in its might. + +The suddenness of this change of weather so fixed my eyes on heaven +that it was some seconds before they alighted on the bay, mapped +out below my feet, and robbed a moment later of the sun. The knoll +which I had just surmounted overflanked a little amphitheatre of +lower hillocks sloping towards the sea, and beyond that the yellow +arc of beach and the whole extent of Sandag Bay. It was a scene on +which I had often looked down, but where I had never before beheld +a human figure. I had but just turned my back upon it and left it +empty, and my wonder may be fancied when I saw a boat and several +men in that deserted spot. The boat was lying by the rocks. A +pair of fellows, bareheaded, with their sleeves rolled up, and one +with a boathook, kept her with difficulty to her moorings for the +current was growing brisker every moment. A little way off upon +the ledge two men in black clothes, whom I judged to be superior in +rank, laid their heads together over some task which at first I did +not understand, but a second after I had made it out - they were +taking bearings with the compass; and just then I saw one of them +unroll a sheet of paper and lay his finger down, as though +identifying features in a map. Meanwhile a third was walking to +and fro, polling among the rocks and peering over the edge into the +water. While I was still watching them with the stupefaction of +surprise, my mind hardly yet able to work on what my eyes reported, +this third person suddenly stooped and summoned his companions with +a cry so loud that it reached my ears upon the hill. The others +ran to him, even dropping the compass in their hurry, and I could +see the bone and the shoe-buckle going from hand to hand, causing +the most unusual gesticulations of surprise and interest. Just +then I could hear the seamen crying from the boat, and saw them +point westward to that cloud continent which was ever the more +rapidly unfurling its blackness over heaven. The others seemed to +consult; but the danger was too pressing to be braved, and they +bundled into the boat carrying my relies with them, and set forth +out of the bay with all speed of oars. + +I made no more ado about the matter, but turned and ran for the +house. Whoever these men were, it was fit my uncle should be +instantly informed. It was not then altogether too late in the day +for a descent of the Jacobites; and may be Prince Charlie, whom I +knew my uncle to detest, was one of the three superiors whom I had +seen upon the rock. Yet as I ran, leaping from rock to rock, and +turned the matter loosely in my mind, this theory grew ever the +longer the less welcome to my reason. The compass, the map, the +interest awakened by the buckle, and the conduct of that one among +the strangers who had looked so often below him in the water, all +seemed to point to a different explanation of their presence on +that outlying, obscure islet of the western sea. The Madrid +historian, the search instituted by Dr. Robertson, the bearded +stranger with the rings, my own fruitless search that very morning +in the deep water of Sandag Bay, ran together, piece by piece, in +my memory, and I made sure that these strangers must be Spaniards +in quest of ancient treasure and the lost ship of the Armada. But +the people living in outlying islands, such as Aros, are answerable +for their own security; there is none near by to protect or even to +help them; and the presence in such a spot of a crew of foreign +adventurers - poor, greedy, and most likely lawless - filled me +with apprehensions for my uncle's money, and even for the safety of +his daughter. I was still wondering how we were to get rid of them +when I came, all breathless, to the top of Aros. The whole world +was shadowed over; only in the extreme east, on a hill of the +mainland, one last gleam of sunshine lingered like a jewel; rain +had begun to fall, not heavily, but in great drops; the sea was +rising with each moment, and already a band of white encircled Aros +and the nearer coasts of Grisapol. The boat was still pulling +seaward, but I now became aware of what had been hidden from me +lower down - a large, heavily sparred, handsome schooner, lying to +at the south end of Aros. Since I had not seen her in the morning +when I had looked around so closely at the signs of the weather, +and upon these lone waters where a sail was rarely visible, it was +clear she must have lain last night behind the uninhabited Eilean +Gour, and this proved conclusively that she was manned by strangers +to our coast, for that anchorage, though good enough to look at, is +little better than a trap for ships. With such ignorant sailors +upon so wild a coast, the coming gale was not unlikely to bring +death upon its wings. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE GALE. + + +I FOUND my uncle at the gable end, watching the signs of the +weather, with a pipe in his fingers. + +'Uncle,' said I, 'there were men ashore at Sandag Bay - ' + +I had no time to go further; indeed, I not only forgot my words, +but even my weariness, so strange was the effect on Uncle Gordon. +He dropped his pipe and fell back against the end of the house with +his jaw fallen, his eyes staring, and his long face as white as +paper. We must have looked at one another silently for a quarter +of a minute, before he made answer in this extraordinary fashion: +'Had he a hair kep on?' + +I knew as well as if I had been there that the man who now lay +buried at Sandag had worn a hairy cap, and that he had come ashore +alive. For the first and only time I lost toleration for the man +who was my benefactor and the father of the woman I hoped to call +my wife. + +'These were living men,' said I, 'perhaps Jacobites, perhaps the +French, perhaps pirates, perhaps adventurers come here to seek the +Spanish treasure ship; but, whatever they may be, dangerous at +least to your daughter and my cousin. As for your own guilty +terrors, man, the dead sleeps well where you have laid him. I +stood this morning by his grave; he will not wake before the trump +of doom.' + +My kinsman looked upon me, blinking, while I spoke; then he fixed +his eyes for a little on the ground, and pulled his fingers +foolishly; but it was plain that he was past the power of speech. + +'Come,' said I. 'You must think for others. You must come up the +hill with me, and see this ship.' + +He obeyed without a word or a look, following slowly after my +impatient strides. The spring seemed to have gone out of his body, +and he scrambled heavily up and down the rocks, instead of leaping, +as he was wont, from one to another. Nor could I, for all my +cries, induce him to make better haste. Only once he replied to me +complainingly, and like one in bodily pain: 'Ay, ay, man, I'm +coming.' Long before we had reached the top, I had no other +thought for him but pity. If the crime had been monstrous the +punishment was in proportion. + +At last we emerged above the sky-line of the hill, and could see +around us. All was black and stormy to the eye; the last gleam of +sun had vanished; a wind had sprung up, not yet high, but gusty and +unsteady to the point; the rain, on the other hand, had ceased. +Short as was the interval, the sea already ran vastly higher than +when I had stood there last; already it had begun to break over +some of the outward reefs, and already it moaned aloud in the sea- +caves of Aros. I looked, at first, in vain for the schooner. + +'There she is,' I said at last. But her new position, and the +course she was now lying, puzzled me. 'They cannot mean to beat to +sea,' I cried. + +'That's what they mean,' said my uncle, with something like joy; +and just then the schooner went about and stood upon another tack, +which put the question beyond the reach of doubt. These strangers, +seeing a gale on hand, had thought first of sea-room. With the +wind that threatened, in these reef-sown waters and contending +against so violent a stream of tide, their course was certain +death. + +'Good God!' said I, 'they are all lost.' + +'Ay,' returned my uncle, 'a' - a' lost. They hadnae a chance but +to rin for Kyle Dona. The gate they're gaun the noo, they couldnae +win through an the muckle deil were there to pilot them. Eh, man,' +he continued, touching me on the sleeve, 'it's a braw nicht for a +shipwreck! Twa in ae twalmonth! Eh, but the Merry Men'll dance +bonny!' + +I looked at him, and it was then that I began to fancy him no +longer in his right mind. He was peering up to me, as if for +sympathy, a timid joy in his eyes. All that had passed between us +was already forgotten in the prospect of this fresh disaster. + +'If it were not too late,' I cried with indignation, 'I would take +the coble and go out to warn them.' + +'Na, na,' he protested, 'ye maunnae interfere; ye maunnae meddle +wi' the like o' that. It's His' - doffing his bonnet - 'His wull. +And, eh, man! but it's a braw nicht for't!' + +Something like fear began to creep into my soul and, reminding him +that I had not yet dined, I proposed we should return to the house. +But no; nothing would tear him from his place of outlook. + +'I maun see the hail thing, man, Cherlie,' he explained - and then +as the schooner went about a second time, 'Eh, but they han'le her +bonny!' he cried. 'The CHRIST-ANNA was naething to this.' + +Already the men on board the schooner must have begun to realise +some part, but not yet the twentieth, of the dangers that environed +their doomed ship. At every lull of the capricious wind they must +have seen how fast the current swept them back. Each tack was made +shorter, as they saw how little it prevailed. Every moment the +rising swell began to boom and foam upon another sunken reef; and +ever and again a breaker would fall in sounding ruin under the very +bows of her, and the brown reef and streaming tangle appear in the +hollow of the wave. I tell you, they had to stand to their tackle: +there was no idle men aboard that ship, God knows. It was upon the +progress of a scene so horrible to any human-hearted man that my +misguided uncle now pored and gloated like a connoisseur. As I +turned to go down the hill, he was lying on his belly on the +summit, with his hands stretched forth and clutching in the +heather. He seemed rejuvenated, mind and body. + +When I got back to the house already dismally affected, I was still +more sadly downcast at the sight of Mary. She had her sleeves +rolled up over her strong arms, and was quietly making bread. I +got a bannock from the dresser and sat down to eat it in silence. + +'Are ye wearied, lad?' she asked after a while. + +'I am not so much wearied, Mary,' I replied, getting on my feet, +'as I am weary of delay, and perhaps of Aros too. You know me well +enough to judge me fairly, say what I like. Well, Mary, you may be +sure of this: you had better be anywhere but here.' + +'I'll be sure of one thing,' she returned: 'I'll be where my duty +is.' + +'You forget, you have a duty to yourself,' I said. + +'Ay, man?' she replied, pounding at the dough; 'will you have found +that in the Bible, now?' + +'Mary,' I said solemnly, 'you must not laugh at me just now. God +knows I am in no heart for laughing. If we could get your father +with us, it would be best; but with him or without him, I want you +far away from here, my girl; for your own sake, and for mine, ay, +and for your father's too, I want you far - far away from here. I +came with other thoughts; I came here as a man comes home; now it +is all changed, and I have no desire nor hope but to flee - for +that's the word - flee, like a bird out of the fowler's snare, from +this accursed island.' + +She had stopped her work by this time. + +'And do you think, now,' said she, 'do you think, now, I have +neither eyes nor ears? Do ye think I havenae broken my heart to +have these braws (as he calls them, God forgive him!) thrown into +the sea? Do ye think I have lived with him, day in, day out, and +not seen what you saw in an hour or two? No,' she said, 'I know +there's wrong in it; what wrong, I neither know nor want to know. +There was never an ill thing made better by meddling, that I could +hear of. But, my lad, you must never ask me to leave my father. +While the breath is in his body, I'll be with him. And he's not +long for here, either: that I can tell you, Charlie - he's not long +for here. The mark is on his brow; and better so - maybe better +so.' + +I was a while silent, not knowing what to say; and when I roused my +head at last to speak, she got before me. + +'Charlie,' she said, 'what's right for me, neednae be right for +you. There's sin upon this house and trouble; you are a stranger; +take your things upon your back and go your ways to better places +and to better folk, and if you were ever minded to come back, +though it were twenty years syne, you would find me aye waiting.' + +'Mary Ellen,' I said, 'I asked you to be my wife, and you said as +good as yes. That's done for good. Wherever you are, I am; as I +shall answer to my God.' + +As I said the words, the wind suddenly burst out raving, and then +seemed to stand still and shudder round the house of Aros. It was +the first squall, or prologue, of the coming tempest, and as we +started and looked about us, we found that a gloom, like the +approach of evening, had settled round the house. + +'God pity all poor folks at sea!' she said. 'We'll see no more of +my father till the morrow's morning.' + +And then she told me, as we sat by the fire and hearkened to the +rising gusts, of how this change had fallen upon my uncle. All +last winter he had been dark and fitful in his mind. Whenever the +Roost ran high, or, as Mary said, whenever the Merry Men were +dancing, he would lie out for hours together on the Head, if it +were at night, or on the top of Aros by day, watching the tumult of +the sea, and sweeping the horizon for a sail. After February the +tenth, when the wealth-bringing wreck was cast ashore at Sandag, he +had been at first unnaturally gay, and his excitement had never +fallen in degree, but only changed in kind from dark to darker. He +neglected his work, and kept Rorie idle. They two would speak +together by the hour at the gable end, in guarded tones and with an +air of secrecy and almost of guilt; and if she questioned either, +as at first she sometimes did, her inquiries were put aside with +confusion. Since Rorie had first remarked the fish that hung about +the ferry, his master had never set foot but once upon the mainland +of the Ross. That once - it was in the height of the springs - he +had passed dryshod while the tide was out; but, having lingered +overlong on the far side, found himself cut off from Aros by the +returning waters. It was with a shriek of agony that he had leaped +across the gut, and he had reached home thereafter in a fever-fit +of fear. A fear of the sea, a constant haunting thought of the +sea, appeared in his talk and devotions, and even in his looks when +he was silent. + +Rorie alone came in to supper; but a little later my uncle +appeared, took a bottle under his arm, put some bread in his +pocket, and set forth again to his outlook, followed this time by +Rorie. I heard that the schooner was losing ground, but the crew +were still fighting every inch with hopeless ingenuity and course; +and the news filled my mind with blackness. + +A little after sundown the full fury of the gale broke forth, such +a gale as I have never seen in summer, nor, seeing how swiftly it +had come, even in winter. Mary and I sat in silence, the house +quaking overhead, the tempest howling without, the fire between us +sputtering with raindrops. Our thoughts were far away with the +poor fellows on the schooner, or my not less unhappy uncle, +houseless on the promontory; and yet ever and again we were +startled back to ourselves, when the wind would rise and strike the +gable like a solid body, or suddenly fall and draw away, so that +the fire leaped into flame and our hearts bounded in our sides. +Now the storm in its might would seize and shake the four corners +of the roof, roaring like Leviathan in anger. Anon, in a lull, +cold eddies of tempest moved shudderingly in the room, lifting the +hair upon our heads and passing between us as we sat. And again +the wind would break forth in a chorus of melancholy sounds, +hooting low in the chimney, wailing with flutelike softness round +the house. + +It was perhaps eight o'clock when Rorie came in and pulled me +mysteriously to the door. My uncle, it appeared, had frightened +even his constant comrade; and Rorie, uneasy at his extravagance, +prayed me to come out and share the watch. I hastened to do as I +was asked; the more readily as, what with fear and horror, and the +electrical tension of the night, I was myself restless and disposed +for action. I told Mary to be under no alarm, for I should be a +safeguard on her father; and wrapping myself warmly in a plaid, I +followed Rorie into the open air. + +The night, though we were so little past midsummer, was as dark as +January. Intervals of a groping twilight alternated with spells of +utter blackness; and it was impossible to trace the reason of these +changes in the flying horror of the sky. The wind blew the breath +out of a man's nostrils; all heaven seemed to thunder overhead like +one huge sail; and when there fell a momentary lull on Aros, we +could hear the gusts dismally sweeping in the distance. Over all +the lowlands of the Ross, the wind must have blown as fierce as on +the open sea; and God only knows the uproar that was raging around +the head of Ben Kyaw. Sheets of mingled spray and rain were driven +in our faces. All round the isle of Aros the surf, with an +incessant, hammering thunder, beat upon the reefs and beaches. Now +louder in one place, now lower in another, like the combinations of +orchestral music, the constant mass of sound was hardly varied for +a moment. And loud above all this hurly-burly I could hear the +changeful voices of the Roost and the intermittent roaring of the +Merry Men. At that hour, there flashed into my mind the reason of +the name that they were called. For the noise of them seemed +almost mirthful, as it out-topped the other noises of the night; or +if not mirthful, yet instinct with a portentous joviality. Nay, +and it seemed even human. As when savage men have drunk away their +reason, and, discarding speech, bawl together in their madness by +the hour; so, to my ears, these deadly breakers shouted by Aros in +the night. + +Arm in arm, and staggering against the wind, Rorie and I won every +yard of ground with conscious effort. We slipped on the wet sod, +we fell together sprawling on the rocks. Bruised, drenched, +beaten, and breathless, it must have taken us near half an hour to +get from the house down to the Head that overlooks the Roost. +There, it seemed, was my uncle's favourite observatory. Right in +the face of it, where the cliff is highest and most sheer, a hump +of earth, like a parapet, makes a place of shelter from the common +winds, where a man may sit in quiet and see the tide and the mad +billows contending at his feet. As he might look down from the +window of a house upon some street disturbance, so, from this post, +he looks down upon the tumbling of the Merry Men. On such a night, +of course, he peers upon a world of blackness, where the waters +wheel and boil, where the waves joust together with the noise of an +explosion, and the foam towers and vanishes in the twinkling of an +eye. Never before had I seen the Merry Men thus violent. The +fury, height, and transiency of their spoutings was a thing to be +seen and not recounted. High over our heads on the cliff rose +their white columns in the darkness; and the same instant, like +phantoms, they were gone. Sometimes three at a time would thus +aspire and vanish; sometimes a gust took them, and the spray would +fall about us, heavy as a wave. And yet the spectacle was rather +maddening in its levity than impressive by its force. Thought was +beaten down by the confounding uproar - a gleeful vacancy possessed +the brains of men, a state akin to madness; and I found myself at +times following the dance of the Merry Men as it were a tune upon a +jigging instrument. + +I first caught sight of my uncle when we were still some yards away +in one of the flying glimpses of twilight that chequered the pitch +darkness of the night. He was standing up behind the parapet, his +head thrown back and the bottle to his mouth. As he put it down, +he saw and recognised us with a toss of one hand fleeringly above +his head. + +'Has he been drinking?' shouted I to Rorie. + +'He will aye be drunk when the wind blaws,' returned Rorie in the +same high key, and it was all that I could do to hear him. + +'Then - was he so - in February?' I inquired. + +Rorie's 'Ay' was a cause of joy to me. The murder, then, had not +sprung in cold blood from calculation; it was an act of madness no +more to be condemned than to be pardoned. My uncle was a dangerous +madman, if you will, but he was not cruel and base as I had feared. +Yet what a scene for a carouse, what an incredible vice, was this +that the poor man had chosen! I have always thought drunkenness a +wild and almost fearful pleasure, rather demoniacal than human; but +drunkenness, out here in the roaring blackness, on the edge of a +cliff above that hell of waters, the man's head spinning like the +Roost, his foot tottering on the edge of death, his ear watching +for the signs of ship-wreck, surely that, if it were credible in +any one, was morally impossible in a man like my uncle, whose mind +was set upon a damnatory creed and haunted by the darkest +superstitions. Yet so it was; and, as we reached the bight of +shelter and could breathe again, I saw the man's eyes shining in +the night with an unholy glimmer. + +'Eh, Charlie, man, it's grand!' he cried. 'See to them!' he +continued, dragging me to the edge of the abyss from whence arose +that deafening clamour and those clouds of spray; 'see to them +dancin', man! Is that no wicked?' + +He pronounced the word with gusto, and I thought it suited with the +scene. + +'They're yowlin' for thon schooner,' he went on, his thin, insane +voice clearly audible in the shelter of the bank, 'an' she's comin' +aye nearer, aye nearer, aye nearer an' nearer an' nearer; an' they +ken't, the folk kens it, they ken wool it's by wi' them. Charlie, +lad, they're a' drunk in yon schooner, a' dozened wi' drink. They +were a' drunk in the CHRIST-ANNA, at the hinder end. There's nane +could droon at sea wantin' the brandy. Hoot awa, what do you ken?' +with a sudden blast of anger. 'I tell ye, it cannae be; they droon +withoot it. Ha'e,' holding out the bottle, 'tak' a sowp.' + +I was about to refuse, but Rorie touched me as if in warning; and +indeed I had already thought better of the movement. I took the +bottle, therefore, and not only drank freely myself, but contrived +to spill even more as I was doing so. It was pure spirit, and +almost strangled me to swallow. My kinsman did not observe the +loss, but, once more throwing back his head, drained the remainder +to the dregs. Then, with a loud laugh, he cast the bottle forth +among the Merry Men, who seemed to leap up, shouting to receive it. + +'Ha'e, bairns!' he cried, 'there's your han'sel. Ye'll get bonnier +nor that, or morning.' + +Suddenly, out in the black night before us, and not two hundred +yards away, we heard, at a moment when the wind was silent, the +clear note of a human voice. Instantly the wind swept howling down +upon the Head, and the Roost bellowed, and churned, and danced with +a new fury. But we had heard the sound, and we knew, with agony, +that this was the doomed ship now close on ruin, and that what we +had heard was the voice of her master issuing his last command. +Crouching together on the edge, we waited, straining every sense, +for the inevitable end. It was long, however, and to us it seemed +like ages, ere the schooner suddenly appeared for one brief +instant, relieved against a tower of glimmering foam. I still see +her reefed mainsail flapping loose, as the boom fell heavily across +the deck; I still see the black outline of the hull, and still +think I can distinguish the figure of a man stretched upon the +tiller. Yet the whole sight we had of her passed swifter than +lightning; the very wave that disclosed her fell burying her for +ever; the mingled cry of many voices at the point of death rose and +was quenched in the roaring of the Merry Men. And with that the +tragedy was at an end. The strong ship, with all her gear, and the +lamp perhaps still burning in the cabin, the lives of so many men, +precious surely to others, dear, at least, as heaven to themselves, +had all, in that one moment, gone down into the surging waters. +They were gone like a dream. And the wind still ran and shouted, +and the senseless waters in the Roost still leaped and tumbled as +before. + +How long we lay there together, we three, speechless and +motionless, is more than I can tell, but it must have been for +long. At length, one by one, and almost mechanically, we crawled +back into the shelter of the bank. As I lay against the parapet, +wholly wretched and not entirely master of my mind, I could hear my +kinsman maundering to himself in an altered and melancholy mood. +Now he would repeat to himself with maudlin iteration, 'Sic a fecht +as they had - sic a sair fecht as they had, puir lads, puir lads!' +and anon he would bewail that 'a' the gear was as gude's tint,' +because the ship had gone down among the Merry Men instead of +stranding on the shore; and throughout, the name - the CHRIST-ANNA +- would come and go in his divagations, pronounced with shuddering +awe. The storm all this time was rapidly abating. In half an hour +the wind had fallen to a breeze, and the change was accompanied or +caused by a heavy, cold, and plumping rain. I must then have +fallen asleep, and when I came to myself, drenched, stiff, and +unrefreshed, day had already broken, grey, wet, discomfortable day; +the wind blew in faint and shifting capfuls, the tide was out, the +Roost was at its lowest, and only the strong beating surf round all +the coasts of Aros remained to witness of the furies of the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V. A MAN OUT OF THE SEA. + + +Rorie set out for the house in search of warmth and breakfast; but +my uncle was bent upon examining the shores of Aros, and I felt it +a part of duty to accompany him throughout. He was now docile and +quiet, but tremulous and weak in mind and body; and it was with the +eagerness of a child that he pursued his exploration. He climbed +far down upon the rocks; on the beaches, he pursued the retreating +breakers. The merest broken plank or rag of cordage was a treasure +in his eyes to be secured at the peril of his life. To see him, +with weak and stumbling footsteps, expose himself to the pursuit of +the surf, or the snares and pitfalls of the weedy rock, kept me in +a perpetual terror. My arm was ready to support him, my hand +clutched him by the skirt, I helped him to draw his pitiful +discoveries beyond the reach of the returning wave; a nurse +accompanying a child of seven would have had no different +experience. + +Yet, weakened as he was by the reaction from his madness of the +night before, the passions that smouldered in his nature were those +of a strong man. His terror of the sea, although conquered for the +moment, was still undiminished; had the sea been a lake of living +flames, he could not have shrunk more panically from its touch; and +once, when his foot slipped and he plunged to the midleg into a +pool of water, the shriek that came up out of his soul was like the +cry of death. He sat still for a while, panting like a dog, after +that; but his desire for the spoils of shipwreck triumphed once +more over his fears; once more he tottered among the curded foam; +once more he crawled upon the rocks among the bursting bubbles; +once more his whole heart seemed to be set on driftwood, fit, if it +was fit for anything, to throw upon the fire. Pleased as he was +with what he found, he still incessantly grumbled at his ill- +fortune. + +'Aros,' he said, 'is no a place for wrecks ava' - no ava'. A' the +years I've dwalt here, this ane maks the second; and the best o' +the gear clean tint!' + +'Uncle,' said I, for we were now on a stretch of open sand, where +there was nothing to divert his mind, 'I saw you last night, as I +never thought to see you - you were drunk.' + +'Na, na,' he said, 'no as bad as that. I had been drinking, +though. And to tell ye the God's truth, it's a thing I cannae +mend. There's nae soberer man than me in my ordnar; but when I +hear the wind blaw in my lug, it's my belief that I gang gyte.' + +'You are a religious man,' I replied, 'and this is sin'. + +'Ou,' he returned, 'if it wasnae sin, I dinnae ken that I would +care for't. Ye see, man, it's defiance. There's a sair spang o' +the auld sin o' the warld in you sea; it's an unchristian business +at the best o't; an' whiles when it gets up, an' the wind skreights +- the wind an' her are a kind of sib, I'm thinkin' - an' thae Merry +Men, the daft callants, blawin' and lauchin', and puir souls in the +deid thraws warstlin' the leelang nicht wi' their bit ships - weel, +it comes ower me like a glamour. I'm a deil, I ken't. But I think +naething o' the puir sailor lads; I'm wi' the sea, I'm just like +ane o' her ain Merry Men.' + +I thought I should touch him in a joint of his harness. I turned +me towards the sea; the surf was running gaily, wave after wave, +with their manes blowing behind them, riding one after another up +the beach, towering, curving, falling one upon another on the +trampled sand. Without, the salt air, the scared gulls, the +widespread army of the sea-chargers, neighing to each other, as +they gathered together to the assault of Aros; and close before us, +that line on the flat sands that, with all their number and their +fury, they might never pass. + +'Thus far shalt thou go,' said I, 'and no farther.' And then I +quoted as solemnly as I was able a verse that I had often before +fitted to the chorus of the breakers:- + + +But yet the Lord that is on high, +Is more of might by far, +Than noise of many waters is, +As great sea billows are. + + +'Ay,' said my kinsinan, 'at the hinder end, the Lord will triumph; +I dinnae misdoobt that. But here on earth, even silly men-folk +daur Him to His face. It is nae wise; I am nae sayin' that it's +wise; but it's the pride of the eye, and it's the lust o' life, an' +it's the wale o' pleesures.' + +I said no more, for we had now begun to cross a neck of land that +lay between us and Sandag; and I withheld my last appeal to the +man's better reason till we should stand upon the spot associated +with his crime. Nor did he pursue the subject; but he walked +beside me with a firmer step. The call that I had made upon his +mind acted like a stimulant, and I could see that he had forgotten +his search for worthless jetsam, in a profound, gloomy, and yet +stirring train of thought. In three or four minutes we had topped +the brae and begun to go down upon Sandag. The wreck had been +roughly handled by the sea; the stem had been spun round and +dragged a little lower down; and perhaps the stern had been forced +a little higher, for the two parts now lay entirely separate on the +beach. When we came to the grave I stopped, uncovered my head in +the thick rain, and, looking my kinsman in the face, addressed him. + +'A man,' said I, 'was in God's providence suffered to escape from +mortal dangers; he was poor, he was naked, he was wet, he was +weary, he was a stranger; he had every claim upon the bowels of +your compassion; it may be that he was the salt of the earth, holy, +helpful, and kind; it may be he was a man laden with iniquities to +whom death was the beginning of torment. I ask you in the sight of +heaven: Gordon Darnaway, where is the man for whom Christ died?' + +He started visibly at the last words; but there came no answer, and +his face expressed no feeling but a vague alarm. + +'You were my father's brother,' I continued; 'You, have taught me +to count your house as if it were my father's house; and we are +both sinful men walking before the Lord among the sins and dangers +of this life. It is by our evil that God leads us into good; we +sin, I dare not say by His temptation, but I must say with His +consent; and to any but the brutish man his sins are the beginning +of wisdom. God has warned you by this crime; He warns you still by +the bloody grave between our feet; and if there shall follow no +repentance, no improvement, no return to Him, what can we look for +but the following of some memorable judgment?' + +Even as I spoke the words, the eyes of my uncle wandered from my +face. A change fell upon his looks that cannot be described; his +features seemed to dwindle in size, the colour faded from his +cheeks, one hand rose waveringly and pointed over my shoulder into +the distance, and the oft-repeated name fell once more from his +lips: 'The CHRIST-ANNA!' + +I turned; and if I was not appalled to the same degree, as I return +thanks to Heaven that I had not the cause, I was still startled by +the sight that met my eyes. The form of a man stood upright on the +cabin-hutch of the wrecked ship; his back was towards us; he +appeared to be scanning the offing with shaded eyes, and his figure +was relieved to its full height, which was plainly very great, +against the sea and sky. I have said a thousand times that I am +not superstitious; but at that moment, with my mind running upon +death and sin, the unexplained appearance of a stranger on that +sea-girt, solitary island filled me with a surprise that bordered +close on terror. It seemed scarce possible that any human soul +should have come ashore alive in such a sea as had rated last night +along the coasts of Aros; and the only vessel within miles had gone +down before our eyes among the Merry Men. I was assailed with +doubts that made suspense unbearable, and, to put the matter to the +touch at once, stepped forward and hailed the figure like a ship. + +He turned about, and I thought he started to behold us. At this my +courage instantly revived, and I called and signed to him to draw +near, and he, on his part, dropped immediately to the sands, and +began slowly to approach, with many stops and hesitations. At each +repeated mark of the man's uneasiness I grew the more confident +myself; and I advanced another step, encouraging him as I did so +with my head and hand. It was plain the castaway had heard +indifferent accounts of our island hospitality; and indeed, about +this time, the people farther north had a sorry reputation. + +'Why,' I said, 'the man is black!' + +And just at that moment, in a voice that I could scarce have +recognised, my kinsman began swearing and praying in a mingled +stream. I looked at him; he had fallen on his knees, his face was +agonised; at each step of the castaway's the pitch of his voice +rose, the volubility of his utterance and the fervour of his +language redoubled. I call it prayer, for it was addressed to God; +but surely no such ranting incongruities were ever before addressed +to the Creator by a creature: surely if prayer can be a sin, this +mad harangue was sinful. I ran to my kinsman, I seized him by the +shoulders, I dragged him to his feet. + +'Silence, man,' said I, 'respect your God in words, if not in +action. Here, on the very scene of your transgressions, He sends +you an occasion of atonement. Forward and embrace it; welcome like +a father yon creature who comes trembling to your mercy.' + +With that, I tried to force him towards the black; but he felled me +to the ground, burst from my grasp, leaving the shoulder of his +jacket, and fled up the hillside towards the top of Aros like a +deer. I staggered to my feet again, bruised and somewhat stunned; +the negro had paused in surprise, perhaps in terror, some halfway +between me and the wreck; my uncle was already far away, bounding +from rock to rock; and I thus found myself torn for a time between +two duties. But I judged, and I pray Heaven that I judged rightly, +in favour of the poor wretch upon the sands; his misfortune was at +least not plainly of his own creation; it was one, besides, that I +could certainly relieve; and I had begun by that time to regard my +uncle as an incurable and dismal lunatic. I advanced accordingly +towards the black, who now awaited my approach with folded arms, +like one prepared for either destiny. As I came nearer, he reached +forth his hand with a great gesture, such as I had seen from the +pulpit, and spoke to me in something of a pulpit voice, but not a +word was comprehensible. I tried him first in English, then in +Gaelic, both in vain; so that it was clear we must rely upon the +tongue of looks and gestures. Thereupon I signed to him to follow +me, which he did readily and with a grave obeisance like a fallen +king; all the while there had come no shade of alteration in his +face, neither of anxiety while he was still waiting, nor of relief +now that he was reassured; if he were a slave, as I supposed, I +could not but judge he must have fallen from some high place in his +own country, and fallen as he was, I could not but admire his +bearing. As we passed the grave, I paused and raised my hands and +eyes to heaven in token of respect and sorrow for the dead; and he, +as if in answer, bowed low and spread his hands abroad; it was a +strange motion, but done like a thing of common custom; and I +supposed it was ceremonial in the land from which he came. At the +same time he pointed to my uncle, whom we could just see perched +upon a knoll, and touched his head to indicate that he was mad. + +We took the long way round the shore, for I feared to excite my +uncle if we struck across the island; and as we walked, I had time +enough to mature the little dramatic exhibition by which I hoped to +satisfy my doubts. Accordingly, pausing on a rock, I proceeded to +imitate before the negro the action of the man whom I had seen the +day before taking bearings with the compass at Sandag. He +understood me at once, and, taking the imitation out of my hands, +showed me where the boat was, pointed out seaward as if to indicate +the position of the schooner, and then down along the edge of the +rock with the words 'Espirito Santo,' strangely pronounced, but +clear enough for recognition. I had thus been right in my +conjecture; the pretended historical inquiry had been but a cloak +for treasure-hunting; the man who had played on Dr. Robertson was +the same as the foreigner who visited Grisapol in spring, and now, +with many others, lay dead under the Roost of Aros: there had their +greed brought them, there should their bones be tossed for +evermore. In the meantime the black continued his imitation of the +scene, now looking up skyward as though watching the approach of +the storm now, in the character of a seaman, waving the rest to +come aboard; now as an officer, running along the rock and entering +the boat; and anon bending over imaginary oars with the air of a +hurried boatman; but all with the same solemnity of manner, so that +I was never even moved to smile. Lastly, he indicated to me, by a +pantomime not to be described in words, how he himself had gone up +to examine the stranded wreck, and, to his grief and indignation, +had been deserted by his comrades; and thereupon folded his arms +once more, and stooped his head, like one accepting fate. + +The mystery of his presence being thus solved for me, I explained +to him by means of a sketch the fate of the vessel and of all +aboard her. He showed no surprise nor sorrow, and, with a sudden +lifting of his open hand, seemed to dismiss his former friends or +masters (whichever they had been) into God's pleasure. Respect +came upon me and grew stronger, the more I observed him; I saw he +had a powerful mind and a sober and severe character, such as I +loved to commune with; and before we reached the house of Aros I +had almost forgotten, and wholly forgiven him, his uncanny colour. + +To Mary I told all that had passed without suppression, though I +own my heart failed me; but I did wrong to doubt her sense of +justice. + +'You did the right,' she said. 'God's will be done.' And she set +out meat for us at once. + +As soon as I was satisfied, I bade Rorie keep an eye upon the +castaway, who was still eating, and set forth again myself to find +my uncle. I had not gone far before I saw him sitting in the same +place, upon the very topmost knoll, and seemingly in the same +attitude as when I had last observed him. From that point, as I +have said, the most of Aros and the neighbouring Ross would be +spread below him like a map; and it was plain that he kept a bright +look-out in all directions, for my head had scarcely risen above +the summit of the first ascent before he had leaped to his feet and +turned as if to face me. I hailed him at once, as well as I was +able, in the same tones and words as I had often used before, when +I had come to summon him to dinner. He made not so much as a +movement in reply. I passed on a little farther, and again tried +parley, with the same result. But when I began a second time to +advance, his insane fears blazed up again, and still in dead +silence, but with incredible speed, he began to flee from before me +along the rocky summit of the hill. An hour before, he had been +dead weary, and I had been comparatively active. But now his +strength was recruited by the fervour of insanity, and it would +have been vain for me to dream of pursuit. Nay, the very attempt, +I thought, might have inflamed his terrors, and thus increased the +miseries of our position. And I had nothing left but to turn +homeward and make my sad report to Mary. + +She heard it, as she had heard the first, with a concerned +composure, and, bidding me lie down and take that rest of which I +stood so much in need, set forth herself in quest of her misguided +father. At that age it would have been a strange thing that put me +from either meat or sleep; I slept long and deep; and it was +already long past noon before I awoke and came downstairs into the +kitchen. Mary, Rorie, and the black castaway were seated about the +fire in silence; and I could see that Mary had been weeping. There +was cause enough, as I soon learned, for tears. First she, and +then Rorie, had been forth to seek my uncle; each in turn had found +him perched upon the hill-top, and from each in turn he had +silently and swiftly fled. Rorie had tried to chase him, but in +vain; madness lent a new vigour to his bounds; he sprang from rock +to rock over the widest gullies; he scoured like the wind along the +hill-tops; he doubled and twisted like a hare before the dogs; and +Rorie at length gave in; and the last that he saw, my uncle was +seated as before upon the crest of Aros. Even during the hottest +excitement of the chase, even when the fleet-footed servant had +come, for a moment, very near to capture him, the poor lunatic had +uttered not a sound. He fled, and he was silent, like a beast; and +this silence had terrified his pursuer. + +There was something heart-breaking in the situation. How to +capture the madman, how to feed him in the meanwhile, and what to +do with him when he was captured, were the three difficulties that +we had to solve. + +'The black,' said I, 'is the cause of this attack. It may even be +his presence in the house that keeps my uncle on the hill. We have +done the fair thing; he has been fed and warmed under this roof; +now I propose that Rorie put him across the bay in the coble, and +take him through the Ross as far as Grisapol.' + +In this proposal Mary heartily concurred; and bidding the black +follow us, we all three descended to the pier. Certainly, Heaven's +will was declared against Gordon Darnaway; a thing had happened, +never paralleled before in Aros; during the storm, the coble had +broken loose, and, striking on the rough splinters of the pier, now +lay in four feet of water with one side stove in. Three days of +work at least would be required to make her float. But I was not +to be beaten. I led the whole party round to where the gut was +narrowest, swam to the other side, and called to the black to +follow me. He signed, with the same clearness and quiet as before, +that he knew not the art; and there was truth apparent in his +signals, it would have occurred to none of us to doubt his truth; +and that hope being over, we must all go back even as we came to +the house of Aros, the negro walking in our midst without +embarrassment. + +All we could do that day was to make one more attempt to +communicate with the unhappy madman. Again he was visible on his +perch; again he fled in silence. But food and a great cloak were +at least left for his comfort; the rain, besides, had cleared away, +and the night promised to be even warm. We might compose +ourselves, we thought, until the morrow; rest was the chief +requisite, that we might be strengthened for unusual exertions; and +as none cared to talk, we separated at an early hour. + +I lay long awake, planning a campaign for the morrow. I was to +place the black on the side of Sandag, whence he should head my +uncle towards the house; Rorie in the west, I on the east, were to +complete the cordon, as best we might. It seemed to me, the more I +recalled the configuration of the island, that it should be +possible, though hard, to force him down upon the low ground along +Aros Bay; and once there, even with the strength of his madness, +ultimate escape was hardly to be feared. It was on his terror of +the black that I relied; for I made sure, however he might run, it +would not be in the direction of the man whom he supposed to have +returned from the dead, and thus one point of the compass at least +would be secure. + +When at length I fell asleep, it was to be awakened shortly after +by a dream of wrecks, black men, and submarine adventure; and I +found myself so shaken and fevered that I arose, descended the +stair, and stepped out before the house. Within, Rorie and the +black were asleep together in the kitchen; outside was a wonderful +clear night of stars, with here and there a cloud still hanging, +last stragglers of the tempest. It was near the top of the flood, +and the Merry Men were roaring in the windless quiet of the night. +Never, not even in the height of the tempest, had I heard their +song with greater awe. Now, when the winds were gathered home, +when the deep was dandling itself back into its summer slumber, and +when the stars rained their gentle light over land and sea, the +voice of these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc. They +seemed, indeed, to be a part of the world's evil and the tragic +side of life. Nor were their meaningless vociferations the only +sounds that broke the silence of the night. For I could hear, now +shrill and thrilling and now almost drowned, the note of a human +voice that accompanied the uproar of the Roost. I knew it for my +kinsman's; and a great fear fell upon me of God's judgments, and +the evil in the world. I went back again into the darkness of the +house as into a place of shelter, and lay long upon my bed, +pondering these mysteries. + +It was late when I again woke, and I leaped into my clothes and +hurried to the kitchen. No one was there; Rorie and the black had +both stealthily departed long before; and my heart stood still at +the discovery. I could rely on Rorie's heart, but I placed no +trust in his discretion. If he had thus set out without a word, he +was plainly bent upon some service to my uncle. But what service +could he hope to render even alone, far less in the company of the +man in whom my uncle found his fears incarnated? Even if I were +not already too late to prevent some deadly mischief, it was plain +I must delay no longer. With the thought I was out of the house; +and often as I have run on the rough sides of Aros, I never ran as +I did that fatal morning. I do not believe I put twelve minutes to +the whole ascent. + +My uncle was gone from his perch. The basket had indeed been torn +open and the meat scattered on the turf; but, as we found +afterwards, no mouthful had been tasted; and there was not another +trace of human existence in that wide field of view. Day had +already filled the clear heavens; the sun already lighted in a rosy +bloom upon the crest of Ben Kyaw; but all below me the rude knolls +of Aros and the shield of sea lay steeped in the clear darkling +twilight of the dawn. + +'Rorie!' I cried; and again 'Rorie!' My voice died in the silence, +but there came no answer back. If there were indeed an enterprise +afoot to catch my uncle, it was plainly not in fleetness of foot, +but in dexterity of stalking, that the hunters placed their trust. +I ran on farther, keeping the higher spurs, and looking right and +left, nor did I pause again till I was on the mount above Sandag. +I could see the wreck, the uncovered belt of sand, the waves idly +beating, the long ledge of rocks, and on either hand the tumbled +knolls, boulders, and gullies of the island. But still no human +thing. + +At a stride the sunshine fell on Aros, and the shadows and colours +leaped into being. Not half a moment later, below me to the west, +sheep began to scatter as in a panic. There came a cry. I saw my +uncle running. I saw the black jump up in hot pursuit; and before +I had time to understand, Rorie also had appeared, calling +directions in Gaelic as to a dog herding sheep. + +I took to my heels to interfere, and perhaps I had done better to +have waited where I was, for I was the means of cutting off the +madman's last escape. There was nothing before him from that +moment but the grave, the wreck, and the sea in Sandag Bay. And +yet Heaven knows that what I did was for the best. + +My uncle Gordon saw in what direction, horrible to him, the chase +was driving him. He doubled, darting to the right and left; but +high as the fever ran in his veins, the black was still the +swifter. Turn where he would, he was still forestalled, still +driven toward the scene of his crime. Suddenly he began to shriek +aloud, so that the coast re-echoed; and now both I and Rorie were +calling on the black to stop. But all was vain, for it was written +otherwise. The pursuer still ran, the chase still sped before him +screaming; they avoided the grave, and skimmed close past the +timbers of the wreck; in a breath they had cleared the sand; and +still my kinsman did not pause, but dashed straight into the surf; +and the black, now almost within reach, still followed swiftly +behind him. Rorie and I both stopped, for the thing was now beyond +the hands of men, and these were the decrees of God that came to +pass before our eyes. There was never a sharper ending. On that +steep beach they were beyond their depth at a bound; neither could +swim; the black rose once for a moment with a throttling cry; but +the current had them, racing seaward; and if ever they came up +again, which God alone can tell, it would be ten minutes after, at +the far end of Aros Roost, where the seabirds hover fishing. + + + +WILL O' THE MILL. + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE PLAIN AND THE STARS. + + +THE Mill here Will lived with his adopted parents stood in a +falling valley between pinewoods and great mountains. Above, hill +after hill, soared upwards until they soared out of the depth of +the hardiest timber, and stood naked against the sky. Some way up, +a long grey village lay like a seam or a ray of vapour on a wooded +hillside; and when the wind was favourable, the sound of the church +bells would drop down, thin and silvery, to Will. Below, the +valley grew ever steeper and steeper, and at the same time widened +out on either hand; and from an eminence beside the mill it was +possible to see its whole length and away beyond it over a wide +plain, where the river turned and shone, and moved on from city to +city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced that over this +valley there lay a pass into a neighbouring kingdom; so that, quiet +and rural as it was, the road that ran along beside the river was a +high thoroughfare between two splendid and powerful societies. All +through the summer, travelling-carriages came crawling up, or went +plunging briskly downwards past the mill; and as it happened that +the other side was very much easier of ascent, the path was not +much frequented, except by people going in one direction; and of +all the carriages that Will saw go by, five-sixths were plunging +briskly downwards and only one-sixth crawling up. Much more was +this the case with foot-passengers. All the light-footed tourists, +all the pedlars laden with strange wares, were tending downward +like the river that accompanied their path. Nor was this all; for +when Will was yet a child a disastrous war arose over a great part +of the world. The newspapers were full of defeats and victories, +the earth rang with cavalry hoofs, and often for days together and +for miles around the coil of battle terrified good people from +their labours in the field. Of all this, nothing was heard for a +long time in the valley; but at last one of the commanders pushed +an army over the pass by forced marches, and for three days horse +and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum and standard, kept pouring +downward past the mill. All day the child stood and watched them +on their passage - the rhythmical stride, the pale, unshaven faces +tanned about the eyes, the discoloured regimentals and the tattered +flags, filled him with a sense of weariness, pity, and wonder; and +all night long, after he was in bed, he could hear the cannon +pounding and the feet trampling, and the great armament sweeping +onward and downward past the mill. No one in the valley ever heard +the fate of the expedition, for they lay out of the way of gossip +in those troublous times; but Will saw one thing plainly, that not +a man returned. Whither had they all gone? Whither went all the +tourists and pedlars with strange wares? whither all the brisk +barouches with servants in the dicky? whither the water of the +stream, ever coursing downward and ever renewed from above? Even +the wind blew oftener down the valley, and carried the dead leaves +along with it in the fall. It seemed like a great conspiracy of +things animate and inanimate; they all went downward, fleetly and +gaily downward, and only he, it seemed, remained behind, like a +stock upon the wayside. It sometimes made him glad when he noticed +how the fishes kept their heads up stream. They, at least, stood +faithfully by him, while all else were posting downward to the +unknown world. + +One evening he asked the miller where the river went. + +'It goes down the valley,' answered he, 'and turns a power of mills +- six score mills, they say, from here to Unterdeck - and is none +the wearier after all. And then it goes out into the lowlands, and +waters the great corn country, and runs through a sight of fine +cities (so they say) where kings live all alone in great palaces, +with a sentry walling up and down before the door. And it goes +under bridges with stone men upon them, looking down and smiling so +curious it the water, and living folks leaning their elbows on the +wall and looking over too. And then it goes on and on, and down +through marshes and sands, until at last it falls into the sea, +where the ships are that bring parrots and tobacco from the Indies. +Ay, it has a long trot before it as it goes singing over our weir, +bless its heart!' + +'And what is the sea?' asked Will. + +'The sea!' cried the miller. 'Lord help us all, it is the greatest +thing God made! That is where all the water in the world runs down +into a great salt lake. There it lies, as flat as my hand and as +innocent-like as a child; but they do say when the wind blows it +gets up into water-mountains bigger than any of ours, and swallows +down great ships bigger than our mill, and makes such a roaring +that you can hear it miles away upon the land. There are great +fish in it five times bigger than a bull, and one old serpent as +lone as our river and as old as all the world, with whiskers like a +man, and a crown of silver on her head.' + +Will thought he had never heard anything like this, and he kept on +asking question after question about the world that lay away down +the river, with all its perils and marvels, until the old miller +became quite interested himself, and at last took him by the hand +and led him to the hilltop that overlooks the valley and the plain. +The sun was near setting, and hung low down in a cloudless sky. +Everything was defined and glorified in golden light. Will had +never seen so great an expanse of country in his life; he stood and +gazed with all his eyes. He could see the cities, and the woods +and fields, and the bright curves of the river, and far away to +where the rim of the plain trenched along the shining heavens. An +over-mastering emotion seized upon the boy, soul and body; his +heart beat so thickly that he could not breathe; the scene swam +before his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round and round, and throw +off, as it turned, strange shapes which disappeared with the +rapidity of thought, and were succeeded by others. Will covered +his face with his hands, and burst into a violent fit of tears; and +the poor miller, sadly disappointed and perplexed, saw nothing +better for it than to take him up in his arms and carry him home in +silence. + +From that day forward Will was full of new hopes and longings. +Something kept tugging at his heart-strings; the running water +carried his desires along with it as he dreamed over its fleeting +surface; the wind, as it ran over innumerable tree-tops, hailed him +with encouraging words; branches beckoned downward; the open road, +as it shouldered round the angles and went turning and vanishing +fast and faster down the valley, tortured him with its +solicitations. He spent long whiles on the eminence, looking down +the rivershed and abroad on the fat lowlands, and watched the +clouds that travelled forth upon the sluggish wind and trailed +their purple shadows on the plain; or he would linger by the +wayside, and follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled +downward by the river. It did not matter what it was; everything +that went that way, were it cloud or carriage, bird or brown water +in the stream, he felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of +longing. + +We are told by men of science that all the ventures of mariners on +the sea, all that counter-marching of tribes and races that +confounds old history with its dust and rumour, sprang from nothing +more abstruse than the laws of supply and demand, and a certain +natural instinct for cheap rations. To any one thinking deeply, +this will seem a dull and pitiful explanation. The tribes that +came swarming out of the North and East, if they were indeed +pressed onward from behind by others, were drawn at the same time +by the magnetic influence of the South and West. The fame of other +lands had reached them; the name of the eternal city rang in their +ears; they were not colonists, but pilgrims; they travelled towards +wine and gold and sunshine, but their hearts were set on something +higher. That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble of humanity +that makes all high achievements and all miserable failure, the +same that spread wings with Icarus, the same that sent Columbus +into the desolate Atlantic, inspired and supported these barbarians +on their perilous march. There is one legend which profoundly +represents their spirit, of how a flying party of these wanderers +encountered a very old man shod with iron. The old man asked them +whither they were going; and they answered with one voice: 'To the +Eternal City!' He looked upon them gravely. 'I have sought it,' +he said, 'over the most part of the world. Three such pairs as I +now carry on my feet have I worn out upon this pilgrimage, and now +the fourth is growing slender underneath my steps. And all this +while I have not found the city.' And he turned and went his own +way alone, leaving them astonished. + +And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of Will's +feeling for the plain. If he could only go far enough out there, +he felt as if his eyesight would be purged and clarified, as if his +hearing would grow more delicate, and his very breath would come +and go with luxury. He was transplanted and withering where he +was; he lay in a strange country and was sick for home. Bit by +bit, he pieced together broken notions of the world below: of the +river, ever moving and growing until it sailed forth into the +majestic ocean; of the cities, full of brisk and beautiful people, +playing fountains, bands of music and marble palaces, and lighted +up at night from end to end with artificial stars of gold; of the +great churches, wise universities, brave armies, and untold money +lying stored in vaults; of the high-flying vice that moved in the +sunshine, and the stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have +said he was sick as if for home: the figure halts. He was like +some one lying in twilit, formless preexistence, and stretching out +his hands lovingly towards many-coloured, many-sounding life. It +was no wonder he was unhappy, he would go and tell the fish: they +were made for their life, wished for no more than worms and running +water, and a hole below a falling bank; but he was differently +designed, full of desires and aspirations, itching at the fingers, +lusting with the eyes, whom the whole variegated world could not +satisfy with aspects. The true life, the true bright sunshine, lay +far out upon the plain. And O! to see this sunlight once before he +died! to move with a jocund spirit in a golden land! to hear the +trained singers and sweet church bells, and see the holiday +gardens! 'And O fish!' he would cry, 'if you would only turn your +noses down stream, you could swim so easily into the fabled waters +and see the vast ships passing over your head like clouds, and hear +the great water-hills making music over you all day long!' But the +fish kept looking patiently in their own direction, until Will +hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. + +Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will, like something +seen in a picture: he had perhaps exchanged salutations with a +tourist, or caught sight of an old gentleman in a travelling cap at +a carriage window; but for the most part it had been a mere symbol, +which he contemplated from apart and with something of a +superstitious feeling. A time came at last when this was to be +changed. The miller, who was a greedy man in his way, and never +forewent an opportunity of honest profit, turned the mill-house +into a little wayside inn, and, several pieces of good fortune +falling in opportunely, built stables and got the position of post +master on the road. It now became Will's duty to wait upon people, +as they sat to break their fasts in the little arbour at the top of +the mill garden; and you may be sure that he kept his ears open, +and learned many new things about the outside world as he brought +the omelette or the wine. Nay, he would often get into +conversation with single guests, and by adroit questions and polite +attention, not only gratify his own curiosity, but win the goodwill +of the travellers. Many complimented the old couple on their +serving-boy; and a professor was eager to take him away with him, +and have him properly educated in the plain. The miller and his +wife were mightily astonished and even more pleased. They thought +it a very good thing that they should have opened their inn. 'You +see,' the old man would remark, 'he has a kind of talent for a +publican; he never would have made anything else!' And so life +wagged on in the valley, with high satisfaction to all concerned +but Will. Every carriage that left the inn-door seemed to take a +part of him away with it; and when people jestingly offered him a +lift, he could with difficulty command his emotion. Night after +night he would dream that he was awakened by flustered servants, +and that a splendid equipage waited at the door to carry him down +into the plain; night after night; until the dream, which had +seemed all jollity to him at first, began to take on a colour of +gravity, and the nocturnal summons and waiting equipage occupied a +place in his mind as something to be both feared and hoped for. + +One day, when Will was about sixteen, a fat young man arrived at +sunset to pass the night. He was a contented-looking fellow, with +a jolly eye, and carried a knapsack. While dinner was preparing, +he sat in the arbour to read a book; but as soon as he had begun to +observe Will, the book was laid aside; he was plainly one of those +who prefer living people to people made of ink and paper. Will, on +his part, although he had not been much interested in the stranger +at first sight, soon began to take a great deal of pleasure in his +talk, which was full of good nature and good sense, and at last +conceived a great respect for his character and wisdom. They sat +far into the night; and about two in the morning Will opened his +heart to the young man, and told him how he longed to leave the +valley and what bright hopes he had connected with the cities of +the plain. The young man whistled, and then broke into a smile. + +'My young friend,' he remarked, 'you are a very curious little +fellow to be sure, and wish a great many things which you will +never get. Why, you would feel quite ashamed if you knew how the +little fellows in these fairy cities of yours are all after the +same sort of nonsense, and keep breaking their hearts to get up +into the mountains. And let me tell you, those who go down into +the plains are a very short while there before they wish themselves +heartily back again. The air is not so light nor so pure; nor is +the sun any brighter. As for the beautiful men and women, you +would see many of them in rags and many of them deformed with +horrible disorders; and a city is so hard a place for people who +are poor and sensitive that many choose to die by their own hand.' + +'You must think me very simple,' answered Will. 'Although I have +never been out of this valley, believe me, I have used my eyes. I +know how one thing lives on another; for instance, how the fish +hangs in the eddy to catch his fellows; and the shepherd, who makes +so pretty a picture carrying home the lamb, is only carrying it +home for dinner. I do not expect to find all things right in your +cities. That is not what troubles me; it might have been that once +upon a time; but although I live here always, I have asked many +questions and learned a great deal in these last years, and +certainly enough to cure me of my old fancies. But you would not +have me die like a dog and not see all that is to be seen, and do +all that a man can do, let it be good or evil? you would not have +me spend all my days between this road here and the river, and not +so much as make a motion to be up and live my life? - I would +rather die out of hand,' he cried, 'than linger on as I am doing.' + +'Thousands of people,' said the young man, 'live and die like you, +and are none the less happy.' + +'Ah!' said Will, 'if there are thousands who would like, why should +not one of them have my place?' + +It was quite dark; there was a hanging lamp in the arbour which lit +up the table and the faces of the speakers; and along the arch, the +leaves upon the trellis stood out illuminated against the night +sky, a pattern of transparent green upon a dusky purple. The fat +young man rose, and, taking Will by the arm, led him out under the +open heavens. + +'Did you ever look at the stars?' he asked, pointing upwards. + +'Often and often,' answered Will. + +'And do you know what they are?' + +'I have fancied many things.' + +'They are worlds like ours,' said the young man. 'Some of them +less; many of them a million times greater; and some of the least +sparkles that you see are not only worlds, but whole clusters of +worlds turning about each other in the midst of space. We do not +know what there may be in any of them; perhaps the answer to all +our difficulties or the cure of all our sufferings: and yet we can +never reach them; not all the skill of the craftiest of men can fit +out a ship for the nearest of these our neighbours, nor would the +life of the most aged suffice for such a journey. When a great +battle has been lost or a dear friend is dead, when we are hipped +or in high spirits, there they are unweariedly shining overhead. +We may stand down here, a whole army of us together, and shout +until we break our hearts, and not a whisper reaches them. We may +climb the highest mountain, and we are no nearer them. All we can +do is to stand down here in the garden and take off our hats; the +starshine lights upon our heads, and where mine is a little bald, I +dare say you can see it glisten in the darkness. The mountain and +the mouse. That is like to be all we shall ever have to do with +Arcturus or Aldebaran. Can you apply a parable?' he added, laying +his hand upon Will's shoulder. 'It is not the same thing as a +reason, but usually vastly more convincing.' + +Will hung his head a little, and then raised it once more to +heaven. The stars seemed to expand and emit a sharper brilliancy; +and as he kept turning his eyes higher and higher, they seemed to +increase in multitude under his gaze. + +'I see,' he said, turning to the young man. 'We are in a rat- +trap.' + +'Something of that size. Did you ever see a squirrel turning in a +cage? and another squirrel sitting philosophically over his nuts? +I needn't ask you which of them looked more of a fool.' + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE PARSON'S MARJORY. + + +After some years the old people died, both in one winter, very +carefully tended by their adopted son, and very quietly mourned +when they were gone. People who had heard of his roving fancies +supposed he would hasten to sell the property, and go down the +river to push his fortunes. But there was never any sign of such +in intention on the part of Will. On the contrary, he had the inn +set on a better footing, and hired a couple of servants to assist +him in carrying it on; and there he settled down, a kind, +talkative, inscrutable young man, six feet three in his stockings, +with an iron constitution and a friendly voice. He soon began to +take rank in the district as a bit of an oddity: it was not much to +be wondered at from the first, for he was always full of notions, +and kept calling the plainest common-sense in question; but what +most raised the report upon him was the odd circumstance of his +courtship with the parson's Marjory. + +The parson's Marjory was a lass about nineteen, when Will would be +about thirty; well enough looking, and much better educated than +any other girl in that part of the country, as became her +parentage. She held her head very high, and had already refused +several offers of marriage with a grand air, which had got her hard +names among the neighbours. For all that she was a good girl, and +one that would have made any man well contented. + +Will had never seen much of her; for although the church and +parsonage were only two miles from his own door, he was never known +to go there but on Sundays. It chanced, however, that the +parsonage fell into disrepair, and had to be dismantled; and the +parson and his daughter took lodgings for a month or so, on very +much reduced terms, at Will's inn. Now, what with the inn, and the +mill, and the old miller's savings, our friend was a man of +substance; and besides that, he had a name for good temper and +shrewdness, which make a capital portion in marriage; and so it was +currently gossiped, among their ill-wishers, that the parson and +his daughter had not chosen their temporary lodging with their eyes +shut. Will was about the last man in the world to be cajoled or +frightened into marriage. You had only to look into his eyes, +limpid and still like pools of water, and yet with a sort of clear +light that seemed to come from within, and you would understand at +once that here was one who knew his own mind, and would stand to it +immovably. Marjory herself was no weakling by her looks, with +strong, steady eyes and a resolute and quiet bearing. It might be +a question whether she was not Will's match in stedfastness, after +all, or which of them would rule the roast in marriage. But +Marjory had never given it a thought, and accompanied her father +with the most unshaken innocence and unconcern. + +The season was still so early that Will's customers were few and +far between; but the lilacs were already flowering, and the weather +was so mild that the party took dinner under the trellice, with the +noise of the river in their ears and the woods ringing about them +with the songs of birds. Will soon began to take a particular +pleasure in these dinners. The parson was rather a dull companion, +with a habit of dozing at table; but nothing rude or cruel ever +fell from his lips. And as for the parson's daughter, she suited +her surroundings with the best grace imaginable; and whatever she +said seemed so pat and pretty that Will conceived a great idea of +her talents. He could see her face, as she leaned forward, against +a background of rising pinewoods; her eyes shone peaceably; the +light lay around her hair like a kerchief; something that was +hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and Will could not contain +himself from gazing on her in an agreeable dismay. She looked, +even in her quietest moments, so complete in herself, and so quick +with life down to her finger tips and the very skirts of her dress, +that the remainder of created things became no more than a blot by +comparison; and if Will glanced away from her to her surroundings, +the trees looked inanimate and senseless, the clouds hung in heaven +like dead things, and even the mountain tops were disenchanted. +The whole valley could not compare in looks with this one girl. + +Will was always observant in the society of his fellow-creatures; +but his observation became almost painfully eager in the case of +Marjory. He listened to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the +same time, for the unspoken commentary. Many kind, simple, and +sincere speeches found an echo in his heart. He became conscious +of a soul beautifully poised upon itself, nothing doubting, nothing +desiring, clothed in peace. It was not possible to separate her +thoughts from her appearance. The turn of her wrist, the still +sound of her voice, the light in her eyes, the lines of her body, +fell in tune with her grave and gentle words, like the +accompaniment that sustains and harmonises the voice of the singer. +Her influence was one thing, not to be divided or discussed, only +to he felt with gratitude and joy. To Will, her presence recalled +something of his childhood, and the thought of her took its place +in his mind beside that of dawn, of running water, and of the +earliest violets and lilacs. It is the property of things seen for +the first time, or for the first time after long, like the flowers +in spring, to reawaken in us the sharp edge of sense and that +impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise passes out of life +with the coming of years; but the sight of a loved face is what +renews a man's character from the fountain upwards. + +One day after dinner Will took a stroll among the firs; a grave +beatitude possessed him from top to toe, and he kept smiling to +himself and the landscape as he went. The river ran between the +stepping-stones with a pretty wimple; a bird sang loudly in the +wood; the hill-tops looked immeasurably high, and as he glanced at +them from time to time seemed to contemplate his movements with a +beneficent but awful curiosity. His way took him to the eminence +which overlooked the plain; and there he sat down upon a stone, and +fell into deep and pleasant thought. The plain lay abroad with its +cities and silver river; everything was asleep, except a great eddy +of birds which kept rising and falling and going round and round in +the blue air. He repeated Marjory's name aloud, and the sound of +it gratified his ear. He shut his eyes, and her image sprang up +before him, quietly luminous and attended with good thoughts. The +river might run for ever; the birds fly higher and higher till they +touched the stars. He saw it was empty bustle after all; for here, +without stirring a feet, waiting patiently in his own narrow +valley, he also had attained the better sunlight. + +The next day Will made a sort of declaration across the dinner- +table, while the parson was filling his pipe. + +'Miss Marjory,' he said, 'I never knew any one I liked so well as +you. I am mostly a cold, unkindly sort of man; not from want of +heart, but out of strangeness in my way of thinking; and people +seem far away from me. 'Tis as if there were a circle round me, +which kept every one out but you; I can hear the others talking and +laughing; but you come quite close. Maybe, this is disagreeable to +you?' he asked. + +Marjory made no answer. + +'Speak up, girl,' said the parson. + +'Nay, now,' returned Will, 'I wouldn't press her, parson. I feel +tongue-tied myself, who am not used to it; and she's a woman, and +little more than a child, when all is said. But for my part, as +far as I can understand what people mean by it, I fancy I must be +what they call in love. I do not wish to be held as committing +myself; for I may be wrong; but that is how I believe things are +with me. And if Miss Marjory should feel any otherwise on her +part, mayhap she would be so kind as shake her head.' + +Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had heard. + +'How is that, parson?' asked Will. + +'The girl must speak,' replied the parson, laying down his pipe. +'Here's our neighbour who says he loves you, Madge. Do you love +him, ay or no?' + +'I think I do,' said Marjory, faintly. + +'Well then, that's all that could be wished!' cried Will, heartily. +And he took her hand across the table, and held it a moment in both +of his with great satisfaction. + +'You must marry,' observed the parson, replacing his pipe in his +mouth. + +'Is that the right thing to do, think you?' demanded Will. + +'It is indispensable,' said the parson. + +'Very well,' replied the wooer. + +Two or three days passed away with great delight to Will, although +a bystander might scarce have found it out. He continued to take +his meals opposite Marjory, and to talk with her and gaze upon her +in her father's presence; but he made no attempt to see her alone, +nor in any other way changed his conduct towards her from what it +had been since the beginning. Perhaps the girl was a little +disappointed, and perhaps not unjustly; and yet if it had been +enough to be always in the thoughts of another person, and so +pervade and alter his whole life, she might have been thoroughly +contented. For she was never out of Will's mind for an instant. +He sat over the stream, and watched the dust of the eddy, and the +poised fish, and straining weeds; he wandered out alone into the +purple even, with all the blackbirds piping round him in the wood; +he rose early in the morning, and saw the sky turn from grey to +gold, and the light leap upon the hill-tops; and all the while he +kept wondering if he had never seen such things before, or how it +was that they should look so different now. The sound of his own +mill-wheel, or of the wind among the trees, confounded and charmed +his heart. The most enchanting thoughts presented themselves +unbidden in his mind. He was so happy that he could not sleep at +night, and so restless, that he could hardly sit still out of her +company. And yet it seemed as if he avoided her rather than sought +her out. + +One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will found Marjory in +the garden picking flowers, and as he came up with her, slackened +his pace and continued walking by her side. + +'You like flowers?' he said. + +'Indeed I love them dearly,' she replied. 'Do you?' + +'Why, no,' said he, 'not so much. They are a very small affair, +when all is done. I can fancy people caring for them greatly, but +not doing as you are just now.' + +'How?' she asked, pausing and looking up at him. + +'Plucking them,' said he. 'They are a deal better off where they +are, and look a deal prettier, if you go to that.' + +'I wish to have them for my own,' she answered, 'to carry them near +my heart, and keep them in my room. They tempt me when they grow +here; they seem to say, "Come and do something with us;" but once I +have cut them and put them by, the charm is laid, and I can look at +them with quite an easy heart.' + +'You wish to possess them,' replied Will, 'in order to think no +more about them. It's a bit like killing the goose with the golden +eggs. It's a bit like what I wished to do when I was a boy. +Because I had a fancy for looking out over the plain, I wished to +go down there - where I couldn't look out over it any longer. Was +not that fine reasoning? Dear, dear, if they only thought of it, +all the world would do like me; and you would let your flowers +alone, just as I stay up here in the mountains.' Suddenly he broke +off sharp. 'By the Lord!' he cried. And when she asked him what +was wrong, he turned the question off and walked away into the +house with rather a humorous expression of face. + +He was silent at table; and after the night hid fallen and the +stars had come out overhead, he walked up and down for hours in the +courtyard and garden with an uneven pace. There was still a light +in the window of Marjory's room: one little oblong patch of orange +in a world of dark blue hills and silver starlight. Will's mind +ran a great deal on the window; but his thoughts were not very +lover-like. 'There she is in her room,' he thought, 'and there are +the stars overhead: - a blessing upon both!' Both were good +influences in his life; both soothed and braced him in his profound +contentment with the world. And what more should he desire with +either? The fat young man and his councils were so present to his +mind, that he threw back his head, and, putting his hands before +his mouth, shouted aloud to the populous heavens. Whether from the +position of his head or the sudden strain of the exertion, he +seemed to see a momentary shock among the stars, and a diffusion of +frosty light pass from one to another along the sky. At the same +instant, a corner of the blind was lifted and lowered again at +once. He laughed a loud ho-ho! 'One and another!' thought Will. +'The stars tremble, and the blind goes up. Why, before Heaven, +what a great magician I must be! Now if I were only a fool, should +not I be in a pretty way?' And he went off to bed, chuckling to +himself: 'If I were only a fool!' + +The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once more in the garden, +and sought her out. + +'I have been thinking about getting married,' he began abruptly; +'and after having turned it all over, I have made up my mind it's +not worthwhile.' + +She turned upon him for a single moment; but his radiant, kindly +appearance would, under the circumstances, have disconcerted an +angel, and she looked down again upon the ground in silence. He +could see her tremble. + +'I hope you don't mind,' he went on, a little taken aback. 'You +ought not. I have turned it all over, and upon my soul there's +nothing in it. We should never be one whit nearer than we are just +now, and, if I am a wise man, nothing like so happy.' + +'It is unnecessary to go round about with me,' she said. 'I very +well remember that you refused to commit yourself; and now that I +see you were mistaken, and in reality have never cared for me, I +can only feel sad that I have been so far misled.' + +'I ask your pardon,' said Will stoutly; 'you do not understand my +meaning. As to whether I have ever loved you or not, I must leave +that to others. But for one thing, my feeling is not changed; and +for another, you may make it your boast that you have made my whole +life and character something different from what they were. I mean +what I say; no less. I do not think getting married is worth +while. I would rather you went on living with your father, so that +I could walk over and see you once, or maybe twice a week, as +people go to church, and then we should both be all the happier +between whiles. That's my notion. But I'll marry you if you +will,' he added. + +'Do you know that you are insulting me?' she broke out. + +'Not I, Marjory,' said he; 'if there is anything in a clear +conscience, not I. I offer all my heart's best affection; you can +take it or want it, though I suspect it's beyond either your power +or mine to change what has once been done, and set me fancy-free. +I'll marry you, if you like; but I tell you again and again, it's +not worth while, and we had best stay friends. Though I am a quiet +man I have noticed a heap of things in my life. Trust in me, and +take things as I propose; or, if you don't like that, say the word, +and I'll marry you out of hand.' + +There was a considerable pause, and Will, who began to feel uneasy, +began to grow angry in consequence. + +'It seems you are too proud to say your mind,' he said. 'Believe +me that's a pity. A clean shrift makes simple living. Can a man +be more downright or honourable, to a woman than I have been? I +have said my say, and given you your choice. Do you want me to +marry you? or will you take my friendship, as I think best? or have +you had enough of me for good? Speak out for the dear God's sake! +You know your father told you a girl should speak her mind in these +affairs.' + +She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without a word, +walked rapidly through the garden, and disappeared into the house, +leaving Will in some confusion as to the result. He walked up and +down the garden, whistling softly to himself. Sometimes he stopped +and contemplated the sky and hill-tops; sometimes he went down to +the tail of the weir and sat there, looking foolishly in the water. +All this dubiety and perturbation was so foreign to his nature and +the life which he had resolutely chosen for himself, that he began +to regret Marjory's arrival. 'After all,' he thought, 'I was as +happy as a man need be. I could come down here and watch my fishes +all day long if I wanted: I was as settled and contented as my old +mill.' + +Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim and quiet; and no +sooner were all three at table than she made her father a speech, +with her eyes fixed upon her plate, but showing no other sign of +embarrassment or distress. + +'Father,' she began, 'Mr. Will and I have been talking things over. +We see that we have each made a mistake about our feelings, and he +has agreed, at my request, to give up all idea of marriage, and be +no more than my very good friend, as in the past. You see, there +is no shadow of a quarrel, and indeed I hope we shall see a great +deal of him in the future, for his visits will always be welcome in +our house. Of course, father, you will know best, but perhaps we +should do better to leave Mr. Will's house for the present. I +believe, after what has passed, we should hardly be agreeable +inmates for some days.' + +Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty from the first, +broke out upon this into an inarticulate noise, and raised one hand +with an appearance of real dismay, as if he were about to interfere +and contradict. But she checked him at once looking up at him with +a swift glance and an angry flush upon her cheek. + +'You will perhaps have the good grace,' she said, 'to let me +explain these matters for myself.' + +Will was put entirely out of countenance by her expression and the +ring of her voice. He held his peace, concluding that there were +some things about this girl beyond his comprehension, in which he +was exactly right. + +The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to prove that this +was no more than a true lovers' tiff, which would pass off before +night; and when he was dislodged from that position, he went on to +argue that where there was no quarrel there could be no call for a +separation; for the good man liked both his entertainment and his +host. It was curious to see how the girl managed them, saying +little all the time, and that very quietly, and yet twisting them +round her finger and insensibly leading them wherever she would by +feminine tact and generalship. It scarcely seemed to have been her +doing - it seemed as if things had merely so fallen out - that she +and her father took their departure that same afternoon in a farm- +cart, and went farther down the valley, to wait, until their own +house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But Will had been +observing closely, and was well aware of her dexterity and +resolution. When he found himself alone he had a great many +curious matters to turn over in his mind. He was very sad and +solitary, to begin with. All the interest had gone out of his +life, and he might look up at the stars as long as he pleased, he +somehow failed to find support or consolation. And then he was in +such a turmoil of spirit about Marjory. He had been puzzled and +irritated at her behaviour, and yet he could not keep himself from +admiring it. He thought he recognised a fine, perverse angel in +that still soul which he had never hitherto suspected; and though +he saw it was an influence that would fit but ill with his own life +of artificial calm, he could not keep himself from ardently +desiring to possess it. Like a man who has lived among shadows and +now meets the sun, he was both pained and delighted. + +As the days went forward he passed from one extreme to another; now +pluming himself on the strength of his determination, now despising +his timid and silly caution. The former was, perhaps, the true +thought of his heart, and represented the regular tenor of the +man's reflections; but the latter burst forth from time to time +with an unruly violence, and then he would forget all +consideration, and go up and down his house and garden or walk +among the fir-woods like one who is beside himself with remorse. +To equable, steady-minded Will this state of matters was +intolerable; and he determined, at whatever cost, to bring it to an +end. So, one warm summer afternoon he put on his best clothes, +took a thorn switch in his hand, and set out down the valley by the +river. As soon as he had taken his determination, he had regained +at a bound his customary peace of heart, and he enjoyed the bright +weather and the variety of the scene without any admixture of alarm +or unpleasant eagerness. It was nearly the same to him how the +matter turned out. If she accepted him he would have to marry her +this time, which perhaps was, all for the best. If she refused +him, he would have done his utmost, and might follow his own way in +the future with an untroubled conscience. He hoped, on the whole, +she would refuse him; and then, again, as he saw the brown roof +which sheltered her, peeping through some willows at an angle of +the stream, he was half inclined to reverse the wish, and more than +half ashamed of himself for this infirmity of purpose. + +Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her hand without +affectation or delay. + +'I have been thinking about this marriage,' he began. + +'So have I,' she answered. 'And I respect you more and more for a +very wise man. You understood me better than I understood myself; +and I am now quite certain that things are all for the best as they +are.' + +'At the same time - ,' ventured Will. + +'You must be tired,' she interrupted. 'Take a seat and let me +fetch you a glass of wine. The afternoon is so warm; and I wish +you not to be displeased with your visit. You must come quite +often; once a week, if you can spare the time; I am always so glad +to see my friends.' + +'O, very well,' thought Will to himself. 'It appears I was right +after all.' And he paid a very agreeable visit, walked home again +in capital spirits, and gave himself no further concern about the +matter. + +For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued on these terms, +seeing each other once or twice a week without any word of love +between them; and for all that time I believe Will was nearly as +happy as a man can be. He rather stinted himself the pleasure of +seeing her; and he would often walk half-way over to the parsonage, +and then back again, as if to whet his appetite. Indeed there was +one corner of the road, whence he could see the church-spire wedged +into a crevice of the valley between sloping firwoods, with a +triangular snatch of plain by way of background, which he greatly +affected as a place to sit and moralise in before returning +homewards; and the peasants got so much into the habit of finding +him there in the twilight that they gave it the name of 'Will o' +the Mill's Corner.' + +At the end of the three years Marjory played him a sad trick by +suddenly marrying somebody else. Will kept his countenance +bravely, and merely remarked that, for as little as he knew of +women, he had acted very prudently in not marrying her himself +three years before. She plainly knew very little of her own mind, +and, in spite of a deceptive manner, was as fickle and flighty as +the rest of them. He had to congratulate himself on an escape, he +said, and would take a higher opinion of his own wisdom in +consequence. But at heart, he was reasonably displeased, moped a +good deal for a month or two, and fell away in flesh, to the +astonishment of his serving-lads. + +It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will was awakened +late one night by the sound of a horse galloping on the road, +followed by precipitate knocking at the inn-door. He opened his +window and saw a farm servant, mounted and holding a led horse by +the bridle, who told him to make what haste he could and go along +with him; for Marjory was dying, and had sent urgently to fetch him +to her bedside. Will was no horseman, and made so little speed +upon the way that the poor young wife was very near her end before +he arrived. But they had some minutes' talk in private, and he was +present and wept very bitterly while she breathed her last. + + + + +CHAPTER III. DEATH + + +Year after year went away into nothing, with great explosions and +outcries in the cities on the plain: red revolt springing up and +being suppressed in blood, battle swaying hither and thither, +patient astronomers in observatory towers picking out and +christening new stars, plays being performed in lighted theatres, +people being carried into hospital on stretchers, and all the usual +turmoil and agitation of men's lives in crowded centres. Up in +Will's valley only the winds and seasons made an epoch; the fish +hung in the swift stream, the birds circled overhead, the pine-tops +rustled underneath the stars, the tall hills stood over all; and +Will went to and fro, minding his wayside inn, until the snow began +to thicken on his head. His heart was young and vigorous; and if +his pulses kept a sober time, they still beat strong and steady in +his wrists. He carried a ruddy stain on either cheek, like a ripe +apple; he stooped a little, but his step was still firm; and his +sinewy hands were reached out to all men with a friendly pressure. +His face was covered with those wrinkles which are got in open air, +and which rightly looked at, are no more than a sort of permanent +sunburning; such wrinkles heighten the stupidity of stupid faces; +but to a person like Will, with his clear eyes and smiling mouth, +only give another charm by testifying to a simple and easy life. +His talk was full of wise sayings. He had a taste for other +people; and other people had a taste for him. When the valley was +full of tourists in the season, there were merry nights in Will's +arbour; and his views, which seemed whimsical to his neighbours, +were often enough admired by learned people out of towns and +colleges. Indeed, he had a very noble old age, and grew daily +better known; so that his fame was heard of in the cities of the +plain; and young men who had been summer travellers spoke together +in CAFES of Will o' the Mill and his rough philosophy. Many and +many an invitation, you may be sure, he had; but nothing could +tempt him from his upland valley. He would shake his head and +smile over his tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. 'You come too +late,' he would answer. 'I am a dead man now: I have lived and +died already. Fifty years ago you would have brought my heart into +my mouth; and now you do not even tempt me. But that is the object +of long living, that man should cease to care about life.' And +again: 'There is only one difference between a long life and a good +dinner: that, in the dinner, the sweets come last.' Or once more: +'When I was a boy, I was a bit puzzled, and hardly knew whether it +was myself or the world that was curious and worth looking into. +Now, I know it is myself, and stick to that.' + +He never showed any symptom of frailty, but kept stalwart and firm +to the last; but they say he grew less talkative towards the end, +and would listen to other people by the hour in an amused and +sympathetic silence. Only, when he did speak, it was more to the +point and more charged with old experience. He drank a bottle of +wine gladly; above all, at sunset on the hill-top or quite late at +night under the stars in the arbour. The sight of something +attractive and unatttainable seasoned his enjoyment, he would say; +and he professed he had lived long enough to admire a candle all +the more when he could compare it with a planet. + +One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in bed in such +uneasiness of body and mind that he arose and dressed himself and +went out to meditate in the arbour. It was pitch dark, without a +star; the river was swollen, and the wet woods and meadows loaded +the air with perfume. It had thundered during the day, and it +promised more thunder for the morrow. A murky, stifling night for +a man of seventy-two! Whether it was the weather or the +wakefulness, or some little touch of fever in his old limbs, Will's +mind was besieged by tumultuous and crying memories. His boyhood, +the night with the fat young man, the death of his adopted parents, +the summer days with Marjory, and many of those small +circumstances, which seem nothing to another, and are yet the very +gist of a man's own life to himself - things seen, words heard, +looks misconstrued - arose from their forgotten corners and usurped +his attention. The dead themselves were with him, not merely +taking part in this thin show of memory that defiled before his +brain, but revisiting his bodily senses as they do in profound and +vivid dreams. The fat young man leaned his elbows on the table +opposite; Marjory came and went with an apronful of flowers between +the garden and the arbour; he could hear the old parson knocking +out his pipe or blowing his resonant nose. The tide of his +consciousness ebbed and flowed: he was sometimes half-asleep and +drowned in his recollections of the past; and sometimes he was +broad awake, wondering at himself. But about the middle of the +night he was startled by the voice of the dead miller calling to +him out of the house as he used to do on the arrival of custom. +The hallucination was so perfect that Will sprang from his seat and +stood listening for the summons to be repeated; and as he listened +he became conscious of another noise besides the brawling of the +river and the ringing in his feverish ears. It was like the stir +of horses and the creaking of harness, as though a carriage with an +impatient team had been brought up upon the road before the +courtyard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough and dangerous +pass, the supposition was no better than absurd; and Will dismissed +it from his mind, and resumed his seat upon the arbour chair; and +sleep closed over him again like running water. He was once again +awakened by the dead miller's call, thinner and more spectral than +before; and once again he heard the noise of an equipage upon the +road. And so thrice and four times, the same dream, or the same +fancy, presented itself to his senses: until at length, smiling to +himself as when one humours a nervous child, he proceeded towards +the gate to set his uncertainty at rest. + +From the arbour to the gate was no great distance, and yet it took +Will some time; it seemed as if the dead thickened around him in +the court, and crossed his path at every step. For, first, he was +suddenly surprised by an overpowering sweetness of heliotropes; it +was as if his garden had been planted with this flower from end to +end, and the hot, damp night had drawn forth all their perfumes in +a breath. Now the heliotrope had been Marjory's favourite flower, +and since her death not one of them had ever been planted in Will's +ground. + +'I must be going crazy,' he thought. 'Poor Marjory and her +heliotropes!' + +And with that he raised his eyes towards the window that had once +been hers. If he had been bewildered before, he was now almost +terrified; for there was a light in the room; the window was an +orange oblong as of yore; and the corner of the blind was lifted +and let fall as on the night when he stood and shouted to the stars +in his perplexity. The illusion only endured an instant; but it +left him somewhat unmanned, rubbing his eyes and staring at the +outline of the house and the black night behind it. While he thus +stood, and it seemed as if he must have stood there quite a long +time, there came a renewal of the noises on the road: and he turned +in time to meet a stranger, who was advancing to meet him across +the court. There was something like the outline of a great +carriage discernible on the road behind the stranger, and, above +that, a few black pine-tops, like so many plumes. + +'Master Will?' asked the new-comer, in brief military fashion. + +'That same, sir,' answered Will. 'Can I do anything to serve you?' + +'I have heard you much spoken of, Master Will,' returned the other; +'much spoken of, and well. And though I have both hands full of +business, I wish to drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbour. +Before I go, I shall introduce myself.' + +Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted and a +bottle uncorked. He was not altogether unused to such +complimentary interviews, and hoped little enough from this one, +being schooled by many disappointments. A sort of cloud had +settled on his wits and prevented him from remembering the +strangeness of the hour. He moved like a person in his sleep; and +it seemed as if the lamp caught fire and the bottle came uncorked +with the facility of thought. Still, he had some curiosity about +the appearance of his visitor, and tried in vain to turn the light +into his face; either he handled the lamp clumsily, or there was a +dimness over his eyes; but he could make out little more than a +shadow at table with him. He stared and stared at this shadow, as +he wiped out the glasses, and began to feel cold and strange about +the heart. The silence weighed upon him, for he could hear nothing +now, not even the river, but the drumming of his own arteries in +his ears. + +'Here's to you,' said the stranger, roughly. + +'Here is my service, sir,' replied Will, sipping his wine, which +somehow tasted oddly. + +'I understand you are a very positive fellow,' pursued the +stranger. + +Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction and a little +nod. + +'So am I,' continued the other; 'and it is the delight of my heart +to tramp on people's corns. I will have nobody positive but +myself; not one. I have crossed the whims, in my time, of kings +and generals and great artists. And what would you say,' he went +on, 'if I had come up here on purpose to cross yours?' + +Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder; but the +politeness of an old innkeeper prevailed; and he held his peace and +made answer with a civil gesture of the hand. + +'I have,' said the stranger. 'And if I did not hold you in a +particular esteem, I should make no words about the matter. It +appears you pride yourself on staying where you are. You mean to +stick by your inn. Now I mean you shall come for a turn with me in +my barouche; and before this bottle's empty, so you shall.' + +'That would be an odd thing, to be sure,' replied Will, with a +chuckle. 'Why, sir, I have grown here like an old oak-tree; the +Devil himself could hardly root me up: and for all I perceive you +are a very entertaining old gentleman, I would wager you another +bottle you lose your pains with me.' + +The dimness of Will's eyesight had been increasing all this while; +but he was somehow conscious of a sharp and chilling scrutiny which +irritated and yet overmastered him. + +'You need not think,' he broke out suddenly, in an explosive, +febrile manner that startled and alarmed himself, 'that I am a +stay-at-home, because I fear anything under God. God knows I am +tired enough of it all; and when the time comes for a longer +journey than ever you dream of, I reckon I shall find myself +prepared.' + +The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away from him. He +looked down for a little, and then, leaning over the table, tapped +Will three times upon the forearm with a single finger. 'The time +has come!' he said solemnly. + +An ugly thrill spread from the spot he touched. The tones of his +voice were dull and startling, and echoed strangely in Will's +heart. + +'I beg your pardon,' he said, with some discomposure. 'What do you +mean?' + +'Look at me, and you will find your eyesight swim. Raise your +hand; it is dead-heavy. This is your last bottle of wine, Master +Will, and your last night upon the earth.' + +'You are a doctor?' quavered Will. + +'The best that ever was,' replied the other; 'for I cure both mind +and body with the same prescription. I take away all plain and I +forgive all sins; and where my patients have gone wrong in life, I +smooth out all complications and set them free again upon their +feet.' + +'I have no need of you,' said Will. + +'A time comes for all men, Master Will,' replied the doctor, 'when +the helm is taken out of their hands. For you, because you were +prudent and quiet, it has been long of coming, and you have had +long to discipline yourself for its reception. You have seen what +is to be seen about your mill; you have sat close all your days +like a hare in its form; but now that is at an end; and,' added the +doctor, getting on his feet, 'you must arise and come with me.' + +'You are a strange physician,' said Will, looking steadfastly upon +his guest. + +'I am a natural law,' he replied, 'and people call me Death.' + +'Why did you not tell me so at first?' cried Will. 'I have been +waiting for you these many years. Give me your hand, and welcome.' + +'Lean upon my arm,' said the stranger, 'for already your strength +abates. Lean on me as heavily as you need; for though I am old, I +am very strong. It is but three steps to my carriage, and there +all your trouble ends. Why, Will,' he added, 'I have been yearning +for you as if you were my own son; and of all the men that ever I +came for in my long days, I have come for you most gladly. I am +caustic, and sometimes offend people at first sight; but I am a +good friend at heart to such as you.' + +'Since Marjory was taken,' returned Will, 'I declare before God you +were the only friend I had to look for.' So the pair went arm-in- +arm across the courtyard. + +One of the servants awoke about this time and heard the noise of +horses pawing before he dropped asleep again; all down the valley +that night there was a rushing as of a smooth and steady wind +descending towards the plain; and when the world rose next morning, +sure enough Will o' the Mill had gone at last upon his travels. + + + + +MARKHEIM + + + + +'YES,' said the dealer, 'our windfalls are of various kinds. Some +customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior +knowledge. Some are dishonest,' and here he held up the candle, so +that the light fell strongly on his visitor, 'and in that case,' he +continued, 'I profit by my virtue.' + +Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his +eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness +in the shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence +of the flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. + +The dealer chuckled. 'You come to me on Christmas Day,' he +resumed, 'when you know that I am alone in my house, put up my +shutters, and make a point of refusing business. Well, you will +have to pay for that; you will have to pay for my loss of time, +when I should be balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides, +for a kind of manner that I remark in you to-day very strongly. I +am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but +when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it.' +The dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to his usual +business voice, though still with a note of irony, 'You can give, +as usual, a clear account of how you came into the possession of +the object?' he continued. 'Still your uncle's cabinet? A +remarkable collector, sir!' + +And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip- +toe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his +head with every mark of disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with +one of infinite pity, and a touch of horror. + +'This time,' said he, 'you are in error. I have not come to sell, +but to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is +bare to the wainscot; even were it still intact, I have done well +on the Stock Exchange, and should more likely add to it than +otherwise, and my errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek a +Christmas present for a lady,' he continued, waxing more fluent as +he struck into the speech he had prepared; 'and certainly I owe you +every excuse for thus disturbing you upon so small a matter. But +the thing was neglected yesterday; I must produce my little +compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a rich marriage +is not a thing to be neglected.' + +There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh +this statement incredulously. The ticking of many clocks among the +curious lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a +near thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. + +'Well, sir,' said the dealer, 'be it so. You are an old customer +after all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good +marriage, far be it from me to be an obstacle. Here is a nice +thing for a lady now,' he went on, 'this hand glass - fifteenth +century, warranted; comes from a good collection, too; but I +reserve the name, in the interests of my customer, who was just +like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole heir of a +remarkable collector.' + +The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had +stooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, +a shock had passed through Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, +a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It passed +as swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling +of the hand that now received the glass. + +'A glass,' he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more +clearly. 'A glass? For Christmas? Surely not?' + +'And why not?' cried the dealer. 'Why not a glass?' + +Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. 'You +ask me why not?' he said. 'Why, look here - look in it - look at +yourself! Do you like to see it? No! nor I - nor any man.' + +The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so suddenly +confronted him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was +nothing worse on hand, he chuckled. 'Your future lady, sir, must +be pretty hard favoured,' said he. + +'I ask you,' said Markheim, 'for a Christmas present, and you give +me this - this damned reminder of years, and sins and follies - +this hand-conscience! Did you mean it? Had you a thought in your +mind? Tell me. It will be better for you if you do. Come, tell +me about yourself. I hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a +very charitable man?' + +The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very odd, +Markheim did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his +face like an eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. + +'What are you driving at?' the dealer asked. + +'Not charitable?' returned the other, gloomily. Not charitable; +not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get +money, a safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear God, man, is that +all?' + +'I will tell you what it is,' began the dealer, with some +sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. 'But I see +this is a love match of yours, and you have been drinking the +lady's health.' + +'Ah!' cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. 'Ah, have you been +in love? Tell me about that.' + +'I,' cried the dealer. 'I in love! I never had the time, nor have +I the time to-day for all this nonsense. Will you take the glass?' + +'Where is the hurry?' returned Markheim. 'It is very pleasant to +stand here talking; and life is so short and insecure that I would +not hurry away from any pleasure - no, not even from so mild a one +as this. We should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, +like a man at a cliff's edge. Every second is a cliff, if you +think upon it - a cliff a mile high - high enough, if we fall, to +dash us out of every feature of humanity. Hence it is best to talk +pleasantly. Let us talk of each other: why should we wear this +mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, we might become +friends?' + +'I have just one word to say to you,' said the dealer. 'Either +make your purchase, or walk out of my shop!' + +'True true,' said Markheim. 'Enough, fooling. To business. Show +me something else.' + +The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon +the shelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. +Markheim moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his +greatcoat; he drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same +time many different emotions were depicted together on his face - +terror, horror, and resolve, fascination and a physical repulsion; +and through a haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked out. + +'This, perhaps, may suit,' observed the dealer: and then, as he +began to re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. +The long, skewerlike dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled +like a hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on +the floor in a heap. + +Time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and +slow as was becoming to their great age; others garrulous and +hurried. All these told out the seconds in an intricate, chorus of +tickings. Then the passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the +pavement, broke in upon these smaller voices and startled Markheim +into the consciousness of his surroundings. He looked about him +awfully. The candle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly +wagging in a draught; and by that inconsiderable movement, the +whole room was filled with noiseless bustle and kept heaving like a +sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling +and dwindling as with respiration, the faces of the portraits and +the china gods changing and wavering like images in water. The +inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of shadows with +a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. + +From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes returned to the +body of his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, +incredibly small and strangely meaner than in life. In these poor, +miserly clothes, in that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so +much sawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lo! it was +nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool +of blood began to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there +was none to work the cunning hinges or direct the miracle of +locomotion - there it must lie till it was found. Found! ay, and +then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that would ring +over England, and fill the world with the echoes of pursuit. Ay, +dead or not, this was still the enemy. 'Time was that when the +brains were out,' he thought; and the first word struck into his +mind. Time, now that the deed was accomplished - time, which had +closed for the victim, had become instant and momentous for the +slayer. + +The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and then another, +with every variety of pace and voice - one deep as the bell from a +cathedral turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude +of a waltz-the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the +afternoon. + +The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber +staggered him. He began to bestir himself, going to and fro with +the candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul +by chance reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home design, +some from Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and +repeated, as it were an army of spies; his own eyes met and +detected him; and the sound of his own steps, lightly as they fell, +vexed the surrounding quiet. And still, as he continued to fill +his pockets, his mind accused him with a sickening iteration, of +the thousand faults of his design. He should have chosen a more +quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he should not have +used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and only bound and +gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have been more +bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done all things +otherwise: poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind +to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to +be the architect of the irrevocable past. Meanwhile, and behind +all this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of rats in a +deserted attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with +riot; the hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, +and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in +galloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black +coffin. + +Terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like a +besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, but that some +rumour of the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge +their curiosity; and now, in all the neighbouring houses, he +divined them sitting motionless and with uplifted ear - solitary +people, condemned to spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of +the past, and now startingly recalled from that tender exercise; +happy family parties struck into silence round the table, the +mother still with raised finger: every degree and age and humour, +but all, by their own hearths, prying and hearkening and weaving +the rope that was to hang him. Sometimes it seemed to him he could +not move too softly; the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang +out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, +he was tempted to stop the clocks. And then, again, with a swift +transition of his terrors, the very silence of the place appeared a +source of peril, and a thing to strike and freeze the passer-by; +and he would step more boldly, and bustle aloud among the contents +of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate bravado, the movements of +a busy man at ease in his own house. + +But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, while one +portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled +on the brink of lunacy. One hallucination in particular took a +strong hold on his credulity. The neighbour hearkening with white +face beside his window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible +surmise on the pavement - these could at worst suspect, they could +not know; through the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds +could penetrate. But here, within the house, was he alone? He +knew he was; he had watched the servant set forth sweet-hearting, +in her poor best, 'out for the day' written in every ribbon and +smile. Yes, he was alone, of course; and yet, in the bulk of empty +house above him, he could surely hear a stir of delicate footing - +he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious of some presence. +Ay, surely; to every room and corner of the house his imagination +followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet had eyes to +see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet again +behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and +hatred. + +At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door +which still seemed to repel his eyes. The house was tall, the +skylight small and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light +that filtered down to the ground story was exceedingly faint, and +showed dimly on the threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip +of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow? + +Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to +beat with a staff on the shop-door, accompanying his blows with +shouts and railleries in which the dealer was continually called +upon by name. Markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. +But no! he lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of +these blows and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and +his name, which would once have caught his notice above the howling +of a storm, had become an empty sound. And presently the jovial +gentleman desisted from his knocking, and departed. + +Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get +forth from this accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of +London multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that +haven of safety and apparent innocence - his bed. One visitor had +come: at any moment another might follow and be more obstinate. To +have done the deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too +abhorrent a failure. The money, that was now Markheim's concern; +and as a means to that, the keys. + +He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the shadow was +still lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of +the mind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of +his victim. The human character had quite departed. Like a suit +half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, +on the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy +and inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more +significance to the touch. He took the body by the shoulders, and +turned it on its back. It was strangely light and supple, and the +limbs, as if they had been broken, fell into the oddest postures. +The face was robbed of all expression; but it was as pale as wax, +and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. That was, for +Markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. It carried him back, +upon the instant, to a certain fair-day in a fishers' village: a +gray day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of +brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad singer; +and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in the crowd and +divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon the chief +place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen with +pictures, dismally designed, garishly coloured: Brown-rigg with her +apprentice; the Mannings with their murdered guest; Weare in the +death-grip of Thurtell; and a score besides of famous crimes. The +thing was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that little +boy; he was looking once again, and with the same sense of physical +revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the +thumping of the drums. A bar of that day's music returned upon his +memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a +breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must +instantly resist and conquer. + +He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these +considerations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending +his mind to realise the nature and greatness of his crime. So +little a while ago that face had moved with every change of +sentiment, that pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on +fire with governable energies; and now, and by his act, that piece +of life had been arrested, as the horologist, with interjected +finger, arrests the beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; +he could rise to no more remorseful consciousness; the same heart +which had shuddered before the painted effigies of crime, looked on +its reality unmoved. At best, he felt a gleam of pity for one who +had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that can make the +world a garden of enchantment, one who had never lived and who was +now dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor. + +With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found +the keys and advanced towards the open door of the shop. Outside, +it had begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the +roof had banished silence. Like some dripping cavern, the chambers +of the house were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the +ear and mingled with the ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim +approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own +cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair. +The shadow still palpitated loosely on the threshold. He threw a +ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles, and drew back the door. + +The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and +stairs; on the bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon +the landing; and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures +that hung against the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was +the beating of the rain through all the house that, in Markheim's +ears, it began to be distinguished into many different sounds. +Footsteps and sighs, the tread of regiments marching in the +distance, the chink of money in the counting, and the creaking of +doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to mingle with the patter of +the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of the water in the +pipes. The sense that he was not alone grew upon him to the verge +of madness. On every side he was haunted and begirt by presences. +He heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he heard +the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great +effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and +followed stealthily behind. If he were but deaf, he thought, how +tranquilly he would possess his soul! And then again, and +hearkening with ever fresh attention, he blessed himself for that +unresting sense which held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel +upon his life. His head turned continually on his neck; his eyes, +which seemed starting from their orbits, scouted on every side, and +on every side were half-rewarded as with the tail of something +nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty steps to the first floor +were four-and-twenty agonies. + +On that first storey, the doors stood ajar, three of them like +three ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. He +could never again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified +from men's observing eyes, he longed to be home, girt in by walls, +buried among bedclothes, and invisible to all but God. And at that +thought he wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers +and the fear they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. It +was not so, at least, with him. He feared the laws of nature, +lest, in their callous and immutable procedure, they should +preserve some damning evidence of his crime. He feared tenfold +more, with a slavish, superstitions terror, some scission in the +continuity of man's experience, some wilful illegality of nature. +He played a game of skill, depending on the rules, calculating +consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant +overthrew the chess-board, should break the mould of their +succession? The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when +the winter changed the time of its appearance. The like might +befall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and +reveal his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout +planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in +their clutch; ay, and there were soberer accidents that might +destroy him: if, for instance, the house should fall and imprison +him beside the body of his victim; or the house next door should +fly on fire, and the firemen invade him from all sides. These +things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might be called the +hands of God reached forth against sin. But about God himself he +was at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were his +excuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among men, that he +felt sure of justice. + +When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door +behind him, he was aware of a respite from alarms. The room was +quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases +and incongruous furniture; several great pier-glasses, in which he +beheld himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage; many +pictures, framed and unframed, standing, with their faces to the +wall; a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a +great old bed, with tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the +floor; but by great good fortune the lower part of the shutters had +been closed, and this concealed him from the neighbours. Here, +then, Markheim drew in a packing case before the cabinet, and began +to search among the keys. It was a long business, for there were +many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, there might be +nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. But the +closeness of the occupation sobered him. With the tail of his eye +he saw the door - even glanced at it from time to time directly, +like a besieged commander pleased to verify the good estate of his +defences. But in truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the +street sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, +the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the +voices of many children took up the air and words. How stately, +how comfortable was the melody! How fresh the youthful voices! +Markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and +his mind was thronged with answerable ideas and images; church- +going children and the pealing of the high organ; children afield, +bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite- +flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another +cadence of the hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of +summer Sundays, and the high genteel voice of the parson (which he +smiled a little to recall) and the painted Jacobean tombs, and the +dim lettering of the Ten Commandments in the chancel. + +And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his +feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood, +went over him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. A step +mounted the stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was +laid upon the knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. + +Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew not, whether +the dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, +or some chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the +gallows. But when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced +round the room, looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly +recognition, and then withdrew again, and the door closed behind +it, his fear broke loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the +sound of this the visitant returned. + +'Did you call me?' he asked, pleasantly, and with that he entered +the room and closed the door behind him. + +Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. Perhaps there +was a film upon his sight, but the outlines of the new comer seemed +to change and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candle- +light of the shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at +times he thought he bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a +lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that +this thing was not of the earth and not of God. + +And yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he +stood looking on Markheim with a smile; and when he added: 'You are +looking for the money, I believe?' it was in the tones of everyday +politeness. + +Markheim made no answer. + +'I should warn you,' resumed the other, 'that the maid has left her +sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. If Mr. +Markheim be found in this house, I need not describe to him the +consequences.' + +'You know me?' cried the murderer. + +The visitor smiled. 'You have long been a favourite of mine,' he +said; 'and I have long observed and often sought to help you.' + +'What are you?' cried Markheim: 'the devil?' + +'What I may be,' returned the other, 'cannot affect the service I +propose to render you.' + +'It can,' cried Markheim; 'it does! Be helped by you? No, never; +not by you! You do not know me yet; thank God, you do not know +me!' + +'I know you,' replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity or +rather firmness. 'I know you to the soul.' + +'Know me!' cried Markheim. 'Who can do so? My life is but a +travesty and slander on myself. I have lived to belie my nature. +All men do; all men are better than this disguise that grows about +and stifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like one whom +bravos have seized and muffled in a cloak. If they had their own +control - if you could see their faces, they would be altogether +different, they would shine out for heroes and saints! I am worse +than most; myself is more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and +God. But, had I the time, I could disclose myself.' + +'To me?' inquired the visitant. + +'To you before all,' returned the murderer. 'I supposed you were +intelligent. I thought - since you exist - you would prove a +reader of the heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my +acts! Think of it; my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land +of giants; giants have dragged me by the wrists since I was born +out of my mother - the giants of circumstance. And you would +judge me by my acts! But can you not look within? Can you not +understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you not see within me +the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any wilful +sophistry, although too often disregarded? Can you not read me for +a thing that surely must be common as humanity - the unwilling +sinner?' + +'All this is very feelingly expressed,' was the reply, 'but it +regards me not. These points of consistency are beyond my +province, and I care not in the least by what compulsion you may +have been dragged away, so as you are but carried in the right +direction. But time flies; the servant delays, looking in the +faces of the crowd and at the pictures on the hoardings, but still +she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is as if the gallows +itself was striding towards you through the Christmas streets! +Shall I help you; I, who know all? Shall I tell you where to find +the money?' + +'For what price?' asked Markheim. + +'I offer you the service for a Christmas gift,' returned the other. + +Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter +triumph. 'No,' said he, 'I will take nothing at your hands; if I +were dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to +my lips, I should find the courage to refuse. It may be credulous, +but I will do nothing to commit myself to evil.' + +'I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,' observed the +visitant. + +'Because you disbelieve their efficacy!' Markheim cried. + +'I do not say so,' returned the other; 'but I look on these things +from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. +The man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour +of religion, or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a +course of weak compliance with desire. Now that he draws so near +to his deliverance, he can add but one act of service - to repent, +to die smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the +more timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard a +master. Try me. Accept my help. Please yourself in life as you +have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows +at the board; and when the night begins to fall and the curtains to +be drawn, I tell you, for your greater comfort, that you will find +it even easy to compound your quarrel with your conscience, and to +make a truckling peace with God. I came but now from such a +deathbed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening to +the man's last words: and when I looked into that face, which had +been set as a flint against mercy, I found it smiling with hope.' + +'And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?' asked Markheim. +'Do you think I have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and +sin, and sin, and, at the last, sneak into heaven? My heart rises +at the thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is +it because you find me with red hands that you presume such +baseness? and is this crime of murder indeed so impious as to dry +up the very springs of good?' + +'Murder is to me no special category,' replied the other. 'All +sins are murder, even as all life is war. I behold your race, like +starving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of +famine and feeding on each other's lives. I follow sins beyond the +moment of their acting; I find in all that the last consequence is +death; and to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with +such taking graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly +with human gore than such a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I +follow sins? I follow virtues also; they differ not by the +thickness of a nail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel of +Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in action but in +character. The bad man is dear to me; not the bad act, whose +fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtling +cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of +the rarest virtues. And it is not because you have killed a +dealer, but because you are Markheim, that I offer to forward your +escape.' + +'I will lay my heart open to you,' answered Markheim. 'This crime +on which you find me is my last. On my way to it I have learned +many lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I +have been driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond- +slave to poverty, driven and scourged. There are robust virtues +that can stand in these temptations; mine was not so: I had a +thirst of pleasure. But to-day, and out of this deed, I pluck both +warning and riches - both the power and a fresh resolve to be +myself. I become in all things a free actor in the world; I begin +to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of good, this +heart at peace. Something comes over me out of the past; something +of what I have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of the +church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears over noble +books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. There lies my +life; I have wandered a few years, but now I see once more my city +of destination.' + +'You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I think?' +remarked the visitor; 'and there, if I mistake not, you have +already lost some thousands?' + +'Ah,' said Markheim, 'but this time I have a sure thing.' + +'This time, again, you will lose,' replied the visitor quietly. + +'Ah, but I keep back the half!' cried Markheim. + +'That also you will lose,' said the other. + +The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. 'Well, then, what matter?' +he exclaimed. 'Say it be lost, say I am plunged again in poverty, +shall one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to +override the better? Evil and good run strong in me, haling me +both ways. I do not love the one thing, I love all. I can +conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be +fallen to such a crime as murder, pity is no stranger to my +thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows their trials better than +myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I love honest +laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth but I love +it from my heart. And are my vices only to direct my life, and my +virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the +mind? Not so; good, also, is a spring of acts.' + +But the visitant raised his finger. 'For six-and-thirty years that +you have been in this world,' said be, 'through many changes of +fortune and varieties of humour, I have watched you steadily fall. +Fifteen years ago you would have started at a theft. Three years +back you would have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any +crime, is there any cruelty or meanness, from which you still +recoil? - five years from now I shall detect you in the fact! +Downward, downward, lies your way; nor can anything but death avail +to stop you.' + +'It is true,' Markheim said huskily, 'I have in some degree +complied with evil. But it is so with all: the very saints, in the +mere exercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of +their surroundings.' + +'I will propound to you one simple question,' said the other; 'and +as you answer, I shall read to you your moral horoscope. You have +grown in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so - and +at any account, it is the same with all men. But granting that, +are you in any one particular, however trifling, more difficult to +please with your own conduct, or do you go in all things with a +looser rein?' + +'In any one?' repeated Markheim, with an anguish of consideration. +'No,' he added, with despair, 'in none! I have gone down in all.' + +'Then,' said the visitor, 'content yourself with what you are, for +you will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are +irrevocably written down.' + +Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the +visitor who first broke the silence. 'That being so,' he said, +'shall I show you the money?' + +'And grace?' cried Markheim. + +'Have you not tried it?' returned the other. 'Two or three years +ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was +not your voice the loudest in the hymn?' + +'It is true,' said Markheim; 'and I see clearly what remains for me +by way of duty. I thank you for these lessons from my soul; my +eyes are opened, and I behold myself at last for what I am.' + +At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the +house; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal +for which he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanour. + +'The maid!' he cried. 'She has returned, as I forewarned you, and +there is now before you one more difficult passage. Her master, +you must say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but +rather serious countenance - no smiles, no overacting, and I +promise you success! Once the girl within, and the door closed, +the same dexterity that has already rid you of the dealer will +relieve you of this last danger in your path. Thenceforward you +have the whole evening - the whole night, if needful - to ransack +the treasures of the house and to make good your safety. This is +help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up!' he cried; +'up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the scales: up, and act!' + +Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. 'If I be condemned to +evil acts,' he said, 'there is still one door of freedom open - I +can cease from action. If my life be an ill thing, I can lay it +down. Though I be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small +temptation, I can yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond +the reach of all. My love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, +and let it be! But I have still my hatred of evil; and from that, +to your galling disappointment, you shall see that I can draw both +energy and courage.' + +The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely +change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, +even as they brightened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not +pause to watch or understand the transformation. He opened the +door and went downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His +past went soberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and +strenuous like a dream, random as chance-medley - a scene of +defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but +on the further side he perceived a quiet haven for his bark. He +paused in the passage, and looked into the shop, where the candle +still burned by the dead body. It was strangely silent. Thoughts +of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. And then +the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour. + +He confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a +smile. + +'You had better go for the police,' said he: 'I have killed your +master.' + + + + +THRAWN JANET + + + + +THE Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister of the moorland +parish of Balweary, in the vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old +man, dreadful to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of his +life, without relative or servant or any human company, in the +small and lonely manse under the Hanging Shaw. In spite of the +iron composure of his features, his eye was wild, scared, and +uncertain; and when he dwelt, in private admonitions, on the future +of the impenitent, it seemed as if his eye pierced through the +storms of time to the terrors of eternity. Many young persons, +coming to prepare themselves against the season of the Holy +Communion, were dreadfully affected by his talk. He had a sermon +on lst Peter, v. and 8th, 'The devil as a roaring lion,' on the +Sunday after every seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to +surpass himself upon that text both by the appalling nature of the +matter and the terror of his bearing in the pulpit. The children +were frightened into fits, and the old looked more than usually +oracular, and were, all that day, full of those hints that Hamlet +deprecated. The manse itself, where it stood by the water of Dule +among some thick trees, with the Shaw overhanging it on the one +side, and on the other many cold, moorish hilltops rising towards +the sky, had begun, at a very early period of Mr. Soulis's +ministry, to be avoided in the dusk hours by all who valued +themselves upon their prudence; and guidmen sitting at the clachan +alehouse shook their heads together at the thought of passing late +by that uncanny neighbourhood. There was one spot, to be more +particular, which was regarded with especial awe. The manse stood +between the high road and the water of Dule, with a gable to each; +its back was towards the kirk-town of Balweary, nearly half a mile +away; in front of it, a bare garden, hedged with thorn, occupied +the land between the river and the road. The house was two stories +high, with two large rooms on each. It opened not directly on the +garden, but on a causewayed path, or passage, giving on the road on +the one hand, and closed on the other by the tall willows and +elders that bordered on the stream. And it was this strip of +causeway that enjoyed among the young parishioners of Balweary so +infamous a reputation. The minister walked there often after dark, +sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his unspoken prayers; +and when he was from home, and the manse door was locked, the more +daring schoolboys ventured, with beating hearts, to 'follow my +leader' across that legendary spot. + +This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a man of God of +spotless character and orthodoxy, was a common cause of wonder and +subject of inquiry among the few strangers who were led by chance +or business into that unknown, outlying country. But many even of +the people of the parish were ignorant of the strange events which +had marked the first year of Mr. Soulis's ministrations; and among +those who were better informed, some were naturally reticent, and +others shy of that particular topic. Now and again, only, one of +the older folk would warm into courage over his third tumbler, and +recount the cause of the minister's strange looks and solitary +life. + + +Fifty years syne, when Mr. Soulis cam first into Ba'weary, he was +still a young man - a callant, the folk said - fu' o' book learnin' +and grand at the exposition, but, as was natural in sae young a +man, wi' nae leevin' experience in religion. The younger sort were +greatly taken wi' his gifts and his gab; but auld, concerned, +serious men and women were moved even to prayer for the young man, +whom they took to be a self-deceiver, and the parish that was like +to be sae ill-supplied. It was before the days o' the moderates - +weary fa' them; but ill things are like guid - they baith come bit +by bit, a pickle at a time; and there were folk even then that said +the Lord had left the college professors to their ain devices, an' +the lads that went to study wi' them wad hae done mair and better +sittin' in a peat-bog, like their forbears of the persecution, wi' +a Bible under their oxter and a speerit o' prayer in their heart. +There was nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower lang +at the college. He was careful and troubled for mony things +besides the ae thing needful. He had a feck o' books wi' him - +mair than had ever been seen before in a' that presbytery; and a +sair wark the carrier had wi' them, for they were a' like to have +smoored in the Deil's Hag between this and Kilmackerlie. They were +books o' divinity, to be sure, or so they ca'd them; but the +serious were o' opinion there was little service for sae mony, when +the hail o' God's Word would gang in the neuk of a plaid. Then he +wad sit half the day and half the nicht forbye, which was scant +decent - writin', nae less; and first, they were feared he wad read +his sermons; and syne it proved he was writin' a book himsel', +which was surely no fittin' for ane of his years an' sma' +experience. + +Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife to keep the manse +for him an' see to his bit denners; and he was recommended to an +auld limmer - Janet M'Clour, they ca'd her - and sae far left to +himsel' as to be ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to the +contrar, for Janet was mair than suspeckit by the best folk in +Ba'weary. Lang or that, she had had a wean to a dragoon; she +hadnae come forrit (4) for maybe thretty year; and bairns had seen +her mumblin' to hersel' up on Key's Loan in the gloamin', whilk was +an unco time an' place for a God-fearin' woman. Howsoever, it was +the laird himsel' that had first tauld the minister o' Janet; and +in thae days he wad have gane a far gate to pleesure the laird. +When folk tauld him that Janet was sib to the deil, it was a' +superstition by his way of it; an' when they cast up the Bible to +him an' the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their thrapples +that thir days were a' gane by, and the deil was mercifully +restrained. + +Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet M'Clour was to be +servant at the manse, the folk were fair mad wi' her an' him +thegether; and some o' the guidwives had nae better to dae than get +round her door cheeks and chairge her wi' a' that was ken't again +her, frae the sodger's bairn to John Tamson's twa kye. She was nae +great speaker; folk usually let her gang her ain gate, an' she let +them gang theirs, wi', neither Fair-guid-een nor Fair-guid-day; but +when she buckled to, she had a tongue to deave the miller. Up she +got, an' there wasnae an auld story in Ba'weary but she gart +somebody lowp for it that day; they couldnae say ae thing but she +could say twa to it; till, at the hinder end, the guidwives up and +claught haud of her, and clawed the coats aff her back, and pu'd +her doun the clachan to the water o' Dule, to see if she were a +witch or no, soum or droun. The carline skirled till ye could hear +her at the Hangin' Shaw, and she focht like ten; there was mony a +guidwife bure the mark of her neist day an' mony a lang day after; +and just in the hettest o' the collieshangie, wha suld come up (for +his sins) but the new minister. + +'Women,' said he (and he had a grand voice), 'I charge you in the +Lord's name to let her go.' + +Janet ran to him - she was fair wud wi' terror - an' clang to him, +an' prayed him, for Christ's sake, save her frae the cummers; an' +they, for their pairt, tauld him a' that was ken't, and maybe mair. + +'Woman,' says he to Janet, 'is this true?' + +'As the Lord sees me,' says she, 'as the Lord made me, no a word +o't. Forbye the bairn,' says she, 'I've been a decent woman a' my +days.' + +'Will you,' says Mr. Soulis, 'in the name of God, and before me, +His unworthy minister, renounce the devil and his works?' + +Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she gave a girn that +fairly frichtit them that saw her, an' they could hear her teeth +play dirl thegether in her chafts; but there was naething for it +but the ae way or the ither; an' Janet lifted up her hand and +renounced the deil before them a'. + +'And now,' says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives, 'home with ye, one and +all, and pray to God for His forgiveness.' + +And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on her but a sark, +and took her up the clachan to her ain door like a leddy of the +land; an' her scrieghin' and laughin' as was a scandal to be heard. + +There were mony grave folk lang ower their prayers that nicht; but +when the morn cam' there was sic a fear fell upon a' Ba'weary that +the bairns hid theirsels, and even the men folk stood and keekit +frae their doors. For there was Janet comin' doun the clachan - +her or her likeness, nane could tell - wi' her neck thrawn, and her +heid on ae side, like a body that has been hangit, and a girn on +her face like an unstreakit corp. By an' by they got used wi' it, +and even speered at her to ken what was wrang; but frae that day +forth she couldnae speak like a Christian woman, but slavered and +played click wi' her teeth like a pair o' shears; and frae that day +forth the name o' God cam never on her lips. Whiles she wad try to +say it, but it michtnae be. Them that kenned best said least; but +they never gied that Thing the name o' Janet M'Clour; for the auld +Janet, by their way o't, was in muckle hell that day. But the +minister was neither to haud nor to bind; he preached about +naething but the folk's cruelty that had gi'en her a stroke of the +palsy; he skelpt the bairns that meddled her; and he had her up to +the manse that same nicht, and dwalled there a' his lane wi' her +under the Hangin' Shaw. + +Weel, time gaed by: and the idler sort commenced to think mair +lichtly o' that black business. The minister was weel thocht o'; +he was aye late at the writing, folk wad see his can'le doon by the +Dule water after twal' at e'en; and he seemed pleased wi' himsel' +and upsitten as at first, though a' body could see that he was +dwining. As for Janet she cam an' she gaed; if she didnae speak +muckle afore, it was reason she should speak less then; she meddled +naebody; but she was an eldritch thing to see, an' nane wad hae +mistrysted wi' her for Ba'weary glebe. + +About the end o' July there cam' a spell o' weather, the like o't +never was in that country side; it was lown an' het an' heartless; +the herds couldnae win up the Black Hill, the bairns were ower +weariet to play; an' yet it was gousty too, wi' claps o' het wund +that rumm'led in the glens, and bits o' shouers that slockened +naething. We aye thocht it but to thun'er on the morn; but the +morn cam, an' the morn's morning, and it was aye the same uncanny +weather, sair on folks and bestial. Of a' that were the waur, nane +suffered like Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, he tauld +his elders; an' when he wasnae writin' at his weary book, he wad be +stravaguin' ower a' the countryside like a man possessed, when a' +body else was blythe to keep caller ben the house. + +Abune Hangin' Shaw, in the bield o' the Black Hill, there's a bit +enclosed grund wi' an iron yett; and it seems, in the auld days, +that was the kirkyaird o' Ba'weary, and consecrated by the Papists +before the blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great +howff o' Mr. Soulis's, onyway; there he would sit an' consider his +sermons; and indeed it's a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam ower the +wast end o' the Black Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an syne +fower, an' syne seeven corbie craws fleein' round an' round abune +the auld kirkyaird. They flew laigh and heavy, an' squawked to +ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr. Soulis that something +had put them frae their ordinar. He wasnae easy fleyed, an' gaed +straucht up to the wa's; an' what suld he find there but a man, or +the appearance of a man, sittin' in the inside upon a grave. He +was of a great stature, an' black as hell, and his e'en were +singular to see. (5) Mr. Soulis had heard tell o' black men, +mony's the time; but there was something unco about this black man +that daunted him. Het as he was, he took a kind o' cauld grue in +the marrow o' his banes; but up he spak for a' that; an' says he: +'My friend, are you a stranger in this place?' The black man +answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an' begude to hirsle +to the wa' on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; an' +the minister stood an' lookit back; till a' in a meenute the black +man was ower the wa' an' rinnin' for the bield o' the trees. Mr. +Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was sair +forjaskit wi' his walk an' the het, unhalesome weather; and rin as +he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o' the black man amang the +birks, till he won doun to the foot o' the hill-side, an' there he +saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an' lowp, ower Dule water to +the manse. + +Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak' +sae free wi' Ba'weary manse; an' he ran the harder, an', wet shoon, +ower the burn, an' up the walk; but the deil a black man was there +to see. He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; +he gaed a' ower the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder +end, and a bit feared as was but natural, he lifted the hasp and +into the manse; and there was Janet M'Clour before his een, wi' her +thrawn craig, and nane sae pleased to see him. And he aye minded +sinsyne, when first he set his een upon her, he had the same cauld +and deidly grue. + +'Janet,' says he, 'have you seen a black man?' + +'A black man?' quo' she. 'Save us a'! Ye're no wise, minister. +There's nae black man in a Ba'weary.' + +But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, +like a powney wi' the bit in its moo. + +'Weel,' says he, 'Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken +with the Accuser of the Brethren.' + +And he sat down like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth chittered in +his heid. + +'Hoots,' says she, 'think shame to yoursel', minister;' an' gied +him a drap brandy that she keept aye by her. + +Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his books. It's a +lang, laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin' cauld in winter, an' no very +dry even in the tap o' the simmer, for the manse stands near the +burn. Sae doun he sat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane +since he was in Ba'weary, an' his hame, an' the days when he was a +bairn an' ran daffin' on the braes; and that black man aye ran in +his heid like the ower-come of a sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the +mair he thocht o' the black man. He tried the prayer, an' the +words wouldnae come to him; an' he tried, they say, to write at his +book, but he could nae mak' nae mair o' that. There was whiles he +thocht the black man was at his oxter, an' the swat stood upon him +cauld as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he cam to +himsel' like a christened bairn and minded naething. + +The upshot was that he gaed to the window an' stood glowrin' at +Dule water. The trees are unco thick, an' the water lies deep an' +black under the manse; an' there was Janct washin' the cla'es wi' +her coats kilted. She had her back to the minister, an' he, for +his pairt, hardly kenned what he was lookin' at. Syne she turned +round, an' shawed her face; Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as +twice that day afore, an' it was borne in upon him what folk said, +that Janet was deid lang syne, an' this was a bogle in her clay- +cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and he scanned her narrowly. +She was tramp-trampin' in the cla'es, croonin' to hersel'; and eh! +Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder, +but there was nae man born o' woman that could tell the words o' +her sang; an' whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there was +naething there for her to look at. There gaed a scunner through +the flesh upon his banes; and that was Heeven's advertisement. But +Mr. Soulis just blamed himsel', he said, to think sae ill of a +puir, auld afflicted wife that hadnae a freend forbye himsel'; an' +he put up a bit prayer for him and her, an' drank a little caller +water - for his heart rose again the meat - an' gaed up to his +naked bed in the gloaming. + +That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba'weary, the +nicht o' the seeventeenth of August, seventeen hun'er' an twal'. +It had been het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter +than ever. The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin' clouds; it fell as +mirk as the pit; no a star, no a breath o' wund; ye couldnae see +your han' afore your face, and even the auld folk cuist the covers +frae their beds and lay pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he +had upon his mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get +muckle sleep. He lay an' he tummled; the gude, caller bed that he +got into brunt his very banes; whiles he slept, and whiles he +waukened; whiles he heard the time o' nicht, and whiles a tyke +yowlin' up the muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he thocht he +heard bogles claverin' in his lug, an' whiles he saw spunkies in +the room. He behoved, he judged, to be sick; an' sick he was - +little he jaloosed the sickness. + +At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his +sark on the bed-side, and fell thinkin' ance mair o' the black man +an' Janet. He couldnae weel tell how - maybe it was the cauld to +his feet - but it cam' in upon him wi' a spate that there was some +connection between thir twa, an' that either or baith o' them were +bogles. And just at that moment, in Janet's room, which was neist +to his, there cam' a stramp o' feet as if men were wars'lin', an' +then a loud bang; an' then a wund gaed reishling round the fower +quarters of the house; an' then a' was aince mair as seelent as the +grave. + +Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil. He got his +tinder-box, an' lit a can'le, an' made three steps o't ower to +Janet's door. It was on the hasp, an' he pushed it open, an' +keeked bauldly in. It was a big room, as big as the minister's +ain, an' plenished wi' grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething +else. There was a fower-posted bed wi' auld tapestry; and a braw +cabinet of aik, that was fu' o' the minister's divinity books, an' +put there to be out o' the gate; an' a wheen duds o' Janet's lying +here and there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr. Soulis +see; nor ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an' there's few +that wad ha'e followed him) an' lookit a' round, an' listened. But +there was naethin' to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a' +Ba'weary parish, an' naethin' to be seen but the muckle shadows +turnin' round the can'le. An' then a' at aince, the minister's +heart played dunt an' stood stock-still; an' a cauld wund blew +amang the hairs o' his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the +puir man's een! For there was Janat hangin' frae a nail beside the +auld aik cabinet: her heid aye lay on her shoother, her een were +steeked, the tongue projekit frae her mouth, and her heels were twa +feet clear abune the floor. + +'God forgive us all!' thocht Mr. Soulis; 'poor Janet's dead.' + +He cam' a step nearer to the corp; an' then his heart fair whammled +in his inside. For by what cantrip it wad ill-beseem a man to +judge, she was hingin' frae a single nail an' by a single wursted +thread for darnin' hose. + +It's an awfu' thing to be your lane at nicht wi' siccan prodigies +o' darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in the Lord. He turned an' +gaed his ways oot o' that room, and lockit the door ahint him; and +step by step, doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the +can'le on the table at the stairfoot. He couldnae pray, he +couldnae think, he was dreepin' wi' caul' swat, an' naething could +he hear but the dunt-dunt-duntin' o' his ain heart. He micht maybe +have stood there an hour, or maybe twa, he minded sae little; when +a' o' a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny steer upstairs; a foot +gaed to an' fro in the cha'mer whaur the corp was hingin'; syne the +door was opened, though he minded weel that he had lockit it; an' +syne there was a step upon the landin', an' it seemed to him as if +the corp was lookin' ower the rail and doun upon him whaur he +stood. + +He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want the licht), and +as saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht out o' the manse an' to +the far end o' the causeway. It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' the +can'le, when he set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a +room; naething moved, but the Dule water seepin' and sabbin' doon +the glen, an' yon unhaly footstep that cam' ploddin doun the stairs +inside the manse. He kenned the foot over weel, for it was +Janet's; and at ilka step that cam' a wee thing nearer, the cauld +got deeper in his vitals. He commanded his soul to Him that made +an' keepit him; 'and O Lord,' said he, 'give me strength this night +to war against the powers of evil.' + +By this time the foot was comin' through the passage for the door; +he could hear a hand skirt alang the wa', as if the fearsome thing +was feelin' for its way. The saughs tossed an' maned thegether, a +lang sigh cam' ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn +aboot; an' there stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi' her grogram +goun an' her black mutch, wi' the heid aye upon the shouther, an' +the girn still upon the face o't - leevin', ye wad hae said - deid, +as Mr. Soulis weel kenned - upon the threshold o' the manse. + +It's a strange thing that the saul of man should be that thirled +into his perishable body; but the minister saw that, an' his heart +didnae break. + +She didnae stand there lang; she began to move again an' cam' +slowly towards Mr. Soulis whaur he stood under the saughs. A' the +life o' his body, a' the strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' +frae his een. It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words, +an' made a sign wi' the left hand. There cam' a clap o' wund, like +a cat's fuff; oot gaed the can'le, the saughs skrieghed like folk; +an' Mr. Soulis kenned that, live or die, this was the end o't. + +'Witch, beldame, devil!' he cried, 'I charge you, by the power of +God, begone - if you be dead, to the grave - if you be damned, to +hell.' + +An' at that moment the Lord's ain hand out o' the Heevens struck +the Horror whaur it stood; the auld, deid, desecrated corp o' the +witch-wife, sae lang keepit frae the grave and hirsled round by +deils, lowed up like a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the +grund; the thunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain +upon the back o' that; and Mr. Soulis lowped through the garden +hedge, and ran, wi' skelloch upon skelloch, for the clachan. + +That same mornin', John Christie saw the Black Man pass the Muckle +Cairn as it was chappin' six; before eicht, he gaed by the change- +house at Knockdow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaun +linkin' doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There's little doubt but +it was him that dwalled sae lang in Janet's body; but he was awa' +at last; and sinsyne the deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary. + +But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang, lang he lay +ravin' in his bed; and frae that hour to this, he was the man ye +ken the day. + + + + +OLALLA + + + + +'Now,' said the doctor, 'my part is done, and, I may say, with some +vanity, well done. It remains only to get you out of this cold and +poisonous city, and to give you two months of a pure air and an +easy conscience. The last is your affair. To the first I think I +can help you. It fells indeed rather oddly; it was but the other +day the Padre came in from the country; and as he and I are old +friends, although of contrary professions, he applied to me in a +matter of distress among some of his parishioners. This was a +family - but you are ignorant of Spain, and even the names of our +grandees are hardly known to you; suffice it, then, that they were +once great people, and are now fallen to the brink of destitution. +Nothing now belongs to them but the residencia, and certain leagues +of desert mountain, in the greater part of which not even a goat +could support life. But the house is a fine old place, and stands +at a great height among the hills, and most salubriously; and I had +no sooner heard my friend's tale, than I remembered you. I told +him I had a wounded officer, wounded in the good cause, who was now +able to make a change; and I proposed that his friends should take +you for a lodger. Instantly the Padre's face grew dark, as I had +maliciously foreseen it would. It was out of the question, he +said. Then let them starve, said I, for I have no sympathy with +tatterdemalion pride. There-upon we separated, not very content +with one another; but yesterday, to my wonder, the Padre returned +and made a submission: the difficulty, he said, he had found upon +enquiry to be less than he had feared; or, in other words, these +proud people had put their pride in their pocket. I closed with +the offer; and, subject to your approval, I have taken rooms for +you in the residencia. The air of these mountains will renew your +blood; and the quiet in which you will there live is worth all the +medicines in the world.' + +'Doctor,' said I, 'you have been throughout my good angel, and your +advice is a command. But tell me, if you please, something of the +family with which I am to reside.' + +'I am coming to that,' replied my friend; 'and, indeed, there is a +difficulty in the way. These beggars are, as I have said, of very +high descent and swollen with the most baseless vanity; they have +lived for some generations in a growing isolation, drawing away, on +either hand, from the rich who had now become too high for them, +and from the poor, whom they still regarded as too low; and even +to-day, when poverty forces them to unfasten their door to a guest, +they cannot do so without a most ungracious stipulation. You are +to remain, they say, a stranger; they will give you attendance, but +they refuse from the first the idea of the smallest intimacy.' + +I will not deny that I was piqued, and perhaps the feeling +strengthened my desire to go, for I was confident that I could +break down that barrier if I desired. 'There is nothing offensive +in such a stipulation,' said I; 'and I even sympathise with the +feeling that inspired it.' + +'It is true they have never seen you,' returned the doctor +politely; 'and if they knew you were the handsomest and the most +pleasant man that ever came from England (where I am told that +handsome men are common, but pleasant ones not so much so), they +would doubtless make you welcome with a better grace. But since +you take the thing so well, it matters not. To me, indeed, it +seems discourteous. But you will find yourself the gainer. The +family will not much tempt you. A mother, a son, and a daughter; +an old woman said to be halfwitted, a country lout, and a country +girl, who stands very high with her confessor, and is, therefore,' +chuckled the physician, 'most likely plain; there is not much in +that to attract the fancy of a dashing officer.' + +'And yet you say they are high-born,' I objected. + +'Well, as to that, I should distinguish,' returned the doctor. +'The mother is; not so the children. The mother was the last +representative of a princely stock, degenerate both in parts and +fortune. Her father was not only poor, he was mad: and the girl +ran wild about the residencia till his death. Then, much of the +fortune having died with him, and the family being quite extinct, +the girl ran wilder than ever, until at last she married, Heaven +knows whom, a muleteer some say, others a smuggler; while there are +some who uphold there was no marriage at all, and that Felipe and +Olalla are bastards. The union, such as it was, was tragically +dissolved some years ago; but they live in such seclusion, and the +country at that time was in so much disorder, that the precise +manner of the man's end is known only to the priest - if even to +him.' + +'I begin to think I shall have strange experiences,' said I. + +'I would not romance, if I were you,' replied the doctor; 'you will +find, I fear, a very grovelling and commonplace reality. Felipe, +for instance, I have seen. And what am I to say? He is very +rustic, very cunning, very loutish, and, I should say, an innocent; +the others are probably to match. No, no, senor commandante, you +must seek congenial society among the great sights of our +mountains; and in these at least, if you are at all a lover of the +works of nature, I promise you will not be disappointed.' + +The next day Felipe came for me in a rough country cart, drawn by a +mule; and a little before the stroke of noon, after I had said +farewell to the doctor, the innkeeper, and different good souls who +had befriended me during my sickness, we set forth out of the city +by the Eastern gate, and began to ascend into the Sierra. I had +been so long a prisoner, since I was left behind for dying after +the loss of the convoy, that the mere smell of the earth set me +smiling. The country through which we went was wild and rocky, +partially covered with rough woods, now of the cork-tree, and now +of the great Spanish chestnut, and frequently intersected by the +beds of mountain torrents. The sun shone, the wind rustled +joyously; and we had advanced some miles, and the city had already +shrunk into an inconsiderable knoll upon the plain behind us, +before my attention began to be diverted to the companion of my +drive. To the eye, he seemed but a diminutive, loutish, well-made +country lad, such as the doctor had described, mighty quick and +active, but devoid of any culture; and this first impression was +with most observers final. What began to strike me was his +familiar, chattering talk; so strangely inconsistent with the terms +on which I was to be received; and partly from his imperfect +enunciation, partly from the sprightly incoherence of the matter, +so very difficult to follow clearly without an effort of the mind. +It is true I had before talked with persons of a similar mental +constitution; persons who seemed to live (as he did) by the senses, +taken and possessed by the visual object of the moment and unable +to discharge their minds of that impression. His seemed to me (as +I sat, distantly giving ear) a kind of conversation proper to +drivers, who pass much of their time in a great vacancy of the +intellect and threading the sights of a familiar country. But this +was not the case of Felipe; by his own account, he was a home- +keeper; 'I wish I was there now,' he said; and then, spying a tree +by the wayside, he broke off to tell me that he had once seen a +crow among its branches. + +'A crow?' I repeated, struck by the ineptitude of the remark, and +thinking I had heard imperfectly. + +But by this time he was already filled with a new idea; hearkening +with a rapt intentness, his head on one side, his face puckered; +and he struck me rudely, to make me hold my peace. Then he smiled +and shook his head. + +'What did you hear?' I asked. + +'O, it is all right,' he said; and began encouraging his mule with +cries that echoed unhumanly up the mountain walls. + +I looked at him more closely. He was superlatively well-built, +light, and lithe and strong; he was well-featured; his yellow eyes +were very large, though, perhaps, not very expressive; take him +altogether, he was a pleasant-looking lad, and I had no fault to +find with him, beyond that he was of a dusky hue, and inclined to +hairyness; two characteristics that I disliked. It was his mind +that puzzled, and yet attracted me. The doctor's phrase - an +innocent - came back to me; and I was wondering if that were, after +all, the true description, when the road began to go down into the +narrow and naked chasm of a torrent. The waters thundered +tumultuously in the bottom; and the ravine was filled full of the +sound, the thin spray, and the claps of wind, that accompanied +their descent. The scene was certainly impressive; but the road +was in that part very securely walled in; the mule went steadily +forward; and I was astonished to perceive the paleness of terror in +the face of my companion. The voice of that wild river was +inconstant, now sinking lower as if in weariness, now doubling its +hoarse tones; momentary freshets seemed to swell its volume, +sweeping down the gorge, raving and booming against the barrier +walls; and I observed it was at each of these accessions to the +clamour, that my driver more particularly winced and blanched. +Some thoughts of Scottish superstition and the river Kelpie, passed +across my mind; I wondered if perchance the like were prevalent in +that part of Spain; and turning to Felipe, sought to draw him out. + +'What is the matter?' I asked. + +'O, I am afraid,' he replied. + +'Of what are you afraid?' I returned. 'This seems one of the +safest places on this very dangerous road.' + +'It makes a noise,' he said, with a simplicity of awe that set my +doubts at rest. + +The lad was but a child in intellect; his mind was like his body, +active and swift, but stunted in development; and I began from that +time forth to regard him with a measure of pity, and to listen at +first with indulgence, and at last even with pleasure, to his +disjointed babble. + +By about four in the afternoon we had crossed the summit of the +mountain line, said farewell to the western sunshine, and began to +go down upon the other side, skirting the edge of many ravines and +moving through the shadow of dusky woods. There rose upon all +sides the voice of falling water, not condensed and formidable as +in the gorge of the river, but scattered and sounding gaily and +musically from glen to glen. Here, too, the spirits of my driver +mended, and he began to sing aloud in a falsetto voice, and with a +singular bluntness of musical perception, never true either to +melody or key, but wandering at will, and yet somehow with an +effect that was natural and pleasing, like that of the of birds. +As the dusk increased, I fell more and more under the spell of this +artless warbling, listening and waiting for some articulate air, +and still disappointed; and when at last I asked him what it was he +sang - 'O,' cried he, 'I am just singing!' Above all, I was taken +with a trick he had of unweariedly repeating the same note at +little intervals; it was not so monotonous as you would think, or, +at least, not disagreeable; and it seemed to breathe a wonderful +contentment with what is, such as we love to fancy in the attitude +of trees, or the quiescence of a pool. + +Night had fallen dark before we came out upon a plateau, and drew +up a little after, before a certain lump of superior blackness +which I could only conjecture to be the residencia. Here, my +guide, getting down from the cart, hooted and whistled for a long +time in vain; until at last an old peasant man came towards us from +somewhere in the surrounding dark, carrying a candle in his hand. +By the light of this I was able to perceive a great arched doorway +of a Moorish character: it was closed by iron-studded gates, in one +of the leaves of which Felipe opened a wicket. The peasant carried +off the cart to some out-building; but my guide and I passed +through the wicket, which was closed again behind us; and by the +glimmer of the candle, passed through a court, up a stone stair, +along a section of an open gallery, and up more stairs again, until +we came at last to the door of a great and somewhat bare apartment. +This room, which I understood was to be mine, was pierced by three +windows, lined with some lustrous wood disposed in panels, and +carpeted with the skins of many savage animals. A bright fire +burned in the chimney, and shed abroad a changeful flicker; close +up to the blaze there was drawn a table, laid for supper; and in +the far end a bed stood ready. I was pleased by these +preparations, and said so to Felipe; and he, with the same +simplicity of disposition that I held already remarked in him, +warmly re-echoed my praises. 'A fine room,' he said; 'a very fine +room. And fire, too; fire is good; it melts out the pleasure in +your bones. And the bed,' he continued, carrying over the candle +in that direction - 'see what fine sheets - how soft, how smooth, +smooth;' and he passed his hand again and again over their texture, +and then laid down his head and rubbed his cheeks among them with a +grossness of content that somehow offended me. I took the candle +from his hand (for I feared he would set the bed on fire) and +walked back to the supper-table, where, perceiving a measure of +wine, I poured out a cup and called to him to come and drink of it. +He started to his feet at once and ran to me with a strong +expression of hope; but when he saw the wine, he visibly shuddered. + +'Oh, no,' he said, 'not that; that is for you. I hate it.' + +'Very well, Senor,' said I; 'then I will drink to your good health, +and to the prosperity of your house and family. Speaking of +which,' I added, after I had drunk, 'shall I not have the pleasure +of laying my salutations in person at the feet of the Senora, your +mother?' + +But at these words all the childishness passed out of his face, and +was succeeded by a look of indescribable cunning and secrecy. He +backed away from me at the same time, as though I were an animal +about to leap or some dangerous fellow with a weapon, and when he +had got near the door, glowered at me sullenly with contracted +pupils. 'No,' he said at last, and the next moment was gone +noiselessly out of the room; and I heard his footing die away +downstairs as light as rainfall, and silence closed over the house. + +After I had supped I drew up the table nearer to the bed and began +to prepare for rest; but in the new position of the light, I was +struck by a picture on the wall. It represented a woman, still +young. To judge by her costume and the mellow unity which reigned +over the canvas, she had long been dead; to judge by the vivacity +of the attitude, the eyes and the features, I might have been +beholding in a mirror the image of life. Her figure was very slim +and strong, and of a just proportion; red tresses lay like a crown +over her brow; her eyes, of a very golden brown, held mine with a +look; and her face, which was perfectly shaped, was yet marred by a +cruel, sullen, and sensual expression. Something in both face and +figure, something exquisitely intangible, like the echo of an echo, +suggested the features and bearing of my guide; and I stood awhile, +unpleasantly attracted and wondering at the oddity of the +resemblance. The common, carnal stock of that race, which had been +originally designed for such high dames as the one now looking on +me from the canvas, had fallen to baser uses, wearing country +clothes, sitting on the shaft and holding the reins of a mule cart, +to bring home a lodger. Perhaps an actual link subsisted; perhaps +some scruple of the delicate flesh that was once clothed upon with +the satin and brocade of the dead lady, now winced at the rude +contact of Felipe's frieze. + +The first light of the morning shone full upon the portrait, and, +as I lay awake, my eyes continued to dwell upon it with growing +complacency; its beauty crept about my heart insidiously, silencing +my scruples one after another; and while I knew that to love such a +woman were to sign and seal one's own sentence of degeneration, I +still knew that, if she were alive, I should love her. Day after +day the double knowledge of her wickedness and of my weakness grew +clearer. She came to be the heroine of many day-dreams, in which +her eyes led on to, and sufficiently rewarded, crimes. She cast a +dark shadow on my fancy; and when I was out in the free air of +heaven, taking vigorous exercise and healthily renewing the current +of my blood, it was often a glad thought to me that my enchantress +was safe in the grave, her wand of beauty broken, her lips closed +in silence, her philtre spilt. And yet I had a half-lingering +terror that she might not be dead after all, but re-arisen in the +body of some descendant. + +Felipe served my meals in my own apartment; and his resemblance to +the portrait haunted me. At times it was not; at times, upon some +change of attitude or flash of expression, it would leap out upon +me like a ghost. It was above all in his ill tempers that the +likeness triumphed. He certainly liked me; he was proud of my +notice, which he sought to engage by many simple and childlike +devices; he loved to sit close before my fire, talking his broken +talk or singing his odd, endless, wordless songs, and sometimes +drawing his hand over my clothes with an affectionate manner of +caressing that never failed to cause in me an embarrassment of +which I was ashamed. But for all that, he was capable of flashes +of causeless anger and fits of sturdy sullenness. At a word of +reproof, I have seen him upset the dish of which I was about to +eat, and this not surreptitiously, but with defiance; and similarly +at a hint of inquisition. I was not unnaturally curious, being in +a strange place and surrounded by string people; but at the shadow +of a question, he shrank back, lowering and dangerous. Then it was +that, for a fraction of a second, this rough lad might have been +the brother of the lady in the frame. But these humours were swift +to pass; and the resemblance died along with them. + +In these first days I saw nothing of any one but Felipe, unless the +portrait is to be counted; and since the lad was plainly of weak +mind, and had moments of passion, it may be wondered that I bore +his dangerous neighbourhood with equanimity. As a matter of fact, +it was for some time irksome; but it happened before long that I +obtained over him so complete a mastery as set my disquietude at +rest. + +It fell in this way. He was by nature slothful, and much of a +vagabond, and yet he kept by the house, and not only waited upon my +wants, but laboured every day in the garden or small farm to the +south of the residencia. Here he would be joined by the peasant +whom I had seen on the night of my arrival, and who dwelt at the +far end of the enclosure, about half a mile away, in a rude out- +house; but it was plain to me that, of these two, it was Felipe who +did most; and though I would sometimes see him throw down his spade +and go to sleep among the very plants he had been digging, his +constancy and energy were admirable in themselves, and still more +so since I was well assured they were foreign to his disposition +and the fruit of an ungrateful effort. But while I admired, I +wondered what had called forth in a lad so shuttle-witted this +enduring sense of duty. How was it sustained? I asked myself, and +to what length did it prevail over his instincts? The priest was +possibly his inspirer; but the priest came one day to the +residencia. I saw him both come and go after an interval of close +upon an hour, from a knoll where I was sketching, and all that time +Felipe continued to labour undisturbed in the garden. + +At last, in a very unworthy spirit, I determined to debauch the lad +from his good resolutions, and, way-laying him at the gate, easily +pursuaded him to join me in a ramble. It was a fine day, and the +woods to which I led him were green and pleasant and sweet-smelling +and alive with the hum of insects. Here he discovered himself in a +fresh character, mounting up to heights of gaiety that abashed me, +and displaying an energy and grace of movement that delighted the +eye. He leaped, he ran round me in mere glee; he would stop, and +look and listen, and seem to drink in the world like a cordial; and +then he would suddenly spring into a tree with one bound, and hang +and gambol there like one at home. Little as he said to me, and +that of not much import, I have rarely enjoyed more stirring +company; the sight of his delight was a continual feast; the speed +and accuracy of his movements pleased me to the heart; and I might +have been so thoughtlessly unkind as to make a habit of these +wants, had not chance prepared a very rude conclusion to my +pleasure. By some swiftness or dexterity the lad captured a +squirrel in a tree top. He was then some way ahead of me, but I +saw him drop to the ground and crouch there, crying aloud for +pleasure like a child. The sound stirred my sympathies, it was so +fresh and innocent; but as I bettered my pace to draw near, the cry +of the squirrel knocked upon my heart. I have heard and seen much +of the cruelty of lads, and above all of peasants; but what I now +beheld struck me into a passion of anger. I thrust the fellow +aside, plucked the poor brute out of his hands, and with swift +mercy killed it. Then I turned upon the torturer, spoke to him +long out of the heat of my indignation, calling him names at which +he seemed to wither; and at length, pointing toward the residencia, +bade him begone and leave me, for I chose to walk with men, not +with vermin. He fell upon his knees, and, the words coming to him +with more cleanness than usual, poured out a stream of the most +touching supplications, begging me in mercy to forgive him, to +forget what he had done, to look to the future. 'O, I try so +hard,' he said. 'O, commandante, bear with Felipe this once; he +will never be a brute again!' Thereupon, much more affected than I +cared to show, I suffered myself to be persuaded, and at last shook +hands with him and made it up. But the squirrel, by way of +penance, I made him bury; speaking of the poor thing's beauty, +telling him what pains it had suffered, and how base a thing was +the abuse of strength. 'See, Felipe,' said I, 'you are strong +indeed; but in my hands you are as helpless as that poor thing of +the trees. Give me your hand in mine. You cannot remove it. Now +suppose that I were cruel like you, and took a pleasure in pain. I +only tighten my hold, and see how you suffer.' He screamed aloud, +his face stricken ashy and dotted with needle points of sweat; and +when I set him free, he fell to the earth and nursed his hand and +moaned over it like a baby. But he took the lesson in good part; +and whether from that, or from what I had said to him, or the +higher notion he now had of my bodily strength, his original +affection was changed into a dog-like, adoring fidelity. + +Meanwhile I gained rapidly in health. The residencia stood on the +crown of a stony plateau; on every side the mountains hemmed it +about; only from the roof, where was a bartizan, there might be +seen between two peaks, a small segment of plain, blue with extreme +distance. The air in these altitudes moved freely and largely; +great clouds congregated there, and were broken up by the wind and +left in tatters on the hilltops; a hoarse, and yet faint rumbling +of torrents rose from all round; and one could there study all the +ruder and more ancient characters of nature in something of their +pristine force. I delighted from the first in the vigorous scenery +and changeful weather; nor less in the antique and dilapidated +mansion where I dwelt. This was a large oblong, flanked at two +opposite corners by bastion-like projections, one of which +commanded the door, while both were loopholed for musketry. The +lower storey was, besides, naked of windows, so that the building, +if garrisoned, could not be carried without artillery. It enclosed +an open court planted with pomegranate trees. From this a broad +flight of marble stairs ascended to an open gallery, running all +round and resting, towards the court, on slender pillars. Thence +again, several enclosed stairs led to the upper storeys of the +house, which were thus broken up into distinct divisions. The +windows, both within and without, were closely shuttered; some of +the stone-work in the upper parts had fallen; the roof, in one +place, had been wrecked in one of the flurries of wind which were +common in these mountains; and the whole house, in the strong, +beating sunlight, and standing out above a grove of stunted cork- +trees, thickly laden and discoloured with dust, looked like the +sleeping palace of the legend. The court, in particular, seemed +the very home of slumber. A hoarse cooing of doves haunted about +the eaves; the winds were excluded, but when they blew outside, the +mountain dust fell here as thick as rain, and veiled the red bloom +of the pomegranates; shuttered windows and the closed doors of +numerous cellars, and the vacant, arches of the gallery, enclosed +it; and all day long the sun made broken profiles on the four +sides, and paraded the shadow of the pillars on the gallery floor. +At the ground level there was, however, a certain pillared recess, +which bore the marks of human habitation. Though it was open in +front upon the court, it was yet provided with a chimney, where a +wood fire would he always prettily blazing; and the tile floor was +littered with the skins of animals. + +It was in this place that I first saw my hostess. She had drawn +one of the skins forward and sat in the sun, leaning against a +pillar. It was her dress that struck me first of all, for it was +rich and brightly coloured, and shone out in that dusty courtyard +with something of the same relief as the flowers of the +pomegranates. At a second look it was her beauty of person that +took hold of me. As she sat back - watching me, I thought, though +with invisible eyes - and wearing at the same time an expression of +almost imbecile good-humour and contentment, she showed a +perfectness of feature and a quiet nobility of attitude that were +beyond a statue's. I took off my hat to her in passing, and her +face puckered with suspicion as swiftly and lightly as a pool +ruffles in the breeze; but she paid no heed to my courtesy. I went +forth on my customary walk a trifle daunted, her idol-like +impassivity haunting me; and when I returned, although she was +still in much the same posture, I was half surprised to see that +she had moved as far as the next pillar, following the sunshine. +This time, however, she addressed me with some trivial salutation, +civilly enough conceived, and uttered in the same deep-chested, and +yet indistinct and lisping tones, that had already baffled the +utmost niceness of my hearing from her son. I answered rather at a +venture; for not only did I fail to take her meaning with +precision, but the sudden disclosure of her eyes disturbed me. +They were unusually large, the iris golden like Felipe's, but the +pupil at that moment so distended that they seemed almost black; +and what affected me was not so much their size as (what was +perhaps its consequence) the singular insignificance of their +regard. A look more blankly stupid I have never met. My eyes +dropped before it even as I spoke, and I went on my way upstairs to +my own room, at once baffled and embarrassed. Yet, when I came +there and saw the face of the portrait, I was again reminded of the +miracle of family descent. My hostess was, indeed, both older and +fuller in person; her eyes were of a different colour; her face, +besides, was not only free from the ill-significance that offended +and attracted me in the painting; it was devoid of either good or +bad - a moral blank expressing literally naught. And yet there was +a likeness, not so much speaking as immanent, not so much in any +particular feature as upon the whole. It should seem, I thought, +as if when the master set his signature to that grave canvas, he +had not only caught the image of one smiling and false-eyed woman, +but stamped the essential quality of a race. + +From that day forth, whether I came or went, I was sure to find the +Senora seated in the sun against a pillar, or stretched on a rug +before the fire; only at times she would shift her station to the +top round of the stone staircase, where she lay with the same +nonchalance right across my path. In all these days, I never knew +her to display the least spark of energy beyond what she expended +in brushing and re-brushing her copious copper-coloured hair, or in +lisping out, in the rich and broken hoarseness of her voice, her +customary idle salutations to myself. These, I think, were her two +chief pleasures, beyond that of mere quiescence. She seemed always +proud of her remarks, as though they had been witticisms: and, +indeed, though they were empty enough, like the conversation of +many respectable persons, and turned on a very narrow range of +subjects, they were never meaningless or incoherent; nay, they had +a certain beauty of their own, breathing, as they did, of her +entire contentment. Now she would speak of the warmth, in which +(like her son) she greatly delighted; now of the flowers of the +pomegranate trees, and now of the white doves and long-winged +swallows that fanned the air of the court. The birds excited her. +As they raked the eaves in their swift flight, or skimmed sidelong +past her with a rush of wind, she would sometimes stir, and sit a +little up, and seem to awaken from her doze of satisfaction. But +for the rest of her days she lay luxuriously folded on herself and +sunk in sloth and pleasure. Her invincible content at first +annoyed me, but I came gradually to find repose in the spectacle, +until at last it grew to be my habit to sit down beside her four +times in the day, both coming and going, and to talk with her +sleepily, I scarce knew of what. I had come to like her dull, +almost animal neighbourhood; her beauty and her stupidity soothed +and amused me. I began to find a kind of transcendental good sense +in her remarks, and her unfathomable good nature moved me to +admiration and envy. The liking was returned; she enjoyed my +presence half-unconsciously, as a man in deep meditation may enjoy +the babbling of a brook. I can scarce say she brightened when I +came, for satisfaction was written on her face eternally, as on +some foolish statue's; but I was made conscious of her pleasure by +some more intimate communication than the sight. And one day, as I +set within reach of her on the marble step, she suddenly shot forth +one of her hands and patted mine. The thing was done, and she was +back in her accustomed attitude, before my mind had received +intelligence of the caress; and when I turned to look her in the +face I could perceive no answerable sentiment. It was plain she +attached no moment to the act, and I blamed myself for my own more +uneasy consciousness. + +The sight and (if I may so call it) the acquaintance of the mother +confirmed the view I had already taken of the son. The family +blood had been impoverished, perhaps by long inbreeding, which I +knew to be a common error among the proud and the exclusive. No +decline, indeed, was to be traced in the body, which had been +handed down unimpaired in shapeliness and strength; and the faces +of to-day were struck as sharply from the mint, as the face of two +centuries ago that smiled upon me from the portrait. But the +intelligence (that more precious heirloom) was degenerate; the +treasure of ancestral memory ran low; and it had required the +potent, plebeian crossing of a muleteer or mountain contrabandista +to raise, what approached hebetude in the mother, into the active +oddity of the son. Yet of the two, it was the mother I preferred. +Of Felipe, vengeful and placable, full of starts and shyings, +inconstant as a hare, I could even conceive as a creature possibly +noxious. Of the mother I had no thoughts but those of kindness. +And indeed, as spectators are apt ignorantly to take sides, I grew +something of a partisan in the enmity which I perceived to smoulder +between them. True, it seemed mostly on the mother's part. She +would sometimes draw in her breath as he came near, and the pupils +of her vacant eyes would contract as if with horror or fear. Her +emotions, such as they were, were much upon the surface and readily +shared; and this latent repulsion occupied my mind, and kept me +wondering on what grounds it rested, and whether the son was +certainly in fault. + +I had been about ten days in the residencia, when there sprang up a +high and harsh wind, carrying clouds of dust. It came out of +malarious lowlands, and over several snowy sierras. The nerves of +those on whom it blew were strung and jangled; their eyes smarted +with the dust; their legs ached under the burthen of their body; +and the touch of one hand upon another grew to be odious. The +wind, besides, came down the gullies of the hills and stormed about +the house with a great, hollow buzzing and whistling that was +wearisome to the ear and dismally depressing to the mind. It did +not so much blow in gusts as with the steady sweep of a waterfall, +so that there was no remission of discomfort while it blew. But +higher upon the mountain, it was probably of a more variable +strength, with accesses of fury; for there came down at times a +far-off wailing, infinitely grievous to hear; and at times, on one +of the high shelves or terraces, there would start up, and then +disperse, a tower of dust, like the smoke of in explosion. + +I no sooner awoke in bed than I was conscious of the nervous +tension and depression of the weather, and the effect grew stronger +as the day proceeded. It was in vain that I resisted; in vain that +I set forth upon my customary morning's walk; the irrational, +unchanging fury of the storm had soon beat down my strength and +wrecked my temper; and I returned to the residencia, glowing with +dry heat, and foul and gritty with dust. The court had a forlorn +appearance; now and then a glimmer of sun fled over it; now and +then the wind swooped down upon the pomegranates, and scattered the +blossoms, and set the window shutters clapping on the wall. In the +recess the Senora was pacing to and fro with a flushed countenance +and bright eyes; I thought, too, she was speaking to herself, like +one in anger. But when I addressed her with my customary +salutation, she only replied by a sharp gesture and continued her +walk. The weather had distempered even this impassive creature; +and as I went on upstairs I was the less ashamed of my own +discomposure. + +All day the wind continued; and I sat in my room and made a feint +of reading, or walked up and down, and listened to the riot +overhead. Night fell, and I had not so much as a candle. I began +to long for some society, and stole down to the court. It was now +plunged in the blue of the first darkness; but the recess was redly +lighted by the fire. The wood had been piled high, and was crowned +by a shock of flames, which the draught of the chimney brandished +to and fro. In this strong and shaken brightness the Senora +continued pacing from wall to wall with disconnected gestures, +clasping her hands, stretching forth her arms, throwing back her +head as in appeal to heaven. In these disordered movements the +beauty and grace of the woman showed more clearly; but there was a +light in her eye that struck on me unpleasantly; and when I had +looked on awhile in silence, and seemingly unobserved, I turned +tail as I had come, and groped my way back again to my own chamber. + +By the time Felipe brought my supper and lights, my nerve was +utterly gone; and, had the lad been such as I was used to seeing +him, I should have kept him (even by force had that been necessary) +to take off the edge from my distasteful solitude. But on Felipe, +also, the wind had exercised its influence. He had been feverish +all day; now that the night had come he was fallen into a low and +tremulous humour that reacted on my own. The sight of his scared +face, his starts and pallors and sudden harkenings, unstrung me; +and when he dropped and broke a dish, I fairly leaped out of my +seat. + +'I think we are all mad to-day,' said I, affecting to laugh. + +'It is the black wind,' he replied dolefully. 'You feel as if you +must do something, and you don't know what it is.' + +I noted the aptness of the description; but, indeed, Felipe had +sometimes a strange felicity in rendering into words the sensations +of the body. 'And your mother, too,' said I; 'she seems to feel +this weather much. Do you not fear she may be unwell?' + +He stared at me a little, and then said, 'No,' almost defiantly; +and the next moment, carrying his hand to his brow, cried out +lamentably on the wind and the noise that made his head go round +like a millwheel. 'Who can be well?' he cried; and, indeed, I +could only echo his question, for I was disturbed enough myself. + +I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restlessness, but the +poisonous nature of the wind, and its ungodly and unintermittent +uproar, would not suffer me to sleep. I lay there and tossed, my +nerves and senses on the stretch. At times I would doze, dream +horribly, and wake again; and these snatches of oblivion confused +me as to time. But it must have been late on in the night, when I +was suddenly startled by an outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries. +I leaped from my bed, supposing I had dreamed; but the cries still +continued to fill the house, cries of pain, I thought, but +certainly of rage also, and so savage and discordant that they +shocked the heart. It was no illusion; some living thing, some +lunatic or some wild animal, was being foully tortured. The +thought of Felipe and the squirrel flashed into my mind, and I ran +to the door, but it had been locked from the outside; and I might +shake it as I pleased, I was a fast prisoner. Still the cries +continued. Now they would dwindle down into a moaning that seemed +to be articulate, and at these times I made sure they must be +human; and again they would break forth and fill the house with +ravings worthy of hell. I stood at the door and gave ear to them, +till at, last they died away. Long after that, I still lingered +and still continued to hear them mingle in fancy with the storming +of the wind; and when at last I crept to my bed, it was with a +deadly sickness and a blackness of horror on my heart. + +It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I been locked in? +What had passed? Who was the author of these indescribable and +shocking cries? A human being? It was inconceivable. A beast? +The cries were scarce quite bestial; and what animal, short of a +lion or a tiger, could thus shake the solid walls of the +residencia? And while I was thus turning over the elements of the +mystery, it came into my mind that I had not yet set eyes upon the +daughter of the house. What was more probable than that the +daughter of the Senora, and the sister of Felipe, should be herself +insane? Or, what more likely than that these ignorant and half- +witted people should seek to manage an afflicted kinswoman by +violence? Here was a solution; and yet when I called to mind the +cries (which I never did without a shuddering chill) it seemed +altogether insufficient: not even cruelty could wring such cries +from madness. But of one thing I was sure: I could not live in a +house where such a thing was half conceivable, and not probe the +matter home and, if necessary, interfere. + +The next day came, the wind had blown itself out, and there was +nothing to remind me of the business of the night. Felipe came to +my bedside with obvious cheerfulness; as I passed through the +court, the Senora was sunning herself with her accustomed +immobility; and when I issued from the gateway, I found the whole +face of nature austerely smiling, the heavens of a cold blue, and +sown with great cloud islands, and the mountain-sides mapped forth +into provinces of light and shadow. A short walk restored me to +myself, and renewed within me the resolve to plumb this mystery; +and when, from the vantage of my knoll, I had seen Felipe pass +forth to his labours in the garden, I returned at once to the +residencia to put my design in practice. The Senora appeared +plunged in slumber; I stood awhile and marked her, but she did not +stir; even if my design were indiscreet, I had little to fear from +such a guardian; and turning away, I mounted to the gallery and +began my exploration of the house. + +All morning I went from one door to another, and entered spacious +and faded chambers, some rudely shuttered, some receiving their +full charge of daylight, all empty and unhomely. It was a rich +house, on which Time had breathed his tarnish and dust had +scattered disillusion. The spider swung there; the bloated +tarantula scampered on the cornices; ants had their crowded +highways on the floor of halls of audience; the big and foul fly, +that lives on carrion and is often the messenger of death, had set +up his nest in the rotten woodwork, and buzzed heavily about the +rooms. Here and there a stool or two, a couch, a bed, or a great +carved chair remained behind, like islets on the bare floors, to +testify of man's bygone habitation; and everywhere the walls were +set with the portraits of the dead. I could judge, by these +decaying effigies, in the house of what a great and what a handsome +race I was then wandering. Many of the men wore orders on their +breasts and had the port of noble offices; the women were all +richly attired; the canvases most of them by famous hands. But it +was not so much these evidences of greatness that took hold upon my +mind, even contrasted, as they were, with the present depopulation +and decay of that great house. It was rather the parable of family +life that I read in this succession of fair faces and shapely +bodies. Never before had I so realised the miracle of the +continued race, the creation and recreation, the weaving and +changing and handing down of fleshly elements. That a child should +be born of its mother, that it should grow and clothe itself (we +know not how) with humanity, and put on inherited looks, and turn +its head with the manner of one ascendant, and offer its hand with +the gesture of another, are wonders dulled for us by repetition. +But in the singular unity of look, in the common features and +common bearing, of all these painted generations on the walls of +the residencia, the miracle started out and looked me in the face. +And an ancient mirror falling opportunely in my way, I stood and +read my own features a long while, tracing out on either hand the +filaments of descent and the bonds that knit me with my family. + +At last, in the course of these investigations, I opened the door +of a chamber that bore the marks of habitation. It was of large +proportions and faced to the north, where the mountains were most +wildly figured. The embers of a fire smouldered and smoked upon +the hearth, to which a chair had been drawn close. And yet the +aspect of the chamber was ascetic to the degree of sternness; the +chair was uncushioned; the floor and walls were naked; and beyond +the books which lay here and there in some confusion, there was no +instrument of either work or pleasure. The sight of books in the +house of such a family exceedingly amazed me; and I began with a +great hurry, and in momentary fear of interruption, to go from one +to another and hastily inspect their character. They were of all +sorts, devotional, historical, and scientific, but mostly of a +great age and in the Latin tongue. Some I could see to bear the +marks of constant study; others had been torn across and tossed +aside as if in petulance or disapproval. Lastly, as I cruised +about that empty chamber, I espied some papers written upon with +pencil on a table near the window. An unthinking curiosity led me +to take one up. It bore a copy of verses, very roughly metred in +the original Spanish, and which I may render somewhat thus - + + +Pleasure approached with pain and shame, +Grief with a wreath of lilies came. +Pleasure showed the lovely sun; +Jesu dear, how sweet it shone! +Grief with her worn hand pointed on, +Jesu dear, to thee! + + +Shame and confusion at once fell on me; and, laying down the paper, +I beat an immediate retreat from the apartment. Neither Felipe nor +his mother could have read the books nor written these rough but +feeling verses. It was plain I had stumbled with sacrilegious feet +into the room of the daughter of the house. God knows, my own +heart most sharply punished me for my indiscretion. The thought +that I had thus secretly pushed my way into the confidence of a +girl so strangely situated, and the fear that she might somehow +come to hear of it, oppressed me like guilt. I blamed myself +besides for my suspicions of the night before; wondered that I +should ever have attributed those shocking cries to one of whom I +now conceived as of a saint, spectral of mien, wasted with +maceration, bound up in the practices of a mechanical devotion, and +dwelling in a great isolation of soul with her incongruous +relatives; and as I leaned on the balustrade of the gallery and +looked down into the bright close of pomegranates and at the gaily +dressed and somnolent woman, who just then stretched herself and +delicately licked her lips as in the very sensuality of sloth, my +mind swiftly compared the scene with the cold chamber looking +northward on the mountains, where the daughter dwelt. + +That same afternoon, as I sat upon my knoll, I saw the Padre enter +the gates of the residencia. The revelation of the daughter's +character had struck home to my fancy, and almost blotted out the +horrors of the night before; but at sight of this worthy man the +memory revived. I descended, then, from the knoll, and making a +circuit among the woods, posted myself by the wayside to await his +passage. As soon as he appeared I stepped forth and introduced +myself as the lodger of the residencia. He had a very strong, +honest countenance, on which it was easy to read the mingled +emotions with which he regarded me, as a foreigner, a heretic, and +yet one who had been wounded for the good cause. Of the family at +the residencia he spoke with reserve, and yet with respect. I +mentioned that I had not yet seen the daughter, whereupon he +remarked that that was as it should be, and looked at me a little +askance. Lastly, I plucked up courage to refer to the cries that +had disturbed me in the night. He heard me out in silence, and +then stopped and partly turned about, as though to mark beyond +doubt that he was dismissing me. + +'Do you take tobacco powder?' said he, offering his snuff-box; and +then, when I had refused, 'I am an old man,' he added, 'and I may +be allowed to remind you that you are a guest.' + +'I have, then, your authority,' I returned, firmly enough, although +I flushed at the implied reproof, 'to let things take their course, +and not to interfere?' + +He said 'yes,' and with a somewhat uneasy salute turned and left me +where I was. But he had done two things: he had set my conscience +at rest, and he had awakened my delicacy. I made a great effort, +once more dismissed the recollections of the night, and fell once +more to brooding on my saintly poetess. At the same time, I could +not quite forget that I had been locked in, and that night when +Felipe brought me my supper I attacked him warily on both points of +interest. + +'I never see your sister,' said I casually. + +'Oh, no,' said he; 'she is a good, good girl,' and his mind +instantly veered to something else. + +'Your sister is pious, I suppose?' I asked in the next pause. + +'Oh!' he cried, joining his hands with extreme fervour, 'a saint; +it is she that keeps me up.' + +'You are very fortunate,' said I, 'for the most of us, I am afraid, +and myself among the number, are better at going down.' + +'Senor,' said Felipe earnestly, 'I would not say that. You should +not tempt your angel. If one goes down, where is he to stop?' + +'Why, Felipe,' said I, 'I had no guess you were a preacher, and I +may say a good one; but I suppose that is your sister's doing?' + +He nodded at me with round eyes. + +'Well, then,' I continued, 'she has doubtless reproved you for your +sin of cruelty?' + +'Twelve times!' he cried; for this was the phrase by which the odd +creature expressed the sense of frequency. 'And I told her you had +done so - I remembered that,' he added proudly - 'and she was +pleased.' + +'Then, Felipe,' said I, 'what were those cries that I heard last +night? for surely they were cries of some creature in suffering.' + +'The wind,' returned Felipe, looking in the fire. + +I took his hand in mine, at which, thinking it to be a caress, he +smiled with a brightness of pleasure that came near disarming my +resolve. But I trod the weakness down. 'The wind,' I repeated; +'and yet I think it was this hand,' holding it up, 'that had first +locked me in.' The lad shook visibly, but answered never a word. +'Well,' said I, 'I am a stranger and a guest. It is not my part +either to meddle or to judge in your affairs; in these you shall +take your sister's counsel, which I cannot doubt to be excellent. +But in so far as concerns my own I will be no man's prisoner, and I +demand that key.' Half an hour later my door was suddenly thrown +open, and the key tossed ringing on the floor. + +A day or two after I came in from a walk a little before the point +of noon. The Senora was lying lapped in slumber on the threshold +of the recess; the pigeons dozed below the eaves like snowdrifts; +the house was under a deep spell of noontide quiet; and only a +wandering and gentle wind from the mountain stole round the +galleries, rustled among the pomegranates, and pleasantly stirred +the shadows. Something in the stillness moved me to imitation, and +I went very lightly across the court and up the marble staircase. +My foot was on the topmost round, when a door opened, and I found +myself face to face with Olalla. Surprise transfixed me; her +loveliness struck to my heart; she glowed in the deep shadow of the +gallery, a gem of colour; her eyes took hold upon mine and clung +there, and bound us together like the joining of hands; and the +moments we thus stood face to face, drinking each other in, were +sacramental and the wedding of souls. I know not how long it was +before I awoke out of a deep trance, and, hastily bowing, passed on +into the upper stair. She did not move, but followed me with her +great, thirsting eyes; and as I passed out of sight it seemed to me +as if she paled and faded. + +In my own room, I opened the window and looked out, and could not +think what change had come upon that austere field of mountains +that it should thus sing and shine under the lofty heaven. I had +seen her - Olalla! And the stone crags answered, Olalla! and the +dumb, unfathomable azure answered, Olalla! The pale saint of my +dreams had vanished for ever; and in her place I beheld this maiden +on whom God had lavished the richest colours and the most exuberant +energies of life, whom he had made active as a deer, slender as a +reed, and in whose great eyes he had lighted the torches of the +soul. The thrill of her young life, strung like a wild animal's, +had entered into me; the force of soul that had looked out from her +eyes and conquered mine, mantled about my heart and sprang to my +lips in singing. She passed through my veins: she was one with me. + +I will not say that this enthusiasm declined; rather my soul held +out in its ecstasy as in a strong castle, and was there besieged by +cold and sorrowful considerations. I could not doubt but that I +loved her at first sight, and already with a quivering ardour that +was strange to my experience. What then was to follow? She was +the child of an afflicted house, the Senora's daughter, the sister +of Felipe; she bore it even in her beauty. She had the lightness +and swiftness of the one, swift as an arrow, light as dew; like the +other, she shone on the pale background of the world with the +brilliancy of flowers. I could not call by the name of brother +that half-witted lad, nor by the name of mother that immovable and +lovely thing of flesh, whose silly eyes and perpetual simper now +recurred to my mind like something hateful. And if I could not +marry, what then? She was helplessly unprotected; her eyes, in +that single and long glance which had been all our intercourse, had +confessed a weakness equal to my own; but in my heart I knew her +for the student of the cold northern chamber, and the writer of the +sorrowful lines; and this was a knowledge to disarm a brute. To +flee was more than I could find courage for; but I registered a vow +of unsleeping circumspection. + +As I turned from the window, my eyes alighted on the portrait. It +had fallen dead, like a candle after sunrise; it followed me with +eyes of paint. I knew it to be like, and marvelled at the tenacity +of type in that declining race; but the likeness was swallowed up +in difference. I remembered how it had seemed to me a thing +unapproachable in the life, a creature rather of the painter's +craft than of the modesty of nature, and I marvelled at the +thought, and exulted in the image of Olalla. Beauty I had seen +before, and not been charmed, and I had been often drawn to women, +who were not beautiful except to me; but in Olalla all that I +desired and had not dared to imagine was united. + +I did not see her the next day, and my heart ached and my eyes +longed for her, as men long for morning. But the day after, when I +returned, about my usual hour, she was once more on the gallery, +and our looks once more met and embraced. I would have spoken, I +would have drawn near to her; but strongly as she plucked at my +heart, drawing me like a magnet, something yet more imperious +withheld me; and I could only bow and pass by; and she, leaving my +salutation unanswered, only followed me with her noble eyes. + +I had now her image by rote, and as I conned the traits in memory +it seemed as if I read her very heart. She was dressed with +something of her mother's coquetry, and love of positive colour. +Her robe, which I know she must have made with her own hands, clung +about her with a cunning grace. After the fashion of that country, +besides, her bodice stood open in the middle, in a long slit, and +here, in spite of the poverty of the house, a gold coin, hanging by +a ribbon, lay on her brown bosom. These were proofs, had any been +needed, of her inborn delight in life and her own loveliness. On +the other hand, in her eyes that hung upon mine, I could read depth +beyond depth of passion and sadness, lights of poetry and hope, +blacknesses of despair, and thoughts that were above the earth. It +was a lovely body, but the inmate, the soul, was more than worthy +of that lodging. Should I leave this incomparable flower to wither +unseen on these rough mountains? Should I despise the great gift +offered me in the eloquent silence of her eyes? Here was a soul +immured; should I not burst its prison? All side considerations +fell off from me; were she the child of Herod I swore I should make +her mine; and that very evening I set myself, with a mingled sense +of treachery and disgrace, to captivate the brother. Perhaps I +read him with more favourable eyes, perhaps the thought of his +sister always summoned up the better qualities of that imperfect +soul; but he had never seemed to me so amiable, and his very +likeness to Olalla, while it annoyed, yet softened me. + +A third day passed in vain - an empty desert of hours. I would not +lose a chance, and loitered all afternoon in the court where (to +give myself a countenance) I spoke more than usual with the Senora. +God knows it was with a most tender and sincere interest that I now +studied her; and even as for Felipe, so now for the mother, I was +conscious of a growing warmth of toleration. And yet I wondered. +Even while I spoke with her, she would doze off into a little +sleep, and presently awake again without embarrassment; and this +composure staggered me. And again, as I marked her make +infinitesimal changes in her posture, savouring and lingering on +the bodily pleasure of the movement, I was driven to wonder at this +depth of passive sensuality. She lived in her body; and her +consciousness was all sunk into and disseminated through her +members, where it luxuriously dwelt. Lastly, I could not grow +accustomed to her eyes. Each time she turned on me these great +beautiful and meaningless orbs, wide open to the day, but closed +against human inquiry - each time I had occasion to observe the +lively changes of her pupils which expanded and contracted in a +breath - I know not what it was came over me, I can find no name +for the mingled feeling of disappointment, annoyance, and distaste +that jarred along my nerves. I tried her on a variety of subjects, +equally in vain; and at last led the talk to her daughter. But +even there she proved indifferent; said she was pretty, which (as +with children) was her highest word of commendation, but was +plainly incapable of any higher thought; and when I remarked that +Olalla seemed silent, merely yawned in my face and replied that +speech was of no great use when you had nothing to say. 'People +speak much, very much,' she added, looking at me with expanded +pupils; and then again yawned and again showed me a mouth that was +as dainty as a toy. This time I took the hint, and, leaving her to +her repose, went up into my own chamber to sit by the open window, +looking on the hills and not beholding them, sunk in lustrous and +deep dreams, and hearkening in fancy to the note of a voice that I +had never heard. + +I awoke on the fifth morning with a brightness of anticipation that +seemed to challenge fate. I was sure of myself, light of heart and +foot, and resolved to put my love incontinently to the touch of +knowledge. It should lie no longer under the bonds of silence, a +dumb thing, living by the eye only, like the love of beasts; but +should now put on the spirit, and enter upon the joys of the +complete human intimacy. I thought of it with wild hopes, like a +voyager to El Dorado; into that unknown and lovely country of her +soul, I no longer trembled to adventure. Yet when I did indeed +encounter her, the same force of passion descended on me and at +once submerged my mind; speech seemed to drop away from me like a +childish habit; and I but drew near to her as the giddy man draws +near to the margin of a gulf. She drew back from me a little as I +came; but her eyes did not waver from mine, and these lured me +forward. At last, when I was already within reach of her, I +stopped. Words were denied me; if I advanced I could but clasp her +to my heart in silence; and all that was sane in me, all that was +still unconquered, revolted against the thought of such an accost. +So we stood for a second, all our life in our eyes, exchanging +salvos of attraction and yet each resisting; and then, with a great +effort of the will, and conscious at the same time of a sudden +bitterness of disappointment, I turned and went away in the same +silence. + +What power lay upon me that I could not speak? And she, why was +she also silent? Why did she draw away before me dumbly, with +fascinated eyes? Was this love? or was it a mere brute attraction, +mindless and inevitable, like that of the magnet for the steel? We +had never spoken, we were wholly strangers: and yet an influence, +strong as the grasp of a giant, swept us silently together. On my +side, it filled me with impatience; and yet I was sure that she was +worthy; I had seen her books, read her verses, and thus, in a +sense, divined the soul of my mistress. But on her side, it struck +me almost cold. Of me, she knew nothing but my bodily favour; she +was drawn to me as stones fall to the earth; the laws that rule the +earth conducted her, unconsenting, to my arms; and I drew back at +the thought of such a bridal, and began to be jealous for myself. +It was not thus that I desired to be loved. And then I began to +fall into a great pity for the girl herself. I thought how sharp +must be her mortification, that she, the student, the recluse, +Felipe's saintly monitress, should have thus confessed an +overweening weakness for a man with whom she had never exchanged a +word. And at the coming of pity, all other thoughts were swallowed +up; and I longed only to find and console and reassure her; to tell +her how wholly her love was returned on my side, and how her +choice, even if blindly made, was not unworthy. + +The next day it was glorious weather; depth upon depth of blue +over-canopied the mountains; the sun shone wide; and the wind in +the trees and the many falling torrents in the mountains filled the +air with delicate and haunting music. Yet I was prostrated with +sadness. My heart wept for the sight of Olalla, as a child weeps +for its mother. I sat down on a boulder on the verge of the low +cliffs that bound the plateau to the north. Thence I looked down +into the wooded valley of a stream, where no foot came. In the +mood I was in, it was even touching to behold the place untenanted; +it lacked Olalla; and I thought of the delight and glory of a life +passed wholly with her in that strong air, and among these rugged +and lovely surroundings, at first with a whimpering sentiment, and +then again with such a fiery joy that I seemed to grow in strength +and stature, like a Samson. + +And then suddenly I was aware of Olalla drawing near. She appeared +out of a grove of cork-trees, and came straight towards me; and I +stood up and waited. She seemed in her walking a creature of such +life and fire and lightness as amazed me; yet she came quietly and +slowly. Her energy was in the slowness; but for inimitable +strength, I felt she would have run, she would have flown to me. +Still, as she approached, she kept her eyes lowered to the ground; +and when she had drawn quite near, it was without one glance that +she addressed me. At the first note of her voice I started. It +was for this I had been waiting; this was the last test of my love. +And lo, her enunciation was precise and clear, not lisping and +incomplete like that of her family; and the voice, though deeper +than usual with women, was still both youthful and womanly. She +spoke in a rich chord; golden contralto strains mingled with +hoarseness, as the red threads were mingled with the brown among +her tresses. It was not only a voice that spoke to my heart +directly; but it spoke to me of her. And yet her words immediately +plunged me back upon despair. + +'You will go away,' she said, 'to-day.' + +Her example broke the bonds of my speech; I felt as lightened of a +weight, or as if a spell had been dissolved. I know not in what +words I answered; but, standing before her on the cliffs, I poured +out the whole ardour of my love, telling her that I lived upon the +thought of her, slept only to dream of her loveliness, and would +gladly forswear my country, my language, and my friends, to live +for ever by her side. And then, strongly commanding myself, I +changed the note; I reassured, I comforted her; I told her I had +divined in her a pious and heroic spirit, with which I was worthy +to sympathise, and which I longed to share and lighten. 'Nature,' +I told her, 'was the voice of God, which men disobey at peril; and +if we were thus humbly drawn together, ay, even as by a miracle of +love, it must imply a divine fitness in our souls; we must be +made,' I said - 'made for one another. We should be mad rebels,' I +cried out - 'mad rebels against God, not to obey this instinct.' + +She shook her head. 'You will go to-day,' she repeated, and then +with a gesture, and in a sudden, sharp note - 'no, not to-day,' she +cried, 'to-morrow!' + +But at this sign of relenting, power came in upon me in a tide. I +stretched out my arms and called upon her name; and she leaped to +me and clung to me. The hills rocked about us, the earth quailed; +a shock as of a blow went through me and left me blind and dizzy. +And the next moment she had thrust me back, broken rudely from my +arms, and fled with the speed of a deer among the cork-trees. + +I stood and shouted to the mountains; I turned and went back +towards the residencia, waltzing upon air. She sent me away, and +yet I had but to call upon her name and she came to me. These were +but the weaknesses of girls, from which even she, the strangest of +her sex, was not exempted. Go? Not I, Olalla - O, not I, Olalla, +my Olalla! A bird sang near by; and in that season, birds were +rare. It bade me be of good cheer. And once more the whole +countenance of nature, from the ponderous and stable mountains down +to the lightest leaf and the smallest darting fly in the shadow of +the groves, began to stir before me and to put on the lineaments of +life and wear a face of awful joy. The sunshine struck upon the +hills, strong as a hammer on the anvil, and the hills shook; the +earth, under that vigorous insulation, yielded up heady scents; the +woods smouldered in the blaze. I felt the thrill of travail and +delight run through the earth. Something elemental, something +rude, violent, and savage, in the love that sang in my heart, was +like a key to nature's secrets; and the very stones that rattled +under my feet appeared alive and friendly. Olalla! Her touch had +quickened, and renewed, and strung me up to the old pitch of +concert with the rugged earth, to a swelling of the soul that men +learn to forget in their polite assemblies. Love burned in me like +rage; tenderness waxed fierce; I hated, I adored, I pitied, I +revered her with ecstasy. She seemed the link that bound me in +with dead things on the one hand, and with our pure and pitying God +upon the other: a thing brutal and divine, and akin at once to the +innocence and to the unbridled forces of the earth. + +My head thus reeling, I came into the courtyard of the residencia, +and the sight of the mother struck me like a revelation. She sat +there, all sloth and contentment, blinking under the strong +sunshine, branded with a passive enjoyment, a creature set quite +apart, before whom my ardour fell away like a thing ashamed. I +stopped a moment, and, commanding such shaken tones as I was able, +said a word or two. She looked at me with her unfathomable +kindness; her voice in reply sounded vaguely out of the realm of +peace in which she slumbered, and there fell on my mind, for the +first time, a sense of respect for one so uniformly innocent and +happy, and I passed on in a kind of wonder at myself, that I should +be so much disquieted. + +On my table there lay a piece of the same yellow paper I had seen +in the north room; it was written on with pencil in the same hand, +Olalla's hand, and I picked it up with a sudden sinking of alarm, +and read, 'If you have any kindness for Olalla, if you have any +chivalry for a creature sorely wrought, go from here to-day; in +pity, in honour, for the sake of Him who died, I supplicate that +you shall go.' I looked at this awhile in mere stupidity, then I +began to awaken to a weariness and horror of life; the sunshine +darkened outside on the bare hills, and I began to shake like a man +in terror. The vacancy thus suddenly opened in my life unmanned me +like a physical void. It was not my heart, it was not my +happiness, it was life itself that was involved. I could not lose +her. I said so, and stood repeating it. And then, like one in a +dream, I moved to the window, put forth my hand to open the +casement, and thrust it through the pane. The blood spurted from +my wrist; and with an instantaneous quietude and command of myself, +I pressed my thumb on the little leaping fountain, and reflected +what to do. In that empty room there was nothing to my purpose; I +felt, besides, that I required assistance. There shot into my mind +a hope that Olalla herself might be my helper, and I turned and +went down stairs, still keeping my thumb upon the wound. + +There was no sign of either Olalla or Felipe, and I addressed +myself to the recess, whither the Senora had now drawn quite back +and sat dozing close before the fire, for no degree of heat +appeared too much for her. + +'Pardon me,' said I, 'if I disturb you, but I must apply to you for +help.' + +She looked up sleepily and asked me what it was, and with the very +words I thought she drew in her breath with a widening of the +nostrils and seemed to come suddenly and fully alive. + +'I have cut myself,' I said, 'and rather badly. See!' And I held +out my two hands from which the blood was oozing and dripping. + +Her great eyes opened wide, the pupils shrank into points; a veil +seemed to fall from her face, and leave it sharply expressive and +yet inscrutable. And as I still stood, marvelling a little at her +disturbance, she came swiftly up to me, and stooped and caught me +by the hand; and the next moment my hand was at her mouth, and she +had bitten me to the bone. The pang of the bite, the sudden +spurting of blood, and the monstrous horror of the act, flashed +through me all in one, and I beat her back; and she sprang at me +again and again, with bestial cries, cries that I recognised, such +cries as had awakened me on the night of the high wind. Her +strength was like that of madness; mine was rapidly ebbing with the +loss of blood; my mind besides was whirling with the abhorrent +strangeness of the onslaught, and I was already forced against the +wall, when Olalla ran betwixt us, and Felipe, following at a bound, +pinned down his mother on the floor. + +A trance-like weakness fell upon me; I saw, heard, and felt, but I +was incapable of movement. I heard the struggle roll to and fro +upon the floor, the yells of that catamount ringing up to Heaven as +she strove to reach me. I felt Olalla clasp me in her arms, her +hair falling on my face, and, with the strength of a man, raise and +half drag, half carry me upstairs into my own room, where she cast +me down upon the bed. Then I saw her hasten to the door and lock +it, and stand an instant listening to the savage cries that shook +the residencia. And then, swift and light as a thought, she was +again beside me, binding up my hand, laying it in her bosom, +moaning and mourning over it with dove-like sounds. They were not +words that came to her, they were sounds more beautiful than +speech, infinitely touching, infinitely tender; and yet as I lay +there, a thought stung to my heart, a thought wounded me like a +sword, a thought, like a worm in a flower, profaned the holiness of +my love. Yes, they were beautiful sounds, and they were inspired +by human tenderness; but was their beauty human? + +All day I lay there. For a long time the cries of that nameless +female thing, as she struggled with her half-witted whelp, +resounded through the house, and pierced me with despairing sorrow +and disgust. They were the death-cry of my love; my love was +murdered; was not only dead, but an offence to me; and yet, think +as I pleased, feel as I must, it still swelled within me like a +storm of sweetness, and my heart melted at her looks and touch. +This horror that had sprung out, this doubt upon Olalla, this +savage and bestial strain that ran not only through the whole +behaviour of her family, but found a place in the very foundations +and story of our love - though it appalled, though it shocked and +sickened me, was yet not of power to break the knot of my +infatuation. + +When the cries had ceased, there came a scraping at the door, by +which I knew Felipe was without; and Olalla went and spoke to him - +I know not what. With that exception, she stayed close beside me, +now kneeling by my bed and fervently praying, now sitting with her +eyes upon mine. So then, for these six hours I drank in her +beauty, and silently perused the story in her face. I saw the +golden coin hover on her breaths; I saw her eyes darken and +brighter, and still speak no language but that of an unfathomable +kindness; I saw the faultless face, and, through the robe, the +lines of the faultless body. Night came at last, and in the +growing darkness of the chamber, the sight of her slowly melted; +but even then the touch of her smooth hand lingered in mine and +talked with me. To lie thus in deadly weakness and drink in the +traits of the beloved, is to reawake to love from whatever shock of +disillusion. I reasoned with myself; and I shut my eyes on +horrors, and again I was very bold to accept the worst. What +mattered it, if that imperious sentiment survived; if her eyes +still beckoned and attached me; if now, even as before, every fibre +of my dull body yearned and turned to her? Late on in the night +some strength revived in me, and I spoke:- + +'Olalla,' I said, 'nothing matters; I ask nothing; I am content; I +love you.' + +She knelt down awhile and prayed, and I devoutly respected her +devotions. The moon had begun to shine in upon one side of each of +the three windows, and make a misty clearness in the room, by which +I saw her indistinctly. When she rearose she made the sign of the +cross. + +'It is for me to speak,' she said, 'and for you to listen. I know; +you can but guess. I prayed, how I prayed for you to leave this +place. I begged it of you, and I know you would have granted me +even this; or if not, O let me think so!' + +'I love you,' I said. + +'And yet you have lived in the world,' she said; after a pause, +'you are a man and wise; and I am but a child. Forgive me, if I +seem to teach, who am as ignorant as the trees of the mountain; but +those who learn much do but skim the face of knowledge; they seize +the laws, they conceive the dignity of the design - the horror of +the living fact fades from their memory. It is we who sit at home +with evil who remember, I think, and are warned and pity. Go, +rather, go now, and keep me in mind. So I shall have a life in the +cherished places of your memory: a life as much my own, as that +which I lead in this body.' + +'I love you,' I said once more; and reaching out my weak hand, took +hers, and carried it to my lips, and kissed it. Nor did she +resist, but winced a little; and I could see her look upon me with +a frown that was not unkindly, only sad and baffled. And then it +seemed she made a call upon her resolution; plucked my hand towards +her, herself at the same time leaning somewhat forward, and laid it +on the beating of her heart. 'There,' she cried, 'you feel the +very footfall of my life. It only moves for you; it is yours. But +is it even mine? It is mine indeed to offer you, as I might take +the coin from my neck, as I might break a live branch from a tree, +and give it you. And yet not mine! I dwell, or I think I dwell +(if I exist at all), somewhere apart, an impotent prisoner, and +carried about and deafened by a mob that I disown. This capsule, +such as throbs against the sides of animals, knows you at a touch +for its master; ay, it loves you! But my soul, does my soul? I +think not; I know not, fearing to ask. Yet when you spoke to me +your words were of the soul; it is of the soul that you ask - it is +only from the soul that you would take me.' + +'Olalla,' I said, 'the soul and the body are one, and mostly so in +love. What the body chooses, the soul loves; where the body +clings, the soul cleaves; body for body, soul to soul, they come +together at God's signal; and the lower part (if we can call aught +low) is only the footstool and foundation of the highest.' + +'Have you,' she said, 'seen the portraits in the house of my +fathers? Have you looked at my mother or at Felipe? Have your +eyes never rested on that picture that hangs by your bed? She who +sat for it died ages ago; and she did evil in her life. But, look- +again: there is my hand to the least line, there are my eyes and my +hair. What is mine, then, and what am I? If not a curve in this +poor body of mine (which you love, and for the sake of which you +dotingly dream that you love me) not a gesture that I can frame, +not a tone of my voice, not any look from my eyes, no, not even now +when I speak to him I love, but has belonged to others? Others, +ages dead, have wooed other men with my eyes; other men have heard +the pleading of the same voice that now sounds in your ears. The +hands of the dead are in my bosom; they move me, they pluck me, +they guide me; I am a puppet at their command; and I but reinform +features and attributes that have long been laid aside from evil in +the quiet of the grave. Is it me you love, friend? or the race +that made me? The girl who does not know and cannot answer for the +least portion of herself? or the stream of which she is a +transitory eddy, the tree of which she is the passing fruit? The +race exists; it is old, it is ever young, it carries its eternal +destiny in its bosom; upon it, like waves upon the sea, individual +succeeds to individual, mocked with a semblance of self-control, +but they are nothing. We speak of the soul, but the soul is in the +race.' + +'You fret against the common law,' I said. 'You rebel against the +voice of God, which he has made so winning to convince, so +imperious to command. Hear it, and how it speaks between us! Your +hand clings to mine, your heart leaps at my touch, the unknown +elements of which we are compounded awake and run together at a +look; the clay of the earth remembers its independent life and +yearns to join us; we are drawn together as the stars are turned +about in space, or as the tides ebb and flow, by things older and +greater than we ourselves.' + +'Alas!' she said, 'what can I say to you? My fathers, eight +hundred years ago, ruled all this province: they were wise, great, +cunning, and cruel; they were a picked race of the Spanish; their +flags led in war; the king called them his cousin; the people, when +the rope was slung for them or when they returned and found their +hovels smoking, blasphemed their name. Presently a change began. +Man has risen; if he has sprung from the brutes, he can descend +again to the same level. The breath of weariness blew on their +humanity and the cords relaxed; they began to go down; their minds +fell on sleep, their passions awoke in gusts, heady and senseless +like the wind in the gutters of the mountains; beauty was still +handed down, but no longer the guiding wit nor the human heart; the +seed passed on, it was wrapped in flesh, the flesh covered the +bones, but they were the bones and the flesh of brutes, and their +mind was as the mind of flies. I speak to you as I dare; but you +have seen for yourself how the wheel has gone backward with my +doomed race. I stand, as it were, upon a little rising ground in +this desperate descent, and see both before and behind, both what +we have lost and to what we are condemned to go farther downward. +And shall I - I that dwell apart in the house of the dead, my body, +loathing its ways - shall I repeat the spell? Shall I bind another +spirit, reluctant as my own, into this bewitched and tempest-broken +tenement that I now suffer in? Shall I hand down this cursed +vessel of humanity, charge it with fresh life as with fresh poison, +and dash it, like a fire, in the faces of posterity? But my vow +has been given; the race shall cease from off the earth. At this +hour my brother is making ready; his foot will soon be on the +stair; and you will go with him and pass out of my sight for ever. +Think of me sometimes as one to whom the lesson of life was very +harshly told, but who heard it with courage; as one who loved you +indeed, but who hated herself so deeply that her love was hateful +to her; as one who sent you away and yet would have longed to keep +you for ever; who had no dearer hope than to forget you, and no +greater fear than to be forgotten.' + +She had drawn towards the door as she spoke, her rich voice +sounding softer and farther away; and with the last word she was +gone, and I lay alone in the moonlit chamber. What I might have +done had not I lain bound by my extreme weakness, I know not; but +as it was there fell upon me a great and blank despair. It was not +long before there shone in at the door the ruddy glimmer of a +lantern, and Felipe coming, charged me without a word upon his +shoulders, and carried me down to the great gate, where the cart +was waiting. In the moonlight the hills stood out sharply, as if +they were of cardboard; on the glimmering surface of the plateau, +and from among the low trees which swung together and sparkled in +the wind, the great black cube of the residencia stood out bulkily, +its mass only broken by three dimly lighted windows in the northern +front above the gate. They were Olalla's windows, and as the cart +jolted onwards I kept my eyes fixed upon them till, where the road +dipped into a valley, they were lost to my view forever. Felipe +walked in silence beside the shafts, but from time to time he would +cheek the mule and seem to look back upon me; and at length drew +quite near and laid his hand upon my head. There was such kindness +in the touch, and such a simplicity, as of the brutes, that tears +broke from me like the bursting of an artery. + +'Felipe,' I said, 'take me where they will ask no questions.' + +He said never a word, but he turned his mule about, end for end, +retraced some part of the way we had gone, and, striking into +another path, led me to the mountain village, which was, as we say +in Scotland, the kirkton of that thinly peopled district. Some +broken memories dwell in my mind of the day breaking over the +plain, of the cart stopping, of arms that helped me down, of a bare +room into which I was carried, and of a swoon that fell upon me +like sleep. + +The next day and the days following the old priest was often at my +side with his snuff-box and prayer book, and after a while, when I +began to pick up strength, he told me that I was now on a fair way +to recovery, and must as soon as possible hurry my departure; +whereupon, without naming any reason, he took snuff and looked at +me sideways. I did not affect ignorance; I knew he must have seen +Olalla. 'Sir,' said I, 'you know that I do not ask in wantonness. +What of that family?' + +He said they were very unfortunate; that it seemed a declining +race, and that they were very poor and had been much neglected. + +'But she has not,' I said. 'Thanks, doubtless, to yourself, she is +instructed and wise beyond the use of women.' + +'Yes,' he said; 'the Senorita is well-informed. But the family has +been neglected.' + +'The mother?' I queried. + +'Yes, the mother too,' said the Padre, taking snuff. 'But Felipe +is a well-intentioned lad.' + +'The mother is odd?' I asked. + +'Very odd,' replied the priest. + +'I think, sir, we beat about the bush,' said I. 'You must know +more of my affairs than you allow. You must know my curiosity to +be justified on many grounds. Will you not be frank with me?' + +'My son,' said the old gentleman, 'I will be very frank with you on +matters within my competence; on those of which I know nothing it +does not require much discretion to be silent. I will not fence +with you, I take your meaning perfectly; and what can I say, but +that we are all in God's hands, and that His ways are not as our +ways? I have even advised with my superiors in the church, but +they, too, were dumb. It is a great mystery.' + +'Is she mad?' I asked. + +'I will answer you according to my belief. She is not,' returned +the Padre, 'or she was not. When she was young - God help me, I +fear I neglected that wild lamb - she was surely sane; and yet, +although it did not run to such heights, the same strain was +already notable; it had been so before her in her father, ay, and +before him, and this inclined me, perhaps, to think too lightly of +it. But these things go on growing, not only in the individual but +in the race.' + +'When she was young,' I began, and my voice failed me for a moment, +and it was only with a great effort that I was able to add, 'was +she like Olalla?' + +'Now God forbid!' exclaimed the Padre. 'God forbid that any man +should think so slightingly of my favourite penitent. No, no; the +Senorita (but for her beauty, which I wish most honestly she had +less of) has not a hair's resemblance to what her mother was at the +same age. I could not bear to have you think so; though, Heaven +knows, it were, perhaps, better that you should.' + +At this, I raised myself in bed, and opened my heart to the old +man; telling him of our love and of her decision, owning my own +horrors, my own passing fancies, but telling him that these were at +an end; and with something more than a purely formal submission, +appealing to his judgment. + +He heard me very patiently and without surprise; and when I had +done, he sat for some time silent. Then he began: 'The church,' +and instantly broke off again to apologise. 'I had forgotten, my +child, that you were not a Christian,' said he. 'And indeed, upon +a point so highly unusual, even the church can scarce be said to +have decided. But would you have my opinion? The Senorita is, in +a matter of this kind, the best judge; I would accept her +judgment.' + +On the back of that he went away, nor was he thenceforward so +assiduous in his visits; indeed, even when I began to get about +again, he plainly feared and deprecated my society, not as in +distaste but much as a man might be disposed to flee from the +riddling sphynx. The villagers, too, avoided me; they were +unwilling to be my guides upon the mountain. I thought they looked +at me askance, and I made sure that the more superstitious crossed +themselves on my approach. At first I set this down to my +heretical opinions; but it began at length to dawn upon me that if +I was thus redoubted it was because I had stayed at the residencia. +All men despise the savage notions of such peasantry; and yet I was +conscious of a chill shadow that seemed to fall and dwell upon my +love. It did not conquer, but I may not deify that it restrained +my ardour. + +Some miles westward of the village there was a gap in the sierra, +from which the eye plunged direct upon the residencia; and thither +it became my daily habit to repair. A wood crowned the summit; and +just where the pathway issued from its fringes, it was overhung by +a considerable shelf of rock, and that, in its turn, was surmounted +by a crucifix of the size of life and more than usually painful in +design. This was my perch; thence, day after day, I looked down +upon the plateau, and the great old house, and could see Felipe, no +bigger than a fly, going to and fro about the garden. Sometimes +mists would draw across the view, and be broken up again by +mountain winds; sometimes the plain slumbered below me in unbroken +sunshine; it would sometimes be all blotted out by rain. This +distant post, these interrupted sights of the place where my life +had been so strangely changed, suited the indecision of my humour. +I passed whole days there, debating with myself the various +elements of our position; now leaning to the suggestions of love, +now giving an ear to prudence, and in the end halting irresolute +between the two. + +One day, as I was sitting on my rock, there came by that way a +somewhat gaunt peasant wrapped in a mantle. He was a stranger, and +plainly did not know me even by repute; for, instead of keeping the +other side, he drew near and sat down beside me, and we had soon +fallen in talk. Among other things he told me he had been a +muleteer, and in former years had much frequented these mountains; +later on, he had followed the army with his mules, had realised a +competence, and was now living retired with his family. + +'Do you know that house?' I inquired, at last, pointing to the +residencia, for I readily wearied of any talk that kept me from the +thought of Olalla. + +He looked at me darkly and crossed himself. + +'Too well,' he said, 'it was there that one of my comrades sold +himself to Satan; the Virgin shield us from temptations! He has +paid the price; he is now burning in the reddest place in Hell!' + +A fear came upon me; I could answer nothing; and presently the man +resumed, as if to himself: 'Yes,' he said, 'O yes, I know it. I +have passed its doors. There was snow upon the pass, the wind was +driving it; sure enough there was death that night upon the +mountains, but there was worse beside the hearth. I took him by +the arm, Senor, and dragged him to the gate; I conjured him, by all +he loved and respected, to go forth with me; I went on my knees +before him in the snow; and I could see he was moved by my +entreaty. And just then she came out on the gallery, and called +him by his name; and he turned, and there was she standing with a +lamp in her hand and smiling on him to come back. I cried out +aloud to God, and threw my arms about him, but he put me by, and +left me alone. He had made his choice; God help us. I would pray +for him, but to what end? there are sins that not even the Pope can +loose.' + +'And your friend,' I asked, 'what became of him?' + +'Nay, God knows,' said the muleteer. 'If all be true that we hear, +his end was like his sin, a thing to raise the hair.' + +'Do you mean that he was killed?' I asked. + +'Sure enough, he was killed,' returned the man. 'But how? Ay, +how? But these are things that it is sin to speak of.' + +'The people of that house . . . ' I began. + +But he interrupted me with a savage outburst. 'The people?' he +cried. 'What people? There are neither men nor women in that +house of Satan's! What? have you lived here so long, and never +heard?' And here he put his mouth to my ear and whispered, as if +even the fowls of the mountain might have over-heard and been +stricken with horror. + +What he told me was not true, nor was it even original; being, +indeed, but a new edition, vamped up again by village ignorance and +superstition, of stories nearly as ancient as the race of man. It +was rather the application that appalled me. In the old days, he +said, the church would have burned out that nest of basilisks; but +the arm of the church was now shortened; his friend Miguel had been +unpunished by the hands of men, and left to the more awful judgment +of an offended God. This was wrong; but it should be so no more. +The Padre was sunk in age; he was even bewitched himself; but the +eyes of his flock were now awake to their own danger; and some day +- ay, and before long - the smoke of that house should go up to +heaven. + +He left me filled with horror and fear. Which way to turn I knew +not; whether first to warn the Padre, or to carry my ill-news +direct to the threatened inhabitants of the residencia. Fate was +to decide for me; for, while I was still hesitating, I beheld the +veiled figure of a woman drawing near to me up the pathway. No +veil could deceive my penetration; by every line and every movement +I recognised Olalla; and keeping hidden behind a corner of the +rock, I suffered her to gain the summit. Then I came forward. She +knew me and paused, but did not speak; I, too, remained silent; and +we continued for some time to gaze upon each other with a +passionate sadness. + +'I thought you had gone,' she said at length. 'It is all that you +can do for me - to go. It is all I ever asked of you. And you +still stay. But do you know, that every day heaps up the peril of +death, not only on your head, but on ours? A report has gone about +the mountain; it is thought you love me, and the people will not +suffer it.' + +I saw she was already informed of her danger, and I rejoiced at it. +'Olalla,' I said, 'I am ready to go this day, this very hour, but +not alone.' + +She stepped aside and knelt down before the crucifix to pray, and I +stood by and looked now at her and now at the object of her +adoration, now at the living figure of the penitent, and now at the +ghastly, daubed countenance, the painted wounds, and the projected +ribs of the image. The silence was only broken by the wailing of +some large birds that circled sidelong, as if in surprise or alarm, +about the summit of the hills. Presently Olalla rose again, turned +towards me, raised her veil, and, still leaning with one hand on +the shaft of the crucifix, looked upon me with a pale and sorrowful +countenance. + +'I have laid my hand upon the cross,' she said. 'The Padre says +you are no Christian; but look up for a moment with my eyes, and +behold the face of the Man of Sorrows. We are all such as He was - +the inheritors of sin; we must all bear and expiate a past which +was not ours; there is in all of us - ay, even in me - a sparkle of +the divine. Like Him, we must endure for a little while, until +morning returns bringing peace. Suffer me to pass on upon my way +alone; it is thus that I shall be least lonely, counting for my +friend Him who is the friend of all the distressed; it is thus that +I shall be the most happy, having taken my farewell of earthly +happiness, and willingly accepted sorrow for my portion.' + +I looked at the face of the crucifix, and, though I was no friend +to images, and despised that imitative and grimacing art of which +it was a rude example, some sense of what the thing implied was +carried home to my intelligence. The face looked down upon me with +a painful and deadly contraction; but the rays of a glory encircled +it, and reminded me that the sacrifice was voluntary. It stood +there, crowning the rock, as it still stands on so many highway +sides, vainly preaching to passers-by, an emblem of sad and noble +truths; that pleasure is not an end, but an accident; that pain is +the choice of the magnanimous; that it is best to suffer all things +and do well. I turned and went down the mountain in silence; and +when I looked back for the last time before the wood closed about +my path, I saw Olalla still leaning on the crucifix. + + + +THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD. + + + +CHAPTER I. BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK. + + +They had sent for the doctor from Bourron before six. About eight +some villagers came round for the performance, and were told how +matters stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill +like real people, and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten +Madame Tentaillon was gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street +for Doctor Desprez. + +The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one corner of the +little dining-room, and his wife was asleep over the fire in +another, when the messenger arrived. + +'Sapristi!' said the Doctor, 'you should have sent for me before. +It was a case for hurry.' And he followed the messenger as he was, +in his slippers and skull-cap. + +The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messenger did not stop +there; he went in at one door and out by another into the court, +and then led the way by a flight of steps beside the stable, to the +loft where the mountebank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live +a thousand years, he would never forget his arrival in that room; +for not only was the scene picturesque, but the moment made a date +in his existence. We reckon our lives, I hardly know why, from the +date of our first sorry appearance in society, as if from a first +humiliation; for no actor can come upon the stage with a worse +grace. Not to go further back, which would be judged too curious, +there are subsequently many moving and decisive accidents in the +lives of all, which would make as logical a period as this of +birth. And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past forty, +who had made what is called a failure in life, and was moreover +married, found himself at a new point of departure when he opened +the door of the loft above Tentaillon's stable, + +It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle set upon the +floor. The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man, +with a Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon +stooped over him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to +his feet; and on a chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or +twelve, with his feet dangling. These three were the only +occupants, except the shadows. But the shadows were a company in +themselves; the extent of the room exaggerated them to a gigantic +size, and from the low position of the candle the light struck +upwards and produced deformed foreshortenings. The mountebank's +profile was enlarged upon the wall in caricature, and it was +strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the flame was blown +about by draughts. As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no +more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a +hemisphere of head. The chair legs were spindled out as long as +stilts, and the boy set perched atop of them, like a cloud, in the +corner of the roof. + +It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched +skull, the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of +haunting eyes. It was not merely that these eyes were large, or +steady, or the softest ruddy brown. There was a look in them, +besides, which thrilled the Doctor, and made him half uneasy. He +was sure he had seen such a look before, and yet he could not +remember how or where. It was as if this boy, who was quite a +stranger to him, had the eyes of an old friend or an old enemy. +And the boy would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly +indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted from it in a +superior contemplation, beating gently with his feet against the +bars of the chair, and holding his hands folded on his lap. But, +for all that, his eyes kept following the Doctor about the room +with a thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell whether +he was fascinating the boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He +busied himself over the sick man: he put questions, he felt the +pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot and swore: and still, +whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes waiting for his +with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze. + +At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered +the look now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a +dart, had the eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not +at all deformed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at +you from below his brows. The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so +much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to +explain away his interest. + +For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and, +still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round +and looked the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the +least put out, but looked placidly back at the Doctor. + +'Is this your father?' asked Desprez. + +'Oh, no,' returned the boy; 'my master.' + +'Are you fond of him?' continued the Doctor. + +'No, sir,' said the boy. + +Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances. + +'That is bad, my man,' resumed the latter, with a shade of +sternness. 'Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal +their sentiments; and your master here is dying. If I have watched +a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of +disappointment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I see +him steer for the forest and vanish. How much more a creature such +as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with faculties! +When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the +breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who +never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are touched +with some affection.' + +The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting. + +'You did not know him,' he replied at last, 'he was a bad man.' + +'He is a little pagan,' said the landlady. 'For that matter, they +are all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what +not. They have no interior.' + +But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his +eyebrows knotted and uplifted. + +'What is your name?' he asked. + +'Jean-Marie,' said the lad. + +Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of +excitement, and felt his head all over from an ethnological point +of view. + +'Celtic, Celtic!' he said. + +'Celtic!' cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the +word with hydrocephalous. 'Poor lad! is it dangerous?' + +'That depends,' returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more +addressing the boy: 'And what do you do for your living, Jean- +Marie?' he inquired. + +'I tumble,' was the answer. + +'So! Tumble?' repeated Desprez. 'Probably healthful. I hazard +the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of +life. And have you never done anything else but tumble?' + +'Before I learned that, I used to steal,' answered Jean-Marie +gravely. + +'Upon my word!' cried the doctor. 'You are a nice little man for +your age. Madame, when my CONFRERE comes from Bourron, you will +communicate my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his +hands; but of course, on any alarming symptom, above all if there +should be a sign of rally, do not hesitate to knock me up. I am a +doctor no longer, I thank God; but I have been one. Good night, +madame. Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie.' + + + + +CHAPTER II. MORNING TALK + + +DOCTOR DESPREZ always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before +the first cart rattled over the bridge to the day's labour in the +fields, he was to be found wandering in his garden. Now he would +pick a bunch of grapes; now he would eat a big pear under the +trellice; now he would draw all sorts of fancies on the path with +the end of his cane; now he would go down and watch the river +running endlessly past the timber landing-place at which he moored +his boat. There was no time, he used to say, for making theories +like the early morning. 'I rise earlier than any one else in the +village,' he once boasted. 'It is a fair consequence that I know +more and wish to do less with my knowledge.' + +The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved a good +theatrical effect to usher in the day. He had a theory of dew, by +which he could predict the weather. Indeed, most things served him +to that end: the sound of the bells from all the neighbouring +villages, the smell of the forest, the visits and the behaviour of +both birds and fishes, the look of the plants in his garden, the +disposition of cloud, the colour of the light, and last, although +not least, the arsenal of meteorological instruments in a louvre- +boarded hutch upon the lawn. Ever since he had settled at Gretz, +he had been growing more and more into the local meteorologist, the +unpaid champion of the local climate. He thought at first there +was no place so healthful in the arrondissement. By the end of the +second year, he protested there was none so wholesome in the whole +department. And for some time before he met Jean-Marie he had been +prepared to challenge all France and the better part of Europe for +a rival to his chosen spot. + +'Doctor,' he would say - 'doctor is a foul word. It should not be +used to ladies. It implies disease. I remark it, as a flaw in our +civilisation, that we have not the proper horror of disease. Now +I, for my part, have washed my hands of it; I have renounced my +laureation; I am no doctor; I am only a worshipper of the true +goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe me, it is she who has the cestus! +And here, in this exiguous hamlet, has she placed her shrine: here +she dwells and lavishes her gifts; here I walk with her in the +early morning, and she shows me how strong she has made the +peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields, how the trees grow +up tall and comely under her eyes, and the fishes in the river +become clean and agile at her presence. - Rheumatism!' he would +cry, on some malapert interruption, 'O, yes, I believe we do have a +little rheumatism. That could hardly be avoided, you know, on a +river. And of course the place stands a little low; and the +meadows are marshy, there's no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at +Bourron! Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to the forest; +plenty of ozone there, you would say. Well, compared with Gretz, +Bourron is a perfect shambles.' + +The morning after he had been summoned to the dying mountebank, the +Doctor visited the wharf at the tail of his garden, and had a long +look at the running water. This he called prayer; but whether his +adorations were addressed to the goddess Hygieia or some more +orthodox deity, never plainly appeared. For he had uttered +doubtful oracles, sometimes declaring that a river was the type of +bodily health, sometimes extolling it as the great moral preacher, +continually preaching peace, continuity, and diligence to man's +tormented spirits. After he had watched a mile or so of the clear +water running by before his eyes, seen a fish or two come to the +surface with a gleam of silver, and sufficiently admired the long +shadows of the trees falling half across the river from the +opposite bank, with patches of moving sunlight in between, he +strolled once more up the garden and through his house into the +street, feeling cool and renovated. + +The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the business of the +day; for the village was still sound asleep. The church tower +looked very airy in the sunlight; a few birds that turned about it, +seemed to swim in an atmosphere of more than usual rarity; and the +Doctor, walking in long transparent shadows, filled his lungs +amply, and proclaimed himself well contented with the morning. + +On one of the posts before Tentaillon's carriage entry he espied a +little dark figure perched in a meditative attitude, and +immediately recognised Jean-Marie. + +'Aha!' he said, stopping before him humorously, with a hand on +either knee. 'So we rise early in the morning, do we? It appears +to me that we have all the vices of a philosopher.' + +The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation. + +'And how is our patient?' asked Desprez. + +It appeared the patient was about the same. + +'And why do you rise early in the morning?' he pursued. + +Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he hardly knew. + +'You hardly know?' repeated Desprez. 'We hardly know anything, my +man, until we try to learn. Interrogate your consciousness. Come, +push me this inquiry home. Do you like it?' + +'Yes,' said the boy slowly; 'yes, I like it.' + +'And why do you like it?' continued the Doctor. '(We are now +pursuing the Socratic method.) Why do you like it?' + +'It is quiet,' answered Jean-Marie; 'and I have nothing to do; and +then I feel as if I were good.' + +Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the opposite side. He +was beginning to take an interest in the talk, for the boy plainly +thought before he spoke, and tried to answer truly. 'It appears +you have a taste for feeling good,' said the Doctor. 'Now, there +you puzzle me extremely; for I thought you said you were a thief; +and the two are incompatible.' + +'Is it very bad to steal?' asked Jean-Marie. + +'Such is the general opinion, little boy,' replied the Doctor. + +'No; but I mean as I stole,' explained the other. 'For I had no +choice. I think it is surely right to have bread; it must be right +to have bread, there comes so plain a want of it. And then they +beat me cruelly if I returned with nothing,' he added. 'I was not +ignorant of right and wrong; for before that I had been well taught +by a priest, who was very kind to me.' (The Doctor made a horrible +grimace at the word 'priest.') 'But it seemed to me, when one had +nothing to eat and was beaten, it was a different affair. I would +not have stolen for tartlets, I believe; but any one would steal +for baker's bread.' + +'And so I suppose,' said the Doctor, with a rising sneer, 'you +prayed God to forgive you, and explained the case to Him at +length.' + +'Why, sir?' asked Jean-Marie. 'I do not see.' + +'Your priest would see, however,' retorted Desprez. + +'Would he?' asked the boy, troubled for the first time. 'I should +have thought God would have known.' + +'Eh?' snarled the Doctor. + +'I should have thought God would have understood me,' replied the +other. 'You do not, I see; but then it was God that made me think +so, was it not?' + +'Little boy, little boy,' said Dr. Desprez, 'I told you already you +had the vices of philosophy; if you display the virtues also, I +must go. I am a student of the blessed laws of health, an observer +of plain and temperate nature in her common walks; and I cannot +preserve my equanimity in presence of a monster. Do you +understand?' + +'No, sir,' said the boy. + +'I will make my meaning clear to you,' replied the doctor. 'Look +there at the sky - behind the belfry first, where it is so light, +and then up and up, turning your chin back, right to the top of the +dome, where it is already as blue as at noon. Is not that a +beautiful colour? Does it not please the heart? We have seen it +all our lives, until it has grown in with our familiar thoughts. +Now,' changing his tone, 'suppose that sky to become suddenly of a +live and fiery amber, like the colour of clear coals, and growing +scarlet towards the top - I do not say it would be any the less +beautiful; but would you like it as well?' + +'I suppose not,' answered Jean-Marie. + +'Neither do I like you,' returned the Doctor, roughly. 'I hate all +odd people, and you are the most curious little boy in all the +world.' + +Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then he raised his +head again and looked over at the Doctor with an air of candid +inquiry. 'But are not you a very curious gentleman?' he asked. + +The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the boy, clasped him to +his bosom, and kissed him on both cheeks. 'Admirable, admirable +imp!' he cried. 'What a morning, what an hour for a theorist of +forty-two! No,' he continued, apostrophising heaven, 'I did not +know such boys existed; I was ignorant they made them so; I had +doubted of my race; and now! It is like,' he added, picking up his +stick, 'like a lovers' meeting. I have bruised my favourite staff +in that moment of enthusiasm. The injury, however, is not grave.' +He caught the boy looking at him in obvious wonder, embarrassment, +and alarm. 'Hullo!' said he, 'why do you look at me like that? +Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do you despise me, boy?' + +'O, no,' replied Jean-Marie, seriously; 'only I do not understand.' + +'You must excuse me, sir,' returned the Doctor, with gravity; 'I am +still so young. O, hang him!' he added to himself. And he took +his seat again and observed the boy sardonically. 'He has spoiled +the quiet of my morning,' thought he. 'I shall be nervous all day, +and have a febricule when I digest. Let me compose myself.' And +so he dismissed his pre-occupations by an effort of the will which +he had long practised, and let his soul roam abroad in the +contemplation of the morning. He inhaled the air, tasting it +critically as a connoisseur tastes a vintage, and prolonging the +expiration with hygienic gusto. He counted the little flecks of +cloud along the sky. He followed the movements of the birds round +the church tower - making long sweeps, hanging poised, or turning +airy somersaults in fancy, and beating the wind with imaginary +pinions. And in this way he regained peace of mind and animal +composure, conscious of his limbs, conscious of the sight of his +eyes, conscious that the air had a cool taste, like a fruit, at the +top of his throat; and at last, in complete abstraction, he began +to sing. The Doctor had but one air - , 'Malbrouck s'en va-t-en +guerre;' even with that he was on terms of mere politeness; and his +musical exploits were always reserved for moments when he was alone +and entirely happy. + +He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expression on the boy's +face. 'What do you think of my singing?' he inquired, stopping in +the middle of a note; and then, after he had waited some little +while and received no answer, 'What do you think of my singing?' he +repeated, imperiously. + +'I do not like it,' faltered Jean-Marie. + +'Oh, come!' cried the Doctor. 'Possibly you are a performer +yourself?' + +'I sing better than that,' replied the boy. + +The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefaction. He was aware +that he was angry, and blushed for himself in consequence, which +made him angrier. 'If this is how you address your master!' he +said at last, with a shrug and a flourish of his arms. + +'I do not speak to him at all,' returned the boy. 'I do not like +him.' + +'Then you like me?' snapped Doctor Desprez, with unusual eagerness. + +'I do not know,' answered Jean-Marie. + +The Doctor rose. 'I shall wish you a good morning,' he said. 'You +are too much for me. Perhaps you have blood in your veins, perhaps +celestial ichor, or perhaps you circulate nothing more gross than +respirable air; but of one thing I am inexpugnably assured:- that +you are no human being. No, boy' - shaking his stick at him - 'you +are not a human being. Write, write it in your memory - "I am not +a human being - I have no pretension to be a human being - I am a +dive, a dream, an angel, an acrostic, an illusion - what you +please, but not a human being." And so accept my humble +salutations and farewell!' + +And with that the Doctor made off along the street in some emotion, +and the boy stood, mentally gaping, where he left him. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE ADOPTION. + + +MADAME DESPREZ, who answered to the Christian name of Anastasie, +presented an agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly wholesome to +look upon, a stout BRUNE, with cool smooth cheeks, steady, dark +eyes, and hands that neither art nor nature could improve. She was +the sort of person over whom adversity passes like a summer cloud; +she might, in the worst of conjunctions, knit her brows into one +vertical furrow for a moment, but the next it would be gone. She +had much of the placidity of a contented nun; with little of her +piety, however; for Anastasie was of a very mundane nature, fond of +oysters and old wine, and somewhat bold pleasantries, and devoted +to her husband for her own sake rather than for his. She was +imperturbably good-natured, but had no idea of self-sacrifice. To +live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden behind and +bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best, to +gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear +stays or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to +be kept in a continual supply of racy novels, and to be married to +Doctor Desprez and have no ground of jealousy, filled the cup of +her nature to the brim. Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor +days, when he had aired quite as many theories, but of a different +order, attributed his present philosophy to the study of Anastasie. +It was her brute enjoyment that he rationalised and perhaps vainly +imitated. + +Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a +nicety. She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected +the Doctor; everything was in its place; everything capable of +polish shone gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her +empire. Aline, their single servant, had no other business in the +world but to scour and burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his +house like a fatted calf, warmed and cosseted to his heart's +content. + +The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from +the river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a +fricassee, and a dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The +Doctor drank half a bottle PLUS one glass, the wife half a bottle +MINUS the same quantity, which was a marital privilege, of an +excellent Cote-Rotie, seven years old. Then the coffee was +brought, and a flask of Chartreuse for madame, for the Doctor +despised and distrusted such decoctions; and then Aline left the +wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion. + +'It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,' observed +the Doctor - 'this coffee is adorable - a very fortunate +circumstance upon the whole - Anastasie, I beseech you, go without +that poison for to-day; only one day, and you will feel the +benefit, I pledge my reputation.' + +'What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?' inquired +Anastasie, not heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence. + +'That we have no children, my beautiful,' replied the Doctor. 'I +think of it more and more as the years go on, and with more and +more gratitude towards the Power that dispenses such afflictions. +Your health, my darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen +delicacies, how they would all have suffered, how they would all +have been sacrificed! And for what? Children are the last word of +human imperfection. Health flees before their face. They cry, my +dear; they put vexatious questions; they demand to be fed, to be +washed, to be educated, to have their noses blown; and then, when +the time comes, they break our hearts, as I break this piece of +sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid +offspring, like an infidelity.' + +'Indeed!' said she; and she laughed. 'Now, that is like you - to +take credit for the thing you could not help.' + +'My dear,' returned the Doctor, solemnly, 'we might have adopted.' + +'Never!' cried madame. 'Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the +child were my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take +another person's indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I +have too much sense.' + +'Precisely,' replied the Doctor. 'We both had. And I am all the +better pleased with our wisdom, because - because - ' He looked at +her sharply. + +'Because what?' she asked, with a faint premonition of danger. + +'Because I have found the right person,' said the Doctor firmly, +'and shall adopt him this afternoon.' + +Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. 'You have lost your +reason,' she said; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed +to threaten trouble. + +'Not so, my dear,' he replied; 'I retain its complete exercise. To +the proof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I have, +by way of preparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will +there, I think, recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to +call you wife. The fact is, I have been reckoning all this while +without an accident. I never thought to find a son of my own. +Now, last night, I found one. Do not unnecessarily alarm yourself, +my dear; he is not a drop of blood to me that I know. It is his +mind, darling, his mind that calls me father.' + +'His mind!' she repeated with a titter between scorn and hysterics. +'His mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are +you mad? His mind! And what of my mind?' + +'Truly,' replied the Doctor with a shrug, 'you have your finger on +the hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautiful +Anastasie. She will never understand him; he will never understand +her. You married the animal side of my nature, dear and it is on +the spiritual side that I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much +so, that, to be perfectly frank, I stand in some awe of him myself. +You will easily perceive that I am announcing a calamity for you. +Do not,' he broke out in tones of real solicitude - 'do not give +way to tears after a meal, Anastasie. You will certainly give +yourself a false digestion.' + +Anastasie controlled herself. 'You know how willing I am to humour +you,' she said, 'in all reasonable matters. But on this point - ' + +'My dear love,' interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal, +'who wished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the +opera, and the boulevard, and my social relations, and all that was +my life before I knew you? Have I been faithful? Have I been +obedient? Have I not borne my doom with cheerfulness? In all +honesty, Anastasie, have I not a right to a stipulation on my side? +I have, and you know it. I stipulate my son.' + +Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly. +'You will break my heart,' she sighed. + +'Not in the least,' said he. 'You will feel a trifling +inconvenience for a month, just as I did when I was first brought +to this vile hamlet; then your admirable sense and temper will +prevail, and I see you already as content as ever, and making your +husband the happiest of men.' + +'You know I can refuse you nothing,' she said, with a last flicker +of resistance; 'nothing that will make you truly happier. But will +this? Are you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found +him! He may be the worst of humbugs.' + +'I think not,' replied the Doctor. 'But do not suppose me so +unwary as to adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a +finished man of the world; I have had all possibilities in view; my +plan is contrived to meet them all. I take the lad as stable boy. +If he pilfer, if he grumble, if he desire to change, I shall see I +was mistaken; I shall recognise him for no son of mine, and send +him tramping.' + +'You will never do so when the time comes,' said his wife; 'I know +your good heart.' + +She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as +he took it and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with +greater ease than he had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth +time he had proved the efficacy of his trusty argument, his +Excalibur, the hint of a return to Paris. Six months in the +capital, for a man of the Doctor's antecedents and relations, +implied no less a calamity than total ruin. Anastasie had saved +the remainder of his fortune by keeping him strictly in the +country. The very name of Paris put her in a blue fear; and she +would have allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the back +garden, let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather than permit the +question of return to be discussed. + +About four of the afternoon, the mountebank rendered up his ghost; +he had never been conscious since his seizure. Doctor Desprez was +present at his last passage, and declared the farce over. Then he +took Jean-Marie by the shoulder and led him out into the inn garden +where there was a convenient bench beside the river. Here he sat +him down and made the boy place himself on his left. + +'Jean-Marie,' he said very gravely, 'this world is exceedingly +vast; and even France, which is only a small corner of it, is a +great place for a little lad like you. Unfortunately it is full of +eager, shouldering people moving on; and there are very few bakers' +shops for so many eaters. Your master is dead; you are not fit to +gain a living by yourself; you do not wish to steal? No. Your +situation then is undesirable; it is, for the moment, critical. On +the other hand, you behold in me a man not old, though elderly, +still enjoying the youth of the heart and the intelligence; a man +of instruction; easily situated in this world's affairs; keeping a +good table:- a man, neither as friend nor host, to be despised. I +offer you your food and clothes, and to teach you lessons in the +evening, which will be infinitely more to the purpose for a lad of +your stamp than those of all the priests in Europe. I propose no +wages, but if ever you take a thought to leave me, the door shall +be open, and I will give you a hundred francs to start the world +upon. In return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you would +very speedily learn to clean and keep in order. Do not hurry +yourself to answer, and take it or leave it as you judge aright. +Only remember this, that I am no sentimentalist or charitable +person, but a man who lives rigorously to himself; and that if I +make the proposal, it is for my own ends - it is because I perceive +clearly an advantage to myself. And now, reflect.' + +'I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can do. I thank +you, sir, most kindly, and I will try to be useful,' said the boy. + +'Thank you,' said the Doctor warmly, rising at the same time and +wiping his brow, for he had suffered agonies while the thing hung +in the wind. A refusal, after the scene at noon, would have placed +him in a ridiculous light before Anastasie. 'How hot and heavy is +the evening, to be sure! I have always had a fancy to be a fish in +summer, Jean-Marie, here in the Loing beside Gretz. I should lie +under a water-lily and listen to the bells, which must sound most +delicately down below. That would be a life - do you not think so +too?' + +'Yes,' said Jean-Marie. + +'Thank God you have imagination!' cried the Doctor, embracing the +boy with his usual effusive warmth, though it was a proceeding that +seemed to disconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had been +an English schoolboy of the same age. 'And now,' he added, 'I will +take you to my wife.' + +Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool wrapper. All the +blinds were down, and the tile floor had been recently sprinkled +with water; her eyes were half shut, but she affected to be reading +a novel as the they entered. Though she was a bustling woman, she +enjoyed repose between whiles and had a remarkable appetite for +sleep. + +The Doctor went through a solemn form of introduction, adding, for +the benefit of both parties, 'You must try to like each other for +my sake.' + +'He is very pretty,' said Anastasie. 'Will you kiss me, my pretty +little fellow?' + +The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the passage. 'Are you +a fool, Anastasie?' he said. 'What is all this I hear about the +tact of women? Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my +experience. You address my little philosopher as if he were an +infant. He must be spoken to with more respect, I tell you; he +must not be kissed and Georgy-porgy'd like an ordinary child.' + +'I only did it to please you, I am sure,' replied Anastasie; 'but I +will try to do better.' + +The Doctor apologised for his warmth. 'But I do wish him,' he +continued, 'to feel at home among us. And really your conduct was +so idiotic, my cherished one, and so utterly and distantly out of +place, that a saint might have been pardoned a little vehemence in +disapproval. Do, do try - if it is possible for a woman to +understand young people - but of course it is not, and I waste my +breath. Hold your tongue as much as possible at least, and observe +my conduct narrowly; it will serve you for a model.' + +Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered the Doctor's +behaviour. She observed that he embraced the boy three times in +the course of the evening, and managed generally to confound and +abash the little fellow out of speech and appetite. But she had +the true womanly heroism in little affairs. Not only did she +refrain from the cheap revenge of exposing the Doctor's errors to +himself, but she did her best to remove their ill-effect on Jean- +Marie. When Desprez went out for his last breath of air before +retiring for the night, she came over to the boy's side and took +his hand. + +'You must not be surprised nor frightened by my husband's manners,' +she said. 'He is the kindest of men, but so clever that he is +sometimes difficult to understand. You will soon grow used to him, +and then you will love him, for that nobody can help. As for me, +you may be sure, I shall try to make you happy, and will not bother +you at all. I think we should be excellent friends, you and I. I +am not clever, but I am very good-natured. Will you give me a +kiss?' + +He held up his face, and she took him in her arms and then began to +cry. The woman had spoken in complaisance; but she had warmed to +her own words, and tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering, +found them enlaced: he concluded that his wife was in fault; and he +was just beginning, in an awful voice, 'Anastasie - ,' when she +looked up at him, smiling, with an upraised finger; and he held his +peace, wondering, while she led the boy to his attic. + + + +CHAPTER IV. +THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER. + + +THE installation of the adopted stable-boy was thus happily +effected, and the wheels of life continued to run smoothly in the +Doctor's house. Jean-Marie did his horse and carriage duty in the +morning; sometimes helped in the housework; sometimes walked abroad +with the Doctor, to drink wisdom from the fountain-head; and was +introduced at night to the sciences and the dead tongues. He +retained his singular placidity of mind and manner; he was rarely +in fault; but he made only a very partial progress in his studies, +and remained much of a stranger in the family. + +The Doctor was a pattern of regularity. All forenoon he worked on +his great book, the 'Comparative Pharmacopoeia, or Historical +Dictionary of all Medicines,' which as yet consisted principally of +slips of paper and pins. When finished, it was to fill many +personable volumes, and to combine antiquarian interest with +professional utility. But the Doctor was studious of literary +graces and the picturesque; an anecdote, a touch of manners, a +moral qualification, or a sounding epithet was sure to be preferred +before a piece of science; a little more, and he would have written +the 'Comparative Pharmacopoeia' in verse! The article 'Mummia,' +for instance, was already complete, though the remainder of the +work had not progressed beyond the letter A. It was exceedingly +copious and entertaining, written with quaintness and colour, +exact, erudite, a literary article; but it would hardly have +afforded guidance to a practising physician of to-day. The +feminine good sense of his wife had led her to point this out with +uncompromising sincerity; for the Dictionary was duly read aloud to +her, betwixt sleep and waning, as it proceeded towards an +infinitely distant completion; and the Doctor was a little sore on +the subject of mummies, and sometimes resented an allusion with +asperity. + +After the midday meal and a proper period of digestion, he walked, +sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Jean-Marie; for madame +would have preferred any hardship rather than walk. + +She was, as I have said, a very busy person, continually occupied +about material comforts, and ready to drop asleep over a novel the +instant she was disengaged. This was the less objectionable, as +she never snored or grew distempered in complexion when she slept. +On the contrary, she looked the very picture of luxurious and +appetising ease, and woke without a start to the perfect possession +of her faculties. I am afraid she was greatly an animal, but she +was a very nice animal to have about. In this way, she had little +to do with Jean-Marie; but the sympathy which had been established +between them on the first night remained unbroken; they held +occasional conversations, mostly on household matters; to the +extreme disappointment of the Doctor, they occasionally sallied off +together to that temple of debasing superstition, the village +church; madame and he, both in their Sunday's best, drove twice a +month to Fontainebleau and returned laden with purchases; and in +short, although the Doctor still continued to regard them as +irreconcilably anti-pathetic, their relation was as intimate, +friendly, and confidential as their natures suffered. + +I fear, however, that in her heart of hearts, madame kindly +despised and pitied the boy. She had no admiration for his class +of virtues; she liked a smart, polite, forward, roguish sort of +boy, cap in hand, light of foot, meeting the eye; she liked +volubility, charm, a little vice - the promise of a second Doctor +Desprez. And it was her indefeasible belief that Jean-Marie was +dull. 'Poor dear boy,' she had said once, 'how sad it is that he +should be so stupid!' She had never repeated that remark, for the +Doctor had raged like a wild bull, denouncing the brutal bluntness +of her mind, bemoaning his own fate to be so unequally mated with +an ass, and, what touched Anastasie more nearly, menacing the table +china by the fury of his gesticulations. But she adhered silently +to her opinion; and when Jean-Marie was sitting, stolid, blank, but +not unhappy, over his unfinished tasks, she would snatch her +opportunity in the Doctor's absence, go over to him, put her arms +about his neck, lay her cheek to his, and communicate her sympathy +with his distress. 'Do not mind,' she would say; 'I, too, am not +at all clever, and I can assure you that it makes no difference in +life.' + +The Doctor's view was naturally different. That gentleman never +wearied of the sound of his own voice, which was, to say the truth, +agreeable enough to hear. He now had a listener, who was not so +cynically indifferent as Anastasie, and who sometimes put him on +his mettle by the most relevant objections. Besides, was he not +educating the boy? And education, philosophers are agreed, is the +most philosophical of duties. What can be more heavenly to poor +mankind than to have one's hobby grow into a duty to the State? +Then, indeed, do the ways of life become ways of pleasantness. +Never had the Doctor seen reason to be more content with his +endowments. Philosophy flowed smoothly from his lips. He was so +agile a dialectician that he could trace his nonsense, when +challenged, back to some root in sense, and prove it to be a sort +of flower upon his system. He slipped out of antinomies like a +fish, and left his disciple marvelling at the rabbi's depth. + +Moreover, deep down in his heart the Doctor was disappointed with +the ill-success of his more formal education. A boy, chosen by so +acute an observer for his aptitude, and guided along the path of +learning by so philosophic an instructor, was bound, by the nature +of the universe, to make a more obvious and lasting advance. Now +Jean-Marie was slow in all things, impenetrable in others; and his +power of forgetting was fully on a level with his power to learn. +Therefore the Doctor cherished his peripatetic lectures, to which +the boy attended, which he generally appeared to enjoy, and by +which he often profited. + +Many and many were the talks they had together; and health and +moderation proved the subject of the Doctor's divagations. To +these he lovingly returned. + +'I lead you,' he would say, 'by the green pastures. My system, my +beliefs, my medicines, are resumed in one phrase - to avoid excess. +Blessed nature, healthy, temperate nature, abhors and exterminates +excess. Human law, in this matter, imitates at a great distance +her provisions; and we must strive to supplement the efforts of the +law. Yes, boy, we must be a law to ourselves and for ourselves and +for our neighbours - lex armata - armed, emphatic, tyrannous law. +If you see a crapulous human ruin snuffing, dash from him his box! +The judge, though in a way an admission of disease, is less +offensive to me than either the doctor or the priest. Above all +the doctor - the doctor and the purulent trash and garbage of his +pharmacopoeia! Pure air - from the neighbourhood of a pinetum for +the sake of the turpentine - unadulterated wine, and the +reflections of an unsophisticated spirit in the presence of the +works of nature - these, my boy, are the best medical appliances +and the best religious comforts. Devote yourself to these. Hark! +there are the bells of Bourron (the wind is in the north, it will +be fair). How clear and airy is the sound! The nerves are +harmonised and quieted; the mind attuned to silence; and observe +how easily and regularly beats the heart! Your unenlightened +doctor would see nothing in these sensations; and yet you yourself +perceive they are a part of health. - Did you remember your +cinchona this morning? Good. Cinchona also is a work of nature; +it is, after all, only the bark of a tree which we might gather for +ourselves if we lived in the locality. - What a world is this! +Though a professed atheist, I delight to bear my testimony to the +world. Look at the gratuitous remedies and pleasures that surround +our path! The river runs by the garden end, our bath, our +fishpond, our natural system of drainage. There is a well in the +court which sends up sparkling water from the earth's very heart, +clean, cool, and, with a little wine, most wholesome. The district +is notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is the only prevalent +complaint, and I myself have never had a touch of it. I tell you - +and my opinion is based upon the coldest, clearest processes of +reason - if I, if you, desired to leave this home of pleasures, it +would be the duty, it would be the privilege, of our best friend to +prevent us with a pistol bullet.' + +One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside the village. +The river, as blue as heaven, shone here and there among the +foliage. The indefatigable birds turned and flickered about Gretz +church tower. A healthy wind blew from over the forest, and the +sound of innumerable thousands of tree-tops and innumerable +millions on millions of green leaves was abroad in the air, and +filled the ear with something between whispered speech and singing. +It seemed as if every blade of grass must hide a cigale; and the +fields rang merrily with their music, jingling far and near as with +the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. From their station on the +slope the eye embraced a large space of poplar'd plain upon the one +hand, the waving hill-tops of the forest on the other, and Gretz +itself in the middle, a handful of roofs. Under the bestriding +arch of the blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It +seemed incredible that people dwelt, and could find room to turn or +air to breathe, in such a corner of the world. The thought came +home to the boy, perhaps for the first time, and he gave it words. + +'How small it looks!' he sighed. + +'Ay,' replied the Doctor, 'small enough now. Yet it was once a +walled city; thriving, full of furred burgesses and men in armour, +humming with affairs; - with tall spires, for aught that I know, +and portly towers along the battlements. A thousand chimneys +ceased smoking at the curfew bell. There were gibbets at the gate +as thick as scarecrows. In time of war, the assault swarmed +against it with ladders, the arrows fell like leaves, the defenders +sallied hotly over the drawbridge, each side uttered its cry as +they plied their weapons. Do you know that the walls extended as +far as the Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas, what a long +way off is all this confusion - nothing left of it but my quiet +words spoken in your ear - and the town itself shrunk to the hamlet +underneath us! By-and-by came the English wars - you shall hear +more of the English, a stupid people, who sometimes blundered into +good - and Gretz was taken, sacked, and burned. It is the history +of many towns; but Gretz never rose again; it was never rebuilt; +its ruins were a quarry to serve the growth of rivals; and the +stones of Gretz are now erect along the streets of Nemours. It +gratifies me that our old house was the first to rise after the +calamity; when the town had come to an end, it inaugurated the +hamlet.' + +'I, too, am glad of that,' said Jean-Marie. + +'It should be the temple of the humbler virtues,' responded the +Doctor with a savoury gusto. 'Perhaps one of the reasons why I +love my little hamlet as I do, is that we have a similar history, +she and I. Have I told you that I was once rich?' + +'I do not think so,' answered Jean-Marie. 'I do not think I should +have forgotten. I am sorry you should have lost your fortune.' + +'Sorry?' cried the Doctor. 'Why, I find I have scarce begun your +education after all. Listen to me! Would you rather live in the +old Gretz or in the new, free from the alarms of war, with the +green country at the door, without noise, passports, the exactions +of the soldiery, or the jangle of the curfew-bell to send us off to +bed by sundown?' + +'I suppose I should prefer the new,' replied the boy. + +'Precisely,' returned the Doctor; 'so do I. And, in the same way, +I prefer my present moderate fortune to my former wealth. Golden +mediocrity! cried the adorable ancients; and I subscribe to their +enthusiasm. Have I not good wine, good food, good air, the fields +and the forest for my walk, a house, an admirable wife, a boy whom +I protest I cherish like a son? Now, if I were still rich, I +should indubitably make my residence in Paris - you know Paris - +Paris and Paradise are not convertible terms. This pleasant noise +of the wind streaming among leaves changed into the grinding Babel +of the street, the stupid glare of plaster substituted for this +quiet pattern of greens and greys, the nerves shattered, the +digestion falsified - picture the fall! Already you perceive the +consequences; the mind is stimulated, the heart steps to a +different measure, and the man is himself no longer. I have +passionately studied myself - the true business of philosophy. I +know my character as the musician knows the ventages of his flute. +Should I return to Paris, I should ruin myself gambling; nay, I go +further - I should break the heart of my Anastasie with +infidelities.' + +This was too much for Jean-Marie. That a place should so transform +the most excellent of men transcended his belief. Paris, he +protested, was even an agreeable place of residence. 'Nor when I +lived in that city did I feel much difference,' he pleaded. + +'What!' cried the Doctor. 'Did you not steal when you were there?' + +But the boy could never be brought to see that he had done anything +wrong when he stole. Nor, indeed, did the Doctor think he had; but +that gentleman was never very scrupulous when in want of a retort. + +'And now,' he concluded, 'do you begin to understand? My only +friends were those who ruined me. Gretz has been my academy, my +sanatorium, my heaven of innocent pleasures. If millions are +offered me, I wave them back: RETRO, SATHANAS! - Evil one, begone! +Fix your mind on my example; despise riches, avoid the debasing +influence of cities. Hygiene - hygiene and mediocrity of fortune - +these be your watchwords during life!' + +The Doctor's system of hygiene strikingly coincided with his +tastes; and his picture of the perfect life was a faithful +description of the one he was leading at the time. But it is easy +to convince a boy, whom you supply with all the facts for the +discussion. And besides, there was one thing admirable in the +philosophy, and that was the enthusiasm of the philosopher. There +was never any one more vigorously determined to be pleased; and if +he was not a great logician, and so had no right to convince the +intellect, he was certainly something of a poet, and had a +fascination to seduce the heart. What he could not achieve in his +customary humour of a radiant admiration of himself and his +circumstances, he sometimes effected in his fits of gloom. + +'Boy,' he would say, 'avoid me to-day. If I were superstitious, I +should even beg for an interest in your prayers. I am in the black +fit; the evil spirit of King Saul, the hag of the merchant Abudah, +the personal devil of the mediaeval monk, is with me - is in me,' +tapping on his breast. 'The vices of my nature are now uppermost; +innocent pleasures woo me in vain; I long for Paris, for my +wallowing in the mire. See,' he would continue, producing a +handful of silver, 'I denude myself, I am not to be trusted with +the price of a fare. Take it, keep it for me, squander it on +deleterious candy, throw it in the deepest of the river - I will +homologate your action. Save me from that part of myself which I +disown. If you see me falter, do not hesitate; if necessary, wreck +the train! I speak, of course, by a parable. Any extremity were +better than for me to reach Paris alive.' + +Doubtless the Doctor enjoyed these little scenes, as a variation in +his part; they represented the Byronic element in the somewhat +artificial poetry of his existence; but to the boy, though he was +dimly aware of their theatricality, they represented more. The +Doctor made perhaps too little, the boy possibly too much, of the +reality and gravity of these temptations. + +One day a great light shone for Jean-Marie. 'Could not riches be +used well?' he asked. + +'In theory, yes,' replied the Doctor. 'But it is found in +experience that no one does so. All the world imagine they will be +exceptional when they grow wealthy; but possession is debasing, new +desires spring up; and the silly taste for ostentation eats out the +heart of pleasure.' + +'Then you might be better if you had less,' said the boy. + +'Certainly not,' replied the Doctor; but his voice quavered as he +spoke. + +'Why?' demanded pitiless innocence. + +Doctor Desprez saw all the colours of the rainbow in a moment; the +stable universe appeared to be about capsizing with him. +'Because,' said he - affecting deliberation after an obvious pause +- 'because I have formed my life for my present income. It is not +good for men of my years to be violently dissevered from their +habits.' + +That was a sharp brush. The Doctor breathed hard, and fell into +taciturnity for the afternoon. As for the boy, he was delighted +with the resolution of his doubts; even wondered that he had not +foreseen the obvious and conclusive answer. His faith in the +Doctor was a stout piece of goods. Desprez was inclined to be a +sheet in the wind's eye after dinner, especially after Rhone wine, +his favourite weakness. He would then remark on the warmth of his +feeling for Anastasie, and with inflamed cheeks and a loose, +flustered smile, debate upon all sorts of topics, and be feebly and +indiscreetly witty. But the adopted stable-boy would not permit +himself to entertain a doubt that savoured of ingratitude. It is +quite true that a man may be a second father to you, and yet take +too much to drink; but the best natures are ever slow to accept +such truths. + +The Doctor thoroughly possessed his heart, but perhaps he +exaggerated his influence over his mind. Certainly Jean-Marie +adopted some of his master's opinions, but I have yet to learn that +he ever surrendered one of his own. Convictions existed in him by +divine right; they were virgin, unwrought, the brute metal of +decision. He could add others indeed, but he could not put away; +neither did he care if they were perfectly agreed among themselves; +and his spiritual pleasures had nothing to do with turning them +over or justifying them in words. Words were with him a mere +accomplishment, like dancing. When he was by himself, his +pleasures were almost vegetable. He would slip into the woods +towards Acheres, and sit in the mouth of a cave among grey birches. +His soul stared straight out of his eyes; he did not move or think; +sunlight, thin shadows moving in the wind, the edge of firs against +the sky, occupied and bound his faculties. He was pure unity, a +spirit wholly abstracted. A single mood filled him, to which all +the objects of sense contributed, as the colours of the spectrum +merge and disappear in white light. + +So while the Doctor made himself drunk with words, the adopted +stable-boy bemused himself with silence. + + + + +CHAPTER V. TREASURE TROVE. + + +THE Doctor's carriage was a two-wheeled gig with a hood; a kind of +vehicle in much favour among country doctors. On how many roads +has one not seen it, a great way off between the poplars! - in how +many village streets, tied to a gate-post! This sort of chariot is +affected - particularly at the trot - by a kind of pitching +movement to and fro across the axle, which well entitles it to the +style of a Noddy. The hood describes a considerable arc against +the landscape, with a solemnly absurd effect on the contemplative +pedestrian. To ride in such a carriage cannot be numbered among +the things that appertain to glory; but I have no doubt it may be +useful in liver complaint. Thence, perhaps, its wide popularity +among physicians. + +One morning early, Jean-Marie led forth the Doctor's noddy, opened +the gate, and mounted to the driving-seat. The Doctor followed, +arrayed from top to toe in spotless linen, armed with an immense +flesh-coloured umbrella, and girt with a botanical case on a +baldric; and the equipage drove off smartly in a breeze of its own +provocation. They were bound for Franchard, to collect plants, +with an eye to the 'Comparative Pharmacopoeia.' + +A little rattling on the open roads, and they came to the borders +of the forest and struck into an unfrequented track; the noddy +yawed softly over the sand, with an accompaniment of snapping +twigs. There was a great, green, softly murmuring cloud of +congregated foliage overhead. In the arcades of the forest the air +retained the freshness of the night. The athletic bearing of the +trees, each carrying its leafy mountain, pleased the mind like so +many statues; and the lines of the trunk led the eye admiringly +upward to where the extreme leaves sparkled in a patch of azure. +Squirrels leaped in mid air. It was a proper spot for a devotee of +the goddess Hygieia. + +'Have you been to Franchard, Jean-Marie?' inquired the Doctor. 'I +fancy not.' + +'Never,' replied the boy. + +'It is ruin in a gorge,' continued Desprez, adopting his expository +voice; 'the ruin of a hermitage and chapel. History tells us much +of Franchard; how the recluse was often slain by robbers; how he +lived on a most insufficient diet; how he was expected to pass his +days in prayer. A letter is preserved, addressed to one of these +solitaries by the superior of his order, full of admirable hygienic +advice; bidding him go from his book to praying, and so back again, +for variety's sake, and when he was weary of both to stroll about +his garden and observe the honey bees. It is to this day my own +system. You must often have remarked me leaving the +"Pharmacopoeia" - often even in the middle of a phrase - to come +forth into the sun and air. I admire the writer of that letter +from my heart; he was a man of thought on the most important +subjects. But, indeed, had I lived in the Middle Ages (I am +heartily glad that I did not) I should have been an eremite myself +- if I had not been a professed buffoon, that is. These were the +only philosophical lives yet open: laughter or prayer; sneers, we +might say, and tears. Until the sun of the Positive arose, the +wise man had to make his choice between these two.' + +'I have been a buffoon, of course,' observed Jean-Marie. + +'I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your profession,' said +the Doctor, admiring the boy's gravity. 'Do you ever laugh?' + +'Oh, yes,' replied the other. 'I laugh often. I am very fond of +jokes.' + +'Singular being!' said Desprez. 'But I divagate (I perceive in a +thousand ways that I grow old). Franchard was at length destroyed +in the English wars, the same that levelled Gretz. But - here is +the point - the hermits (for there were already more than one) had +foreseen the danger and carefully concealed the sacrificial +vessels. These vessels were of monstrous value, Jean-Marie - +monstrous value - priceless, we may say; exquisitely worked, of +exquisite material. And now, mark me, they have never been found. +In the reign of Louis Quatorze some fellows were digging hard by +the ruins. Suddenly - tock! - the spade hit upon an obstacle. +Imagine the men fooling one to another; imagine how their hearts +bounded, how their colour came and went. It was a coffer, and in +Franchard the place of buried treasure! They tore it open like +famished beasts. Alas! it was not the treasure; only some priestly +robes, which, at the touch of the eating air, fell upon themselves +and instantly wasted into dust. The perspiration of these good +fellows turned cold upon them, Jean-Marie. I will pledge my +reputation, if there was anything like a cutting wind, one or other +had a pneumonia for his trouble.' + +'I should like to have seen them turning into dust,' said Jean- +Marie. 'Otherwise, I should not have cared so greatly.' + +'You have no imagination,' cried the Doctor. 'Picture to yourself +the scene. Dwell on the idea - a great treasure lying in the earth +for centuries: the material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence +not employed; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen; the swiftest +galloping horses not stirring a hoof, arrested by a spell; women +with the beautiful faculty of smiles, not smiling; cards, dice, +opera singing, orchestras, castles, beautiful parks and gardens, +big ships with a tower of sailcloth, all lying unborn in a coffin - +and the stupid trees growing overhead in the sunlight, year after +year. The thought drives one frantic.' + +'It is only money,' replied Jean-Marie. 'It would do harm.' + +'O, come!' cried Desprez, 'that is philosophy; it is all very fine, +but not to the point just now. And besides, it is not "only +money," as you call it; there are works of art in the question; the +vessels were carved. You speak like a child. You weary me +exceedingly, quoting my words out of all logical connection, like a +parroquet.' + +'And at any rate, we have nothing to do with it,' returned the boy +submissively. + +They struck the Route Ronde at that moment; and the sudden change +to the rattling causeway combined, with the Doctor's irritation, to +keep him silent. The noddy jigged along; the trees went by, +looking on silently, as if they had something on their minds. The +Quadrilateral was passed; then came Franchard. They put up the +horse at the little solitary inn, and went forth strolling. The +gorge was dyed deeply with heather; the rocks and birches standing +luminous in the sun. A great humming of bees about the flowers +disposed Jean-Marie to sleep, and he sat down against a clump of +heather, while the Doctor went briskly to and fro, with quick +turns, culling his simples. + +The boy's head had fallen a little forward, his eyes were closed, +his fingers had fallen lax about his knees, when a sudden cry +called him to his feet. It was a strange sound, thin and brief; it +fell dead, and silence returned as though it had never been +interrupted. He had not recognised the Doctor's voice; but, as +there was no one else in all the valley, it was plainly the Doctor +who had given utterance to the sound. He looked right and left, +and there was Desprez, standing in a niche between two boulders, +and looking round on his adopted son with a countenance as white as +paper. + +'A viper!' cried Jean-Marie, running towards him. 'A viper! You +are bitten!' + +The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and, advanced in +silence to meet the boy, whom he took roughly by the shoulder. + +'I have found it,' he said, with a gasp. + +'A plant?' asked Jean-Marie. + +Desprez had a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the rocks took up and +mimicked. 'A plant!' he repeated scornfully. 'Well - yes - a +plant. And here,' he added suddenly, showing his right hand, which +he had hitherto concealed behind his back - 'here is one of the +bulbs.' + +Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth. + +'That?' said he. 'It is a plate!' + +'It is a coach and horses,' cried the Doctor. 'Boy,' he continued, +growing warmer, 'I plucked away a great pad of moss from between +these boulders, and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what +do you suppose I saw? I saw a house in Paris with a court and +garden, I saw my wife shining with diamonds, I saw myself a deputy, +I saw you - well, I - I saw your future,' he concluded, rather +feebly. 'I have just discovered America,' he added. + +'But what is it?' asked the boy. + +'The Treasure of Franchard,' cried the Doctor; and, throwing his +brown straw hat upon the ground, he whooped like an Indian and +sprang upon Jean-Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and +bedewed with tears. Then he flung himself down among the heather +and once more laughed until the valley rang. + +But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy's interest. No +sooner was he released from the Doctor's accolade than he ran to +the boulders, sprang into the niche, and, thrusting his hand into +the crevice, drew forth one after another, encrusted with the earth +of ages, the flagons, candlesticks, and patens of the hermitage of +Franchard. A casket came last, tightly shut and very heavy. + +'O what fun!' he cried. + +But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had followed close +behind and was silently observing, the words died from his lips. +Desprez was once more the colour of ashes; his lip worked and +trembled; a sort of bestial greed possessed him. + +'This is childish,' he said. 'We lose precious time. Back to the +inn, harness the trap, and bring it to yon bank. Run for your +life, and remember - not one whisper. I stay here to watch.' + +Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without surprise. The +noddy was brought round to the spot indicated; and the two +gradually transported the treasure from its place of concealment to +the boot below the driving seat. Once it was all stored the Doctor +recovered his gaiety. + +'I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,' he said. +'O, for a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of country wine! I am in +the vein for sacrifice, for a superb libation. Well, and why not? +We are at Franchard. English pale ale is to be had - not +classical, indeed, but excellent. Boy, we shall drink ale.' + +'But I thought it was so unwholesome,' said Jean-Marie, 'and very +dear besides.' + +'Fiddle-de-dee!' exclaimed the Doctor gaily. 'To the inn!' + +And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head, with an elastic, +youthful air. The horse was turned, and in a few seconds they drew +up beside the palings of the inn garden. + +'Here,' said Desprez - 'here, near the table, so that we may keep +an eye upon things.' + +They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the Doctor singing, +now in fantastic high notes, now producing deep reverberations from +his chest. He took a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed +the waiter with witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at +length produced, far more charged with gas than the most delirious +champagne, he filled out a long glassful of froth and pushed it +over to Jean-Marie. 'Drink,' he said; 'drink deep.' + +'I would rather not,' faltered the boy, true to his training. + +'What?' thundered Desprez. + +'I am afraid of it,' said Jean-Marie: 'my stomach - ' + +'Take it or leave it,' interrupted Desprez fiercely; 'but +understand it once for all - there is nothing so contemptible as a +precisian.' + +Here was a new lesson! The boy sat bemused, looking at the glass +but not tasting it, while the Doctor emptied and refilled his own, +at first with clouded brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the +heady, prickling beverage, and his own predisposition to be happy. + +'Once in a way,' he said at last, by way of a concession to the +boy's more rigorous attitude, 'once in a way, and at so critical a +moment, this ale is a nectar for the gods. The habit, indeed, is +debasing; wine, the juice of the grape, is the true drink of the +Frenchman, as I have often had occasion to point out; and I do not +know that I can blame you for refusing this outlandish stimulant. +You can have some wine and cakes. Is the bottle empty? Well, we +will not be proud; we will have pity on your glass.' + +The beer being done, the Doctor chafed bitterly while Jean-Marie +finished his cakes. 'I burn to be gone,' he said, looking at his +watch. 'Good God, how slow you eat!' And yet to eat slowly was +his own particular prescription, the main secret of longevity! + +His martyrdom, however, reached an end at last; the pair resumed +their places in the buggy, and Desprez, leaning luxuriously back, +announced his intention of proceeding to Fontainebleau. + +'To Fontainebleau?' repeated Jean-Marie. + +'My words are always measured,' said the Doctor. 'On!' + +The Doctor was driven through the glades of paradise; the air, the +light, the shining leaves, the very movements of the vehicle, +seemed to fall in tune with his golden meditations; with his head +thrown back, he dreamed a series of sunny visions, ale and pleasure +dancing in his veins. At last he spoke. + +'I shall telegraph for Casimir,' he said. 'Good Casimir! a fellow +of the lower order of intelligence, Jean-Marie, distinctly not +creative, not poetic; and yet he will repay your study; his fortune +is vast, and is entirely due to his own exertions. He is the very +fellow to help us to dispose of our trinkets, find us a suitable +house in Paris, and manage the details of our installation. +Admirable Casimir, one of my oldest comrades! It was on his +advice, I may add, that I invested my little fortune in Turkish +bonds; when we have added these spoils of the mediaeval church to +our stake in the Mahometan empire, little boy, we shall positively +roll among doubloons, positively roll! Beautiful forest,' he +cried, 'farewell! Though called to other scenes, I will not forget +thee. Thy name is graven in my heart. Under the influence of +prosperity I become dithyrambic, Jean-Marie. Such is the impulse +of the natural soul; such was the constitution of primaeval man. +And I - well, I will not refuse the credit - I have preserved my +youth like a virginity; another, who should have led the same +snoozing, countryfied existence for these years, another had become +rusted, become stereotype; but I, I praise my happy constitution, +retain the spring unbroken. Fresh opulence and a new sphere of +duties find me unabated in ardour and only more mature by +knowledge. For this prospective change, Jean-Marie - it may +probably have shocked you. Tell me now, did it not strike you as +an inconsistency? Confess - it is useless to dissemble - it pained +you?' + +'Yes,' said the boy. + +'You see,' returned the Doctor, with sublime fatuity, 'I read your +thoughts! Nor am I surprised - your education is not yet complete; +the higher duties of men have not been yet presented to you fully. +A hint - till we have leisure - must suffice. Now that I am once +more in possession of a modest competence; now that I have so long +prepared myself in silent meditation, it becomes my superior duty +to proceed to Paris. My scientific training, my undoubted command +of language, mark me out for the service of my country. Modesty in +such a case would be a snare. If sin were a philosophical +expression, I should call it sinful. A man must not deny his +manifest abilities, for that is to evade his obligations. I must +be up and doing; I must be no skulker in life's battle.' + +So he rattled on, copiously greasing the joint of his inconsistency +with words; while the boy listened silently, his eyes fixed on the +horse, his mind seething. It was all lost eloquence; no array of +words could unsettle a belief of Jean-Marie's; and he drove into +Fontainebleau filled with pity, horror, indignation, and despair. + +In the town Jean-Marie was kept a fixture on the driving-seat, to +guard the treasure; while the Doctor, with a singular, slightly +tipsy airiness of manner, fluttered in and out of cafes, where he +shook hands with garrison officers, and mixed an absinthe with the +nicety of old experience; in and out of shops, from which he +returned laden with costly fruits, real turtle, a magnificent piece +of silk for his wife, a preposterous cane for himself, and a kepi +of the newest fashion for the boy; in and out of the telegraph +office, whence he despatched his telegram, and where three hours +later he received an answer promising a visit on the morrow; and +generally pervaded Fontainebleau with the first fine aroma of his +divine good humour. + +The sun was very low when they set forth again; the shadows of the +forest trees extended across the broad white road that led them +home; the penetrating odour of the evening wood had already arisen, +like a cloud of incense, from that broad field of tree-tops; and +even in the streets of the town, where the air had been baked all +day between white walls, it came in whiffs and pulses, like a +distant music. Half-way home, the last gold flicker vanished from +a great oak upon the left; and when they came forth beyond the +borders of the wood, the plain was already sunken in pearly +greyness, and a great, pale moon came swinging skyward through the +filmy poplars. + +The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor talked. He spoke +of the woods, and the wars, and the deposition of dew; he +brightened and babbled of Paris; he soared into cloudy bombast on +the glories of the political arena. All was to be changed; as the +day departed, it took with it the vestiges of an outworn existence, +and to-morrow's sun was to inaugurate the new. 'Enough,' he cried, +'of this life of maceration!' His wife (still beautiful, or he was +sadly partial) was to be no longer buried; she should now shine +before society. Jean-Marie would find the world at his feet; the +roads open to success, wealth, honour, and post-humous renown. +'And O, by the way,' said he, 'for God's sake keep your tongue +quiet! You are, of course, a very silent fellow; it is a quality I +gladly recognise in you - silence, golden silence! But this is a +matter of gravity. No word must get abroad; none but the good +Casimir is to be trusted; we shall probably dispose of the vessels +in England.' + +'But are they not even ours?' the boy said, almost with a sob - it +was the only time he had spoken. + +'Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else's,' replied the +Doctor. 'But the State would have some claim. If they were +stolen, for instance, we should be unable to demand their +restitution; we should have no title; we should be unable even to +communicate with the police. Such is the monstrous condition of +the law. (6) It is a mere instance of what remains to be done, of +the injustices that may yet be righted by an ardent, active, and +philosophical deputy.' + +Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and as they drove +forward down the road from Bourron, between the rustling poplars, +he prayed in his teeth, and whipped up the horse to an unusual +speed. Surely, as soon as they arrived, madame would assert her +character, and bring this waking nightmare to an end. + +Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and accompanied by a most +furious barking; all the dogs in the village seemed to smell the +treasure in the noddy. But there was no one in the street, save +three lounging landscape painters at Tentaillon's door. Jean-Marie +opened the green gate and led in the horse and carriage; and almost +at the same moment Madame Desprez came to the kitchen threshold +with a lighted lantern; for the moon was not yet high enough to +clear the garden walls. + +'Close the gates, Jean-Marie!' cried the Doctor, somewhat +unsteadily alighting. 'Anastasie, where is Aline?' + +'She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,' said madame. + +'All is for the best!' exclaimed the Doctor fervently. 'Here, +quick, come near to me; I do not wish to speak too loud,' he +continued. 'Darling, we are wealthy!' + +'Wealthy!' repeated the wife. + +'I have found the treasure of Franchard,' replied her husband. +'See, here are the first fruits; a pineapple, a dress for my ever- +beautiful - it will suit her - trust a husband's, trust a lover's, +taste! Embrace me, darling! This grimy episode is over; the +butterfly unfolds its painted wings. To-morrow Casimir will come; +in a week we may be in Paris - happy at last! You shall have +diamonds. Jean-Marie, take it out of the boot, with religious +care, and bring it piece by piece into the dining-room. We shall +have plate at table! Darling, hasten and prepare this turtle; it +will be a whet - it will be an addition to our meagre ordinary. I +myself will proceed to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that +little Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage; there +are still three bottles left. Worthy wine for a worthy occasion.' + +'But, my husband; you put me in a whirl,' she cried. 'I do not +comprehend.' + +'The turtle, my adored, the turtle!' cried the doctor; and he +pushed her towards the kitchen, lantern and all. + +Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured to himself a +different scene - a more immediate protest, and his hope began to +dwindle on the spot. + +The Doctor was everywhere, a little doubtful on his legs, perhaps, +and now and then taking the wall with his shoulder; for it was long +since he had tasted absinthe, and he was even then reflecting that +the absinthe had been a misconception. Not that he regretted +excess on such a glorious day, but he made a mental memorandum to +beware; he must not, a second time, become the victim of a +deleterious habit. He had his wine out of the cellar in a +twinkling; he arranged the sacrificial vessels, some on the white +table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still crusted with historic +earth. He was in and out of the kitchen, plying Anastasie with +vermouth, heating her with glimpses of the future, estimating their +new wealth at ever larger figures; and before they sat down to +supper, the lady's virtue had melted in the fire of his enthusiasm, +her timidity had disappeared; she, too, had begun to speak +disparagingly of the life at Gretz; and as she took her place and +helped the soup, her eyes shone with the glitter of prospective +diamonds. + +All through the meal, she and the Doctor made and unmade fairy +plans. They bobbed and bowed and pledged each other. Their faces +ran over with smiles; their eyes scattered sparkles, as they +projected the Doctor's political honours and the lady's drawing- +room ovations. + +'But you will not be a Red!' cried Anastasie. + +'I am Left Centre to the core,' replied the Doctor. + +'Madame Gastein will present us - we shall find ourselves +forgotten,' said the lady. + +'Never,' protested the Doctor. 'Beauty and talent leave a mark.' + +'I have positively forgotten how to dress,' she sighed. + +'Darling, you make me blush,' cried he. 'Yours has been a tragic +marriage!' + +'But your success - to see you appreciated, honoured, your name in +all the papers, that will be more than pleasure - it will be +heaven!' she cried. + +'And once a week,' said the Doctor, archly scanning the syllables, +'once a week - one good little game of baccarat?' + +'Only once a week?' she questioned, threatening him with a finger. + +'I swear it by my political honour,' cried he. + +'I spoil you,' she said, and gave him her hand. + +He covered it with kisses. + +Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon swung high over Gretz. +He went down to the garden end and sat on the jetty. The river ran +by with eddies of oily silver, and a low, monotonous song. Faint +veils of mist moved among the poplars on the farther side. The +reeds were quietly nodding. A hundred times already had the boy +sat, on such a night, and watched the streaming river with +untroubled fancy. And this perhaps was to be the last. He was to +leave this familiar hamlet, this green, rustling country, this +bright and quiet stream; he was to pass into the great city; his +dear lady mistress was to move bedizened in saloons; his good, +garrulous, kind-hearted master to become a brawling deputy; and +both be lost for ever to Jean-Marie and their better selves. He +knew his own defects; he knew he must sink into less and less +consideration in the turmoil of a city life, sink more and more +from the child into the servant. And he began dimly to believe the +Doctor's prophecies of evil. He could see a change in both. His +generous incredulity failed him for this once; a child must have +perceived that the Hermitage had completed what the absinthe had +begun. If this were the first day, what would be the last? 'If +necessary, wreck the train,' thought he, remembering the Doctor's +parable. He looked round on the delightful scene; he drank deep of +the charmed night air, laden with the scent of hay. 'If necessary, +wreck the train,' he repeated. And he rose and returned to the +house. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS. + + +THE next morning there was a most unusual outcry, in the Doctor's +house. The last thing before going to bed, the Doctor had locked +up some valuables in the dining-room cupboard; and behold, when he +rose again, as he did about four o'clock, the cupboard had been +broken open, and the valuables in question had disappeared. Madame +and Jean-Marie were summoned from their rooms, and appeared in +hasty toilets; they found the Doctor raving, calling the heavens to +witness and avenge his injury, pacing the room bare-footed, with +the tails of his night-shirt flirting as he turned. + +'Gone!' he said; 'the things are gone, the fortune gone! We are +paupers once more. Boy! what do you know of this? Speak up, sir, +speak up. Do you know of it? Where are they?' He had him by the +arm, shaking him like a bag, and the boy's words, if he had any, +were jolted forth in inarticulate murmurs. The Doctor, with a +revulsion from his own violence, set him down again. He observed +Anastasie in tears. 'Anastasie,' he said, in quite an altered +voice, 'compose yourself, command your feelings. I would not have +you give way to passion like the vulgar. This - this trifling +accident must be lived down. Jean-Marie, bring me my smaller +medicine chest. A gentle laxative is indicated.' + +And he dosed the family all round, leading the way himself with a +double quantity. The wretched Anastasie, who had never been ill in +the whole course of her existence, and whose soul recoiled from +remedies, wept floods of tears as she sipped, and shuddered, and +protested, and then was bullied and shouted at until she sipped +again. As for Jean-Marie, he took his portion down with stoicism. + +'I have given him a less amount,' observed the Doctor, 'his youth +protecting him against emotion. And now that we have thus parried +any morbid consequences, let us reason.' + +'I am so cold,' wailed Anastasie. + +'Cold!' cried the Doctor. 'I give thanks to God that I am made of +fierier material. Why, madam, a blow like this would set a frog +into a transpiration. If you are cold, you can retire; and, by the +way, you might throw me down my trousers. It is chilly for the +legs.' + +'Oh, no!' protested Anastasie; 'I will stay with you.' + +'Nay, madam, you shall not suffer for your devotion,' said the +Doctor. 'I will myself fetch you a shawl.' And he went upstairs +and returned more fully clad and with an armful of wraps for the +shivering Anastasie. 'And now,' he resumed, 'to investigate this +crime. Let us proceed by induction. Anastasie, do you know +anything that can help us?' Anastasie knew nothing. 'Or you, +Jean-Marie?' + +'Not I,' replied the boy steadily. + +'Good,' returned the Doctor. 'We shall now turn our attention to +the material evidences. (I was born to be a detective; I have the +eye and the systematic spirit.) First, violence has been employed. +The door was broken open; and it may be observed, in passing, that +the lock was dear indeed at what I paid for it: a crow to pluck +with Master Goguelat. Second, here is the instrument employed, one +of our own table-knives, one of our best, my dear; which seems to +indicate no preparation on the part of the gang - if gang it was. +Thirdly, I observe that nothing has been removed except the +Franchard dishes and the casket; our own silver has been minutely +respected. This is wily; it shows intelligence, a knowledge of the +code, a desire to avoid legal consequences. I argue from this fact +that the gang numbers persons of respectability - outward, of +course, and merely outward, as the robbery proves. But I argue, +second, that we must have been observed at Franchard itself by some +occult observer, and dogged throughout the day with a skill and +patience that I venture to qualify as consummate. No ordinary man, +no occasional criminal, would have shown himself capable of this +combination. We have in our neighbourhood, it is far from +improbable, a retired bandit of the highest order of intelligence.' + +'Good heaven!' cried the horrified Anastasie. 'Henri, how can +you?' + +'My cherished one, this is a process of induction,' said the +Doctor. 'If any of my steps are unsound, correct me. You are +silent? Then do not, I beseech you, be so vulgarly illogical as to +revolt from my conclusion. We have now arrived,' he resumed, 'at +some idea of the composition of the gang - for I incline to the +hypothesis of more than one - and we now leave this room, which can +disclose no more, and turn our attention to the court and garden. +(Jean-Marie, I trust you are observantly following my various +steps; this is an excellent piece of education for you.) Come with +me to the door. No steps on the court; it is unfortunate our court +should be paved. On what small matters hang the destiny of these +delicate investigations! Hey! What have we here? I have led on +to the very spot,' he said, standing grandly backward and +indicating the green gate. 'An escalade, as you can now see for +yourselves, has taken place.' + +Sure enough, the green paint was in several places scratched and +broken; and one of the panels preserved the print of a nailed shoe. +The foot had slipped, however, and it was difficult to estimate the +size of the shoe, and impossible to distinguish the pattern of the +nails. + +'The whole robbery,' concluded the Doctor, 'step by step, has been +reconstituted. Inductive science can no further go.' + +'It is wonderful,' said his wife. 'You should indeed have been a +detective, Henri. I had no idea of your talents.' + +'My dear,' replied Desprez, condescendingly, 'a man of scientific +imagination combines the lesser faculties; he is a detective just +as he is a publicist or a general; these are but local applications +of his special talent. But now,' he continued, 'would you have me +go further? Would you have me lay my finger on the culprits - or +rather, for I cannot promise quite so much, point out to you the +very house where they consort? It may be a satisfaction, at least +it is all we are likely to get, since we are denied the remedy of +law. I reach the further stage in this way. In order to fill my +outline of the robbery, I require a man likely to be in the forest +idling, I require a man of education, I require a man superior to +considerations of morality. The three requisites all centre in +Tentaillon's boarders. They are painters, therefore they are +continually lounging in the forest. They are painters, therefore +they are not unlikely to have some smattering of education. +Lastly, because they are painters, they are probably immoral. And +this I prove in two ways. First, painting is an art which merely +addresses the eye; it does not in any particular exercise the moral +sense. And second, painting, in common with all the other arts, +implies the dangerous quality of imagination. A man of imagination +is never moral; he outsoars literal demarcations and reviews life +under too many shifting lights to rest content with the invidious +distinctions of the law!' + +'But you always say - at least, so I understood you' - said madame, +'that these lads display no imagination whatever.' + +'My dear, they displayed imagination, and of a very fantastic +order, too,' returned the Doctor, 'when they embraced their +beggarly profession. Besides - and this is an argument exactly +suited to your intellectual level - many of them are English and +American. Where else should we expect to find a thief? - And now +you had better get your coffee. Because we have lost a treasure, +there is no reason for starving. For my part, I shall break my +fast with white wine. I feel unaccountably heated and thirsty to- +day. I can only attribute it to the shock of the discovery. And +yet, you will bear me out, I supported the emotion nobly.' + +The Doctor had now talked himself back into an admirable humour; +and as he sat in the arbour and slowly imbibed a large allowance of +white wine and picked a little bread and cheese with no very +impetuous appetite, if a third of his meditations ran upon the +missing treasure, the other two-thirds were more pleasingly busied +in the retrospect of his detective skill. + +About eleven Casimir arrived; he had caught an early train to +Fontainebleau, and driven over to save time; and now his cab was +stabled at Tentaillon's, and he remarked, studying his watch, that +he could spare an hour and a half. He was much the man of +business, decisively spoken, given to frowning in an intellectual +manner. Anastasie's born brother, he did not waste much sentiment +on the lady, gave her an English family kiss, and demanded a meal +without delay. + +'You can tell me your story while we eat,' he observed. 'Anything +good to-day, Stasie?' + +He was promised something good. The trio sat down to table in the +arbour, Jean-Marie waiting as well as eating, and the Doctor +recounted what had happened in his richest narrative manner. +Casimir heard it with explosions of laughter. + +'What a streak of luck for you, my good brother,' he observed, when +the tale was over. 'If you had gone to Paris, you would have +played dick-duck-drake with the whole consignment in three months. +Your own would have followed; and you would have come to me in a +procession like the last time. But I give you warning - Stasie may +weep and Henri ratiocinate - it will not serve you twice. Your +next collapse will be fatal. I thought I had told you so, Stasie? +Hey? No sense?' + +The Doctor winced and looked furtively at Jean-Marie; but the boy +seemed apathetic. + +'And then again,' broke out Casimir, 'what children you are - +vicious children, my faith! How could you tell the value of this +trash? It might have been worth nothing, or next door.' + +'Pardon me,' said the Doctor. 'You have your usual flow of +spirits, I perceive, but even less than your usual deliberation. I +am not entirely ignorant of these matters.' + +'Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard of,' interrupted +Casimir, bowing, and raising his glass with a sort of pert +politeness. + +'At least,' resumed the Doctor, 'I gave my mind to the subject - +that you may be willing to believe - and I estimated that our +capital would be doubled.' And he described the nature of the +find. + +'My word of honour!' said Casimir, 'I half believe you! But much +would depend on the quality of the gold.' + +'The quality, my dear Casimir, was - ' And the Doctor, in default +of language, kissed his finger-tips. + +'I would not take your word for it, my good friend,' retorted the +man of business. 'You are a man of very rosy views. But this +robbery,' he continued - 'this robbery is an odd thing. Of course +I pass over your nonsense about gangs and landscape-painters. For +me, that is a dream. Who was in the house last night?' + +'None but ourselves,' replied the Doctor. + +'And this young gentleman?' asked Casimir, jerking a nod in the +direction of Jean-Marie. + +'He too' - the Doctor bowed. + +'Well; and if it is a fair question, who is he?' pursued the +brother-in-law. + +'Jean-Marie,' answered the Doctor, 'combines the functions of a son +and stable-boy. He began as the latter, but he rose rapidly to the +more honourable rank in our affections. He is, I may say, the +greatest comfort in our lives.' + +'Ha!' said Casimir. 'And previous to becoming one of you?' + +'Jean-Marie has lived a remarkable existence; his experience his +been eminently formative,' replied Desprez. 'If I had had to +choose an education for my son, I should have chosen such another. +Beginning life with mountebanks and thieves, passing onward to the +society and friendship of philosophers, he may be said to have +skimmed the volume of human life.' + +'Thieves?' repeated the brother-in-law, with a meditative air. + +The Doctor could have bitten his tongue out. He foresaw what was +coming, and prepared his mind for a vigorous defence. + +'Did you ever steal yourself?' asked Casimir, turning suddenly on +Jean-Marie, and for the first time employing a single eyeglass +which hung round his neck. + +'Yes, sir,' replied the boy, with a deep blush. + +Casimir turned to the others with pursed lips, and nodded to them +meaningly. 'Hey?' said he; 'how is that?' + +'Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth,' returned the Doctor, +throwing out his bust. + +'He has never told a lie,' added madame. 'He is the best of boys.' + +'Never told a lie, has he not?' reflected Casimir. 'Strange, very +strange. Give me your attention, my young friend,' he continued. +'You knew about this treasure?' + +'He helped to bring it home,' interposed the Doctor. + +'Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your tongue,' returned +Casimir. 'I mean to question this stable-boy of yours; and if you +are so certain of his innocence, you can afford to let him answer +for himself. Now, sir,' he resumed, pointing his eyeglass straight +at Jean-Marie. 'You knew it could be stolen with impunity? You +knew you could not be prosecuted? Come! Did you, or did you not?' + +'I did,' answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable whisper. He sat there +changing colour like a revolving pharos, twisting his fingers +hysterically, swallowing air, the picture of guilt. + +'You knew where it was put?' resumed the inquisitor. + +'Yes,' from Jean-Marie. + +'You say you have been a thief before,' continued Casimir. 'Now +how am I to know that you are not one still? I suppose you could +climb the green gate?' + +'Yes,' still lower, from the culprit. + +'Well, then, it was you who stole these things. You know it, and +you dare not deny it. Look me in the face! Raise your sneak's +eyes, and answer!' + +But in place of anything of that sort Jean-Marie broke into a +dismal howl and fled from the arbour. Anastasie, as she pursued to +capture and reassure the victim, found time to send one Parthian +arrow - 'Casimir, you are a brute!' + +'My brother,' said Desprez, with the greatest dignity, 'you take +upon yourself a licence - ' + +'Desprez,' interrupted Casimir, 'for Heaven's sake be a man of the +world. You telegraph me to leave my business and come down here on +yours. I come, I ask the business, you say "Find me this thief!" +Well, I find him; I say "There he is! You need not like it, but +you have no manner of right to take offence.' + +'Well,' returned the Doctor, 'I grant that; I will even thank you +for your mistaken zeal. But your hypothesis was so extravagantly +monstrous - ' + +'Look here,' interrupted Casimir; 'was it you or Stasie?' + +'Certainly not,' answered the Doctor. + +'Very well; then it was the boy. Say no more about it,' said the +brother-in-law, and he produced his cigar-case. + +'I will say this much more,' returned Desprez: 'if that boy came +and told me so himself, I should not believe him; and if I did +believe him, so implicit is my trust, I should conclude that he had +acted for the best.' + +'Well, well,' said Casimir, indulgently. 'Have you a light? I +must be going. And by the way, I wish you would let me sell your +Turks for you. I always told you, it meant smash. I tell you so +again. Indeed, it was partly that that brought me down. You never +acknowledge my letters - a most unpardonable habit.' + +'My good brother,' replied the Doctor blandly, 'I have never denied +your ability in business; but I can perceive your limitations.' + +'Egad, my friend, I can return the compliment,' observed the man of +business. 'Your limitation is to be downright irrational.' + +'Observe the relative position,' returned the Doctor with a smile. +'It is your attitude to believe through thick and thin in one man's +judgment - your own. I follow the same opinion, but critically and +with open eyes. Which is the more irrational? - I leave it to +yourself.' + +'O, my dear fellow!' cried Casimir, 'stick to your Turks, stick to +your stable-boy, go to the devil in general in your own way and be +done with it. But don't ratiocinate with me - I cannot bear it. +And so, ta-ta. I might as well have stayed away for any good I've +done. Say good-bye from me to Stasie, and to the sullen hang-dog +of a stable-boy, if you insist on it; I'm off.' + +And Casimir departed. The Doctor, that night, dissected his +character before Anastasie. 'One thing, my beautiful,' he said, +'he has learned one thing from his lifelong acquaintance with your +husband: the word RATIOCINATE. It shines in his vocabulary, like a +jewel in a muck-heap. And, even so, he continually misapplies it. +For you must have observed he uses it as a sort of taunt, in the +sense of to ERGOTISE, implying, as it were - the poor, dear fellow! +- a vein of sophistry. As for his cruelty to Jean-Marie, it must +be forgiven him - it is not his nature, it is the nature of his +life. A man who deals with money, my dear, is a man lost.' + +With Jean-Marie the process of reconciliation had been somewhat +slow. At first he was inconsolable, insisted on leaving the +family, went from paroxysm to paroxysm of tears; and it was only +after Anastasie had been closeted for an hour with him, alone, that +she came forth, sought out the Doctor, and, with tears in her eyes, +acquainted that gentleman with what had passed. + +'At first, my husband, he would hear of nothing,' she said. +'Imagine! if he had left us! what would the treasure be to that? +Horrible treasure, it has brought all this about! At last, after +he has sobbed his very heart out, he agrees to stay on a condition +- we are not to mention this matter, this infamous suspicion, not +even to mention the robbery. On that agreement only, the poor, +cruel boy will consent to remain among his friends.' + +'But this inhibition,' said the Doctor, 'this embargo - it cannot +possibly apply to me?' + +'To all of us,' Anastasie assured him. + +'My cherished one,' Desprez protested, 'you must have +misunderstood. It cannot apply to me. He would naturally come to +me.' + +'Henri,' she said, 'it does; I swear to you it does.' + +'This is a painful, a very painful circumstance,' the Doctor said, +looking a little black. 'I cannot affect, Anastasie, to be +anything but justly wounded. I feel this, I feel it, my wife, +acutely.' + +'I knew you would,' she said. 'But if you had seen his distress! +We must make allowances, we must sacrifice our feelings.' + +'I trust, my dear, you have never found me averse to sacrifices,' +returned the Doctor very stiffly. + +'And you will let me go and tell him that you have agreed? It will +be like your noble nature,' she cried. + +So it would, he perceived - it would be like his noble nature! Up +jumped his spirits, triumphant at the thought. 'Go, darling,' he +said nobly, 'reassure him. The subject is buried; more - I make an +effort, I have accustomed my will to these exertions - and it is +forgotten.' + +A little after, but still with swollen eyes and looking mortally +sheepish, Jean-Marie reappeared and went ostentatiously about his +business. He was the only unhappy member of the party that sat +down that night to supper. As for the Doctor, he was radiant. He +thus sang the requiem of the treasure:- + +'This has been, on the whole, a most amusing episode,' he said. +'We are not a penny the worse - nay, we are immensely gainers. Our +philosophy has been exercised; some of the turtle is still left - +the most wholesome of delicacies; I have my staff, Anastasie has +her new dress, Jean-Marie is the proud possessor of a fashionable +kepi. Besides, we had a glass of Hermitage last night; the glow +still suffuses my memory. I was growing positively niggardly with +that Hermitage, positively niggardly. Let me take the hint: we had +one bottle to celebrate the appearance of our visionary fortune; +let us have a second to console us for its occultation. The third +I hereby dedicate to Jean-Marie's wedding breakfast.' + + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ. + + +THE Doctor's house has not yet received the compliment of a +description, and it is now high time that the omission were +supplied, for the house is itself an actor in the story, and one +whose part is nearly at an end. Two stories in height, walls of a +warm yellow, tiles of an ancient ruddy brown diversified with moss +and lichen, it stood with one wall to the street in the angle of +the Doctor's property. It was roomy, draughty, and inconvenient. +The large rafters were here and there engraven with rude marks and +patterns; the handrail of the stair was carved in countrified +arabesque; a stout timber pillar, which did duty to support the +dining-room roof, bore mysterious characters on its darker side, +runes, according to the Doctor; nor did he fail, when he ran over +the legendary history of the house and its possessors, to dwell +upon the Scandinavian scholar who had left them. Floors, doors, +and rafters made a great variety of angles; every room had a +particular inclination; the gable had tilted towards the garden, +after the manner of a leaning tower, and one of the former +proprietors had buttressed the building from that side with a great +strut of wood, like the derrick of a crane. Altogether, it had +many marks of ruin; it was a house for the rats to desert; and +nothing but its excellent brightness - the window-glass polished +and shining, the paint well scoured, the brasses radiant, the very +prop all wreathed about with climbing flowers - nothing but its air +of a well-tended, smiling veteran, sitting, crutch and all, in the +sunny corner of a garden, marked it as a house for comfortable +people to inhabit. In poor or idle management it would soon have +hurried into the blackguard stages of decay. As it was, the whole +family loved it, and the Doctor was never better inspired than when +he narrated its imaginary story and drew the character of its +successive masters, from the Hebrew merchant who had re-edified its +walls after the sack of the town, and past the mysterious engraver +of the runes, down to the long-headed, dirty-handed boor from whom +he had himself acquired it at a ruinous expense. As for any alarm +about its security, the idea had never presented itself. What had +stood four centuries might well endure a little longer. + +Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding and losing of +the treasure, the Desprez' had an anxiety of a very different +order, and one which lay nearer their hearts. Jean-Marie was +plainly not himself. He had fits of hectic activity, when he made +unusual exertions to please, spoke more and faster, and redoubled +in attention to his lessons. But these were interrupted by spells +of melancholia and brooding silence, when the boy was little better +than unbearable. + +'Silence,' the Doctor moralised - 'you see, Anastasie, what comes +of silence. Had the boy properly unbosomed himself, the little +disappointment about the treasure, the little annoyance about +Casimir's incivility, would long ago have been forgotten. As it +is, they prey upon him like a disease. He loses flesh, his +appetite is variable and, on the whole, impaired. I keep him on +the strictest regimen, I exhibit the most powerful tonics; both in +vain.' + +'Don't you think you drug him too much?' asked madame, with an +irrepressible shudder. + +'Drug?' cried the Doctor; 'I drug? Anastasie, you are mad!' + +Time went on, and the boy's health still slowly declined. The +Doctor blamed the weather, which was cold and boisterous. He +called in his CONFRERE from Bourron, took a fancy for him, +magnified his capacity, and was pretty soon under treatment himself +- it scarcely appeared for what complaint. He and Jean-Marie had +each medicine to take at different periods of the day. The Doctor +used to lie in wait for the exact moment, watch in hand. 'There is +nothing like regularity,' he would say, fill out the doses, and +dilate on the virtues of the draught; and if the boy seemed none +the better, the Doctor was not at all the worse. + +Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It was scowling, +squally weather. Huge broken companies of cloud sailed swiftly +overhead; raking gleams of sunlight swept the village, and were +followed by intervals of darkness and white, flying rain. At times +the wind lifted up its voice and bellowed. The trees were all +scourging themselves along the meadows, the last leaves flying like +dust. + +The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was in his element; he +had a theory to prove. He sat with his watch out and a barometer +in front of him, waiting for the squalls and noting their effect +upon the human pulse. 'For the true philosopher,' he remarked +delightedly, 'every fact in nature is a toy.' A letter came to +him; but, as its arrival coincided with the approach of another +gust, he merely crammed it into his pocket, gave the time to Jean- +Marie, and the next moment they were both counting their pulses as +if for a wager. + +At nightfall the wind rose into a tempest. It besieged the hamlet, +apparently from every side, as if with batteries of cannon; the +houses shook and groaned; live coals were blown upon the floor. +The uproar and terror of the night kept people long awake, sitting +with pallid faces giving ear. + +It was twelve before the Desprez family retired. By half-past one, +when the storm was already somewhat past its height, the Doctor was +awakened from a troubled slumber, and sat up. A noise still rang +in his ears, but whether of this world or the world of dreams he +was not certain. Another clap of wind followed. It was +accompanied by a sickening movement of the whole house, and in the +subsequent lull Desprez could hear the tiles pouring like a +cataract into the loft above his head. He plucked Anastasie bodily +out of bed. + +'Run!' he cried, thrusting some wearing apparel into her hands; +'the house is falling! To the garden!' + +She did not pause to be twice bidden; she was down the stair in an +instant. She had never before suspected herself of such activity. +The Doctor meanwhile, with the speed of a piece of pantomime +business, and undeterred by broken shins, proceeded to rout out +Jean-Marie, tore Aline from her virgin slumbers, seized her by the +hand, and tumbled downstairs and into the garden, with the girl +tumbling behind him, still not half awake. + +The fugitives rendezvous'd in the arbour by some common instinct. +Then came a bull's-eye flash of struggling moonshine, which +disclosed their four figures standing huddled from the wind in a +raffle of flying drapery, and not without a considerable need for +more. At the humiliating spectacle Anastasie clutched her +nightdress desperately about her and burst loudly into tears. The +Doctor flew to console her; but she elbowed him away. She +suspected everybody of being the general public, and thought the +darkness was alive with eyes. + +Another gleam and another violent gust arrived together; the house +was seen to rock on its foundation, and, just as the light was once +more eclipsed, a crash which triumphed over the shouting of the +wind announced its fall, and for a moment the whole garden was +alive with skipping tiles and brickbats. One such missile grazed +the Doctor's ear; another descended on the bare foot of Aline, who +instantly made night hideous with her shrieks. + +By this time the hamlet was alarmed, lights flashed from the +windows, hails reached the party, and the Doctor answered, nobly +contending against Aline and the tempest. But this prospect of +help only awakened Anastasie to a more active stage of terror. + +'Henri, people will be coming,' she screamed in her husband's ear. + +'I trust so,' he replied. + +'They cannot. I would rather die,' she wailed. + +'My dear,' said the Doctor reprovingly, 'you are excited. I gave +you some clothes. What have you done with them?' + +'Oh, I don't know - I must have thrown them away! Where are they?' +she sobbed. + +Desprez groped about in the darkness. 'Admirable!' he remarked; +'my grey velveteen trousers! This will exactly meet your +necessities.' + +'Give them to me!' she cried fiercely; but as soon as she had them +in her hands her mood appeared to alter - she stood silent for a +moment, and then pressed the garment back upon the Doctor. 'Give +it to Aline,' she said - 'poor girl.' + +'Nonsense!' said the Doctor. 'Aline does not know what she is +about. Aline is beside herself with terror; and at any rate, she +is a peasant. Now I am really concerned at this exposure for a +person of your housekeeping habits; my solicitude and your +fantastic modesty both point to the same remedy - the pantaloons.' +He held them ready. + +'It is impossible. You do not understand,' she said with dignity. + +By this time rescue was at hand. It had been found impracticable +to enter by the street, for the gate was blocked with masonry, and +the nodding ruin still threatened further avalanches. But between +the Doctor's garden and the one on the right hand there was that +very picturesque contrivance - a common well; the door on the +Desprez' side had chanced to be unbolted, and now, through the +arched aperture a man's bearded face and an arm supporting a +lantern were introduced into the world of windy darkness, where +Anastasie concealed her woes. The light struck here and there +among the tossing apple boughs, it glinted on the grass; but the +lantern and the glowing face became the centre of the world. +Anastasie crouched back from the intrusion. + +'This way!' shouted the man. 'Are you all safe?' Aline, still +screaming, ran to the new comer, and was presently hauled head- +foremost through the wall. + +'Now, Anastasie, come on; it is your turn,' said the husband. + +'I cannot,' she replied. + +'Are we all to die of exposure, madame?' thundered Doctor Desprez. + +'You can go!' she cried. 'Oh, go, go away! I can stay here; I am +quite warm.' + +The Doctor took her by the shoulders with an oath. + +'Stop!' she screamed. 'I will put them on.' + +She took the detested lendings in her hand once more; but her +repulsion was stronger than shame. 'Never!' she cried, shuddering, +and flung them far away into the night. + +Next moment the Doctor had whirled her to the well. The man was +there and the lantern; Anastasie closed her eyes and appeared to +herself to be about to die. How she was transported through the +arch she knew not; but once on the other side she was received by +the neighbour's wife, and enveloped in a friendly blanket. + +Beds were made ready for the two women, clothes of very various +sizes for the Doctor and Jean-Marie; and for the remainder of the +night, while madame dozed in and out on the borderland of +hysterics, her husband sat beside the fire and held forth to the +admiring neighbours. He showed them, at length, the causes of the +accident; for years, he explained, the fall had been impending; one +sign had followed another, the joints had opened, the plaster had +cracked, the old walls bowed inward; last, not three weeks ago, the +cellar door had begun to work with difficulty in its grooves. 'The +cellar!' he said, gravely shaking his head over a glass of mulled +wine. 'That reminds me of my poor vintages. By a manifest +providence the Hermitage was nearly at an end. One bottle - I lose +but one bottle of that incomparable wine. It had been set apart +against Jean-Marie's wedding. Well, I must lay down some more; it +will be an interest in life. I am, however, a man somewhat +advanced in years. My great work is now buried in the fall of my +humble roof; it will never be completed - my name will have been +writ in water. And yet you find me calm - I would say cheerful. +Can your priest do more?' + +By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth from the +fireside into the street. The wind had fallen, but still charioted +a world of troubled clouds; the air bit like frost; and the party, +as they stood about the ruins in the rainy twilight of the morning, +beat upon their breasts and blew into their hands for warmth. The +house had entirely fallen, the walls outward, the roof in; it was a +mere heap of rubbish, with here and there a forlorn spear of broken +rafter. A sentinel was placed over the ruins to protect the +property, and the party adjourned to Tentaillon's to break their +fast at the Doctor's expense. The bottle circulated somewhat +freely; and before they left the table it had begun to snow. + +For three days the snow continued to fall, and the ruins, covered +with tarpaulin and watched by sentries, were left undisturbed. The +Desprez' meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon's. +Madame spent her time in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, +with the admiring aid of Madame Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire +in thoughtful abstraction. The fall of the house affected her +wonderfully little; that blow had been parried by another; and in +her mind she was continually fighting over again the battle of the +trousers. Had she done right? Had she done wrong? And now she +would applaud her determination; and anon, with a horrid flush of +unavailing penitence, she would regret the trousers. No juncture +in her life had so much exercised her judgment. In the meantime +the Doctor had become vastly pleased with his situation. Two of +the summer boarders still lingered behind the rest, prisoners for +lack of a remittance; they were both English, but one of them spoke +French pretty fluently, and was, besides, a humorous, agile-minded +fellow, with whom the Doctor could reason by the hour, secure of +comprehension. Many were the glasses they emptied, many the topics +they discussed. + +'Anastasie,' the Doctor said on the third morning, 'take an example +from your husband, from Jean-Marie! The excitement has done more +for the boy than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with +positive gusto. As for me, you behold me. I have made friends +with the Egyptians; and my Pharaoh is, I swear it, a most agreeable +companion. You alone are hipped. About a house - a few dresses? +What are they in comparison to the "Pharmacopoeia" - the labour of +years lying buried below stones and sticks in this depressing +hamlet? The snow falls; I shake it from my cloak! Imitate me. +Our income will be impaired, I grant it, since we must rebuild; but +moderation, patience, and philosophy will gather about the hearth. +In the meanwhile, the Tentaillons are obliging; the table, with +your additions, will pass; only the wine is execrable - well, I +shall send for some to-day. My Pharaoh will be gratified to drink +a decent glass; aha! and I shall see if he possesses that acme of +organisation - a palate. If he has a palate, he is perfect.' + +'Henri,' she said, shaking her head, 'you are a man; you cannot +understand my feelings; no woman could shake off the memory of so +public a humiliation.' The Doctor could not restrain a titter. +'Pardon me, darling,' he said; 'but really, to the philosophical +intelligence, the incident appears so small a trifle. You looked +extremely well - ' + +'Henri!' she cried. + +'Well, well, I will say no more,' he replied. 'Though, to be sure, +if you had consented to indue - A PROPOS,' he broke off, 'and my +trousers! They are lying in the snow - my favourite trousers!' +And he dashed in quest of Jean-Marie. + +Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under +one arm and a curious sop of clothing under the other. + +The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands. 'They have been!' he +said. 'Their tense is past. Excellent pantaloons, you are no +more! Stay, something in the pocket,' and he produced a piece of +paper. 'A letter! ay, now I mind me; it was received on the +morning of the gale, when I was absorbed in delicate +investigations. It is still legible. From poor, dear Casimir! It +is as well,' he chuckled, 'that I have educated him to patience. +Poor Casimir and his correspondence - his infinitesimal, timorous, +idiotic correspondence!' + +He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he +bent himself to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his +brow. + +'BIGRE!' he cried, with a galvanic start. + +And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor's cap +was on his head in the turn of a hand. + +'Ten minutes! I can catch it, if I run,' he cried. 'It is always +late. I go to Paris. I shall telegraph.' + +'Henri! what is wrong?' cried his wife. + +'Ottoman Bonds!' came from the disappearing Doctor; and Anastasie +and Jean-Marie were left face to face with the wet trousers. +Desprez had gone to Paris, for the second time in seven years; he +had gone to Paris with a pair of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer, a +black blouse, a country nightcap, and twenty francs in his pocket. +The fall of the house was but a secondary marvel; the whole world +might have fallen and scarce left his family more petrified. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY. + + +ON the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a mere spectre of +himself, was brought back in the custody of Casimir. They found +Anastasie and the boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez, +who had exchanged his toilette for a ready-made rig-out of poor +materials, waved his hand as he entered, and sank speechless on the +nearest chair. Madame turned direct to Casimir. + +'What is wrong?' she cried. + +'Well,' replied Casimir, 'what have I told you all along? It has +come. It is a clean shave, this time; so you may as well bear up +and make the best of it. House down, too, eh? Bad luck, upon my +soul.' + +'Are we - are we - ruined?' she gasped. + +The Doctor stretched out his arms to her. 'Ruined,' he replied, +'you are ruined by your sinister husband.' + +Casimir observed the consequent embrace through his eyeglass; then +he turned to Jean-Marie. 'You hear?' he said. 'They are ruined; +no more pickings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes +me, my friend, that you had best be packing; the present +speculation is about worked out.' And he nodded to him meaningly. + +'Never!' cried Desprez, springing up. 'Jean-Marie, if you prefer +to leave me, now that I am poor, you can go; you shall receive your +hundred francs, if so much remains to me. But if you will consent +to stay ' - the Doctor wept a little - 'Casimir offers me a place - +as clerk,' he resumed. 'The emoluments are slender, but they will +be enough for three. It is too much already to have lost my +fortune; must I lose my son?' + +Jean-Marie sobbed bitterly, but without a word. + +'I don't like boys who cry,' observed Casimir. 'This one is always +crying. Here! you clear out of this for a little; I have business +with your master and mistress, and these domestic feelings may be +settled after I am gone. March!' and he held the door open. + +Jean-Marie slunk out, like a detected thief. + +By twelve they were all at table but Jean-Marie. + +'Hey?' said Casimir. 'Gone, you see. Took the hint at once.' + +'I do not, I confess,' said Desprez, 'I do not seek to excuse his +absence. It speaks a want of heart that disappoints me sorely.' + +'Want of manners,' corrected Casimir. 'Heart, he never had. Why, +Desprez, for a clever fellow, you are the most gullible mortal in +creation. Your ignorance of human nature and human business is +beyond belief. You are swindled by heathen Turks, swindled by +vagabond children, swindled right and left, upstairs and +downstairs. I think it must be your imagination. I thank my stars +I have none.' + +'Pardon me,' replied Desprez, still humbly, but with a return of +spirit at sight of a distinction to be drawn; 'pardon me, Casimir. +You possess, even to an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. +It was the lack of that in me - it appears it is my weak point - +that has led to these repeated shocks. By the commercial +imagination the financier forecasts the destiny of his investments, +marks the falling house - ' + +'Egad,' interrupted Casimir: 'our friend the stable-boy appears to +have his share of it.' + +The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was continued and finished +principally to the tune of the brother-in-law's not very +consolatory conversation. He entirely ignored the two young +English painters, turning a blind eyeglass to their salutations, +and continuing his remarks as if he were alone in the bosom of his +family; and with every second word he ripped another stitch out of +the air balloon of Desprez's vanity. By the time coffee was over +the poor Doctor was as limp as a napkin. + +'Let us go and see the ruins,' said Casimir. + +They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the house, like +the loss of a front tooth, had quite transformed the village. +Through the gap the eye commanded a great stretch of open snowy +country, and the place shrank in comparison. It was like a room +with an open door. The sentinel stood by the green gate, looking +very red and cold, but he had a pleasant word for the Doctor and +his wealthy kinsman. + +Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the quality of the +tarpaulin. 'H'm,' he said, 'I hope the cellar arch has stood. If +it has, my good brother, I will give you a good price for the +wines.' + +'We shall start digging to-morrow,' said the sentry. 'There is no +more fear of snow.' + +'My friend,' returned Casimir sententiously, 'you had better wait +till you get paid.' + +The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offensive brother-in-law +towards Tentaillon's. In the house there would be fewer auditors, +and these already in the secret of his fall. + +'Hullo!' cried Casimir, 'there goes the stable-boy with his +luggage; no, egad, he is taking it into the inn.' + +And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the snowy street and +enter Tentaillon's, staggering under a large hamper. + +The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope. + +'What can he have?' he said. 'Let us go and see.' And he hurried +on. + +'His luggage, to be sure,' answered Casimir. 'He is on the move - +thanks to the commercial imagination.' + +'I have not seen that hamper for - for ever so long,' remarked the +Doctor. + +'Nor will you see it much longer,' chuckled Casimir; 'unless, +indeed, we interfere. And by the way, I insist on an examination.' + +'You will not require,' said Desprez, positively with a sob; and, +casting a moist, triumphant glance at Casimir, he began to run. + +'What the devil is up with him, I wonder?' Casimir reflected; and +then, curiosity taking the upper hand, he followed the Doctor's +example and took to his heels. + +The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-Marie himself so little +and so weary, that it had taken him a great while to bundle it +upstairs to the Desprez' private room; and he had just set it down +on the floor in front of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and +was closely followed by the man of business. Boy and hamper were +both in a most sorry plight; for the one had passed four months +underground in a certain cave on the way to Acheres, and the other +had run about five miles as hard as his legs would carry him, half +that distance under a staggering weight. + +'Jean-Marie,' cried the Doctor, in a voice that was only too +seraphic to be called hysterical, 'is it - ? It is!' he cried. +'O, my son, my son!' And he sat down upon the hamper and sobbed +like a little child. + +'You will not go to Paris now,' said Jean-Marie sheepishly. + +'Casimir,' said Desprez, raising his wet face, 'do you see that +boy, that angel boy? He is the thief; he took the treasure from a +man unfit to be entrusted with its use; he brings it back to me +when I am sobered and humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits of +my Teaching, and this moment is the Reward of my Life.' + +'TIENS,' said Casimir. + + +Footnotes: + +(1) Boggy. + +(2) Clock + +(3) Enjoy. + +(4) To come forrit - to offer oneself as a communicant. + +(5) It was a common belief in Scotland that the devil appeared as a +black man. This appears in several witch trials and I think in +Law's MEMORIALS, that delightful store-house of the quaint and +grisly. + +(6) Let it be so, for my tale! + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg eText The Merry Men +by Robert Louis Stevenson + diff --git a/old/mrmen10.zip b/old/mrmen10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4510dc7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mrmen10.zip |