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diff --git a/42751-8.txt b/42751-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6186c10..0000000 --- a/42751-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4465 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. II of 3), by Richard Dowling - -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: Tempest-Driven (Vol. II of 3) - A Romance - -Author: Richard Dowling - -Release Date: May 20, 2013 [EBook #42751] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEMPEST-DRIVEN (VOL. II OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://archive.org/details/tempestdrivenrom03dowl - (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign) - - - - - - - TEMPEST-DRIVEN - - - - - - TEMPEST-DRIVEN - - A Romance. - - - - - BY - - RICHARD DOWLING, - - AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE WEIRD SISTERS," - "THE SPORT OF FATE," "UNDER ST. PAUL'S," "THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART," - "SWEET INISFAIL," "THE HIDDEN FLAME," ETC. - - - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_. - - VOL. II. - - - - - - LONDON: - TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND. - 1886. - - [_All rights reserved_.] - - - - - - - CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, - CRYSTAL PLACE PRESS. - - - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - -AFTER TEN YEARS. - - - CHAPTER XIX. - -SEEING NOT BELIEVING. - - - CHAPTER XX. - -TOLD BY GORMAN. - - - CHAPTER XXI. - -THE SEA. - - - CHAPTER XXII. - -THE ROCK. - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE HOME OF THE MONSTER. - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - -KILCASH. - - - CHAPTER XXV. - -THE "BLUE ANCHOR." - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - -ON THE CLIFF. - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE MONSTER LET LOOSE. - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - -A NIGHT TRAVELLER. - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - -DULWICH AGAIN. - - - CHAPTER XXX. - -ANOTHER VISITOR. - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - -"I HAVE BEEN ALWAYS ALONE." - - - - - - - TEMPEST-TOSSED. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - AFTER TEN YEARS. - - -Jerry O'Brien's words had been no sooner uttered than he saw how -foolishly injudicious they were. In the excitement of the moment he -had forgotten what ought to have been uppermost in his thoughts--the -condition of his friend. - -He rang the bell. In a few seconds Madge entered the room. He briefly -explained what had occurred, and then set off to summon Dr. Santley. - -The doctor looked grave, and hurried back to Carlingford House. Here -he stayed an hour, and left with gloomy looks and words. A relapse was -possible, and a great delay to convalescence certain. There was -danger, serious danger of the patient's life. - -Jerry O'Brien was in despair. He had the greatest affection for -Alfred, and he was in love with Alfred's sister. Yes, he might as well -confess the matter boldly to himself; plain-looking, gentle, cheerful -Madge was worth more to him than all the rest of the girls in the -world put together. And here his impetuous rashness had brought her -brother to death's door. Curses on his rashness! - -Santley said he was by no means to see Alfred again that day, or until -he got formal leave to do so. He would give no opinion as -to the ultimate course of the disease; but there was cause for -anxiety--great anxiety. - -Jerry took his leave of the house with a heavy heart. He was quite -alone in the world, and since he lost his mother, now years ago, he -had known no trouble so trying as this. He told himself over and over -again that all would yet be well with Alfred. In vain! His heart would -not be comforted; his mind would not abide in peace. - -When he got into town, he did not know where to turn. The idea of -going to the club under the unpleasant circumstances was out of the -question. Walking about alone was dull work. He did not care to call -on any friend, and the notion of spending the evening at a place of -entertainment was simply monstrous. There seemed to be nothing else -for it but to go home, and that was a stupid programme enough. - -Jerry had lodgings in Cecil Street, Strand, and thither he went. He -let himself in with a latchkey, and walked upstairs in the gathering -gloom of a late February afternoon. His rooms were on the second -floor. He entered the one looking out on the street, and lit the lamp -deliberately. There were two reasons for his proceeding slowly. In the -first place, it was not yet quite dark; in the second, deliberation -killed time, and he had nothing to do between that hour and to-morrow -morning, when he should call to know how Alfred was. - -"Killing time," he thought, "is, when one is anxious, an excellent -though slow way of killing one's self." - -He pulled down the blinds, drew the curtains, and roused up the -smouldering fire; then, with a heavy sigh, he threw himself into an -easy-chair, and looked indolently, discontentedly around. - -The room at best was not very cheering or elegant. The house was old, -the room low, the furniture heavy, by no means fresh, and far from -new. The table on which the lamp stood had a staring crimson cover. -This was a recent and outrageous addition to the chromatic elements of -the place. Until that afternoon the cover had been of a dim, nameless -green, quite inoffensive, except for motley stains. - -In his present state of mind, this cover felt like an insult, and he -rose quickly, and, having lifted the lamp, flung the obnoxious cover -into a corner, and was about to sit down again, when his eyes caught -sight of a letter lying on the carpet at his feet. - -He stooped and picked it up. - -"A letter from O'Hanlon, and a fat letter, too! What can it be, now? -Nothing more about those weirs and the commissioners, I hope. Well, -even the weirs and the commissioners in moderation would be better -than dwelling on this wretched business about poor Alfred." - -He broke the cover, sat down, and began to read a long and -closely-written letter in a clerks hand. It was signed in a different -hand "John O'Hanlon," and from a printed chaplet in the corner it -appeared John O'Hanlon was a solicitor residing at Kilbarry. - -Jerry O'Brien read on resolutely. The only sign he gave of -perturbation while mastering the eight pages he held in his hand was -now and then crossing, uncrossing, and recrossing his legs. When he -came to the end he threw the letter from him with an exclamation of -annoyance and disgust. Then he sat awhile motionless, with his elbow -resting on the table, his cheek on his hand, and his eyebrows drawn -low down over his eyes. At last he muttered: - -"It is my unfortunate weirs again--or, rather, it is the weirs of -unfortunate me. They'll end by tearing up my weirs and leaving me to -graze on the parish. I'll make a nice pauper--splendid! I don't think -paupers have numbers like convicts; but if they have, I shall be -number naught, naught, naught recurring. Confound those commissioners -eternally! Obstruct the navigation of the Bawn! My salmon weirs -obstruct as much the navigation of the Bawn as they do of the -Euphrates or the Mississippi! If I had my will, these infernal, -meddling commissioners would be drowned first in the Euphrates and -then in the Mississippi, after which I'd give them a roasting alive in -Vesuvius for a change. This will take eight hundred a year out of my -pocket, and hand it over to--the Atlantic, and parts adjacent! That's -a nice way to help a struggling country!" - -He paused for a while, and began walking up and down the room hastily, -angrily. Presently his thoughts took another turn. - -"It's fortunate I said nothing to Madge. She must know by this time -how I feel towards her, and I don't think her people would have any -objection if this infernal affair was not hanging over me. But I could -not speak to her father if I had to say: 'Will you, sir, be good -enough to bring your daughter over to Kilbarry, and see her married to -me in the poor-house?' It would not look swell. Not a bit of it! Why, -'twould look quite squalid and ungenteel. Never mind, Madge. I'll -fight them, darling, to the last. I won't leave a stone unturned, and -every one I turn I'll fling at these rapacious fools." - -He paused in his walk at the table. - -He took up the letter again and looked at the end of it. - -"He says I must go over at once--that I must start to-night. That's -peremptory and but short notice. Never mind; it may be all for the -best. I know the people at Dulwich will not think I am running away -from them after bringing this fresh trouble upon them. They are the -most generous people in the world. My honour is perfectly safe with -them. I have plenty of time to catch the mail. This letter must have -come at noon, and fallen off the table. I'll write a letter to -Carlingford House explaining matters, and then when I have packed a -portmanteau I shall be all right for the road." He sang in a low -voice: - - - "With my pistols cocked, and a kind good-night, - Then hurrah, hurrah for the road!" - - -Adding: "I wish to heavens the days were not gone for 'pistols cocked' -and 'the road.' Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to bag -these accursed commissioners on the road, or in the water, or on the -wing. Unfortunately, 'old times are changed, old manners gone,' as the -poet says, and shooting even ruffianly commissioners is against the -law of the land, or the sea, or the air." - -He got writing materials, gave Mr. Paulton a short account of the -reason for his unexpected departure from London; then he ordered his -dinner, packed his portmanteau, ate his dinner, and caught the mail -train for Holyhead easily. - -He slept half the way from Euston to Holyhead, and nearly all the way -from Holyhead to Kingstown. In Dublin, at an hotel close to the -Westland Row Station, he got his breakfast, and then drove to -Kingsbridge, where he booked and took train for Kilbarry, an important -town in the south of Ireland. - -A railway journey in the early part of the year from Dublin to the -south of Ireland is far from exhilarating. Half the way may be -performed at a fair, but the second half is done at a funereal pace. -The country looks damp, and is ill-clad with trees. It has not yet -donned its summer vesture of astonishing green. The towns are small, -far apart, and generally invisible from the train. Few people are on -the platforms, and the stations of even important towns are paltry and -forlorn. There are occasionally lovely mountains and pastoral streams, -but the whole effect is dulling, depressing, from the absence of trees -and the melancholy thinness of the population. It is a country empty -of its children, and desolate at the loss of them. - -Jerry O'Brien was of a mercurial nature, and when he was down he was -at zero, and when up, at boiling. This last stage of his journey -plunged him into the profoundest gloom. Overhead there was a sick, -watery sun, which gave a feeble white glare more dejecting than a pall -of thunder cloud. Tobacco was powerless to ameliorate the chill -influence of that changing landscape. He tried to read a newspaper, -but found he could not fix his attention on one word of what he read. -After ascertaining there was nothing in it about Fishery -Commissioners, he gave it up as a bad job, and laid it with -resignation on the rug which covered his knees. - -When he arrived at Kilbarry he was in the lowest and most desponding -state of mind. He was firmly persuaded that nothing could save his -weirs, and was almost convinced that the first news he should hear was -that his weirs had been destroyed, and that the commissioners had -resolved to lynch him if they could lay hands on him before he died of -hunger. - -He left the station in an omnibus and drove along the mile of broad -quays beside the noble river Bawn to the "Munster Hotel." Here the -prospect was more cheering than on the bleak, cold journey down. The -river was thick with shipping; the quays noisy with traffic; the -stores, warehouses, wharfs, and shops alive with people. Sailing -vessels were discharging corn and coal, and steamers taking in cattle, -and cases of eggs, and bales of bacon, and firkins of butter. Here the -stream of humanity was vivid and strong. Moderate prosperity asserted -its presence blithely. The weather had cleared and brightened, and the -sun hung in the clear western air, a pale golden shield of light. - -O'Brien was well known at "The Munster," and as he went up the steps -of the hotel, was greeted cordially by the cheerful landlord and a few -loungers with whom he was acquainted. He did not see a trace of the -hated Fishery Commissioners, and by the time he had eaten a light -luncheon, he began to think they were little more than an amiable -fiction of a jovial Government. No one he met seemed to think his -fortunes were in peril. The manners of John, the old waiter, were -respectful and joyous as though the traveller had just returned from -far distant lands, after an absence of many years, to enter into -possession of a princely patrimony. - -There was no time to be lost if he wanted to catch his solicitor, -O'Hanlon, at the office. Accordingly he set off at once in that -direction, and, having gone through two or three streets, found -himself in the presence of his legal adviser, agent, and friend all in -one. - -John O'Hanlon was a man past middle life, tall, a little stooped in -the shoulders, black-haired, neither fat nor lean, dark, ruddy, with -whiskers just tinged with gray, loud-voiced, and aggressive in manner, -and owning a pair of enormous brown hands. One of the peculiarities of -O'Hanlon was that no matter how well prepared he might be for the -advent of any one who came to him he was always at that moment busy, -or about to be busy, with something or somebody else. - -As the young man entered the private office of the solicitor the -latter rose hastily, pointed to a chair, and said rapidly: - -"A minute, O'Brien--a minute. Sit down. I want to tell Gorman -something." - -Gorman was the head clerk--a red-haired, restless little man, who was -always to be found in the front office, and who never seemed to -have anything more important to do than lean against the folded -window-shutter and look out into the street, but who was reputed to -be more wily than any two fully sworn-in attorneys in Kilbarry. - -After a short absence, O'Hanlon came back. - -"My dear O'Brien, I'm delighted to see you." - -He took both his client's hands, and shook them most cordially. He had -the reputation of being the most insincere man you could meet on a -summer's day; but no one had ever been able to point out any one act -of insincerity in his conduct. - -"I got your letter," said O'Brien, after replying to the greetings of -the other, "and here I am. I came post-haste." - -"Right, right, my boy! Those rascally commissioners will be the death -of me. They'll be the death of every man in the neighbourhood who -takes an interest in salmon, except the net men." - -"Well, what is it this time? The same old story, as well as I could -gather from your letter." - -"The same old story over again. The same old three-and-fourpence--(a -professional sum, which, I am sorry to see, has grown into a saying, -although a colourless and unmeaning saying). The facts are these." - -Here the solicitor gave a long and energetic account of the vile -proceedings of these rascally commissioners, and wound up by saying -that they hadn't a leg to stand on, and that "we" were sure to win in -the long run, but that to insure success it was absolutely necessary -for O'Brien to be in town or within very easy call for a month or two, -as petitions and declarations and so-ons had to be considered, drawn -up, and attended to generally and particularly. - -When Jerry heard the whole state of affairs, he felt considerably -relieved on the score of his salmon weirs on the lower Bawn. Upon -telling this to his friend, the latter became hilarious, slapped Jerry -on the back, and said that he'd prove the commissioners were the -greatest fools in Ireland, and, moreover, make them confess it -themselves in their own little dirty hole-and-corner court. - -These and other gallant words and brave assurances served to put Jerry -in good spirits, and when he rose to leave he was as buoyant as though -he already held the proofs of triumph in his hand. - -As he was about to quit the office, O'Hanlon took him by the hand, and -mysteriously said: - -"You were in London while that Davenport inquest was going on?" - -"Yes." - -"Do you know anything about it?" - -O'Brien's good spirits instantly took flight. - -"Too much! I know everything about it." - -"You read a good report of the inquest?" - -"No; I was at the inquest." - -"Ah-h!" It was a long-drawn, deep breath. The eyes of the solicitor -became suddenly introspective, and he lolled his head over his right -shoulder as if in deep thought. "Why did you attend that inquest?" - -"Well, for two reasons. First, I, as you of course know, was -acquainted with the Davenports; and second, because the dearest friend -I have in London was greatly interested in Mrs. Davenport. It's a long -story." - -"Is it? Ah-h! I am greatly interested in that story too." - -"Are you? Why? I didn't think you knew the Davenports." - -The solicitor straightened his head on his shoulders. His eyes were -still turned inward. - -"You are right so far. I did not know the Davenports. But do you -remember a client of mine named Michael Fahey--commonly called Mike -Fahey!" - -"Let me see. That's a good while ago?" - -"Ten or eleven years ago," said the solicitor, shaking his head in -accord with his private thoughts rather than with his words. - -"I do. He was drowned near Kilcash, wasn't he?" - -"At the Black Rock." - -"An awful death. I never think of any one being drowned there without -shuddering. Wasn't there something wrong with that man--that client of -yours?" - -"Yes. The police were after him." - -"Why do you speak of him now?" - -"Don't you remember that when seen by the police who were in chase he -was in the neighbourhood of Davenport's house, and that he ran like a -madman until he got to the Black Rock, and then threw himself in?" - -"Yes; it makes my flesh creep," said O'Brien, with a shiver. - -"He left some documents in my possession. They are in my possession -yet. They show he had some connection with Davenport. I had forgotten -all about it until----" - -The solicitor paused, and suddenly the eyes, which had been so long -turned inward, flashed out their light, and blazed into those of the -young man standing opposite. - -O'Brien started back in vague dread. - -"Until when?" he asked, in a low, constrained voice. - -"Until this day week." - -"And then"--O'Hanlon's eyes dilated--"I saw----" - -"In the name of Heaven, what?" - -"His ghost." - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - SEEING NOT BELIEVING. - - -For a moment the young man looked at the other in amazement and doubt. -But it was impossible to resist for any great length of time the -conviction that O'Hanlon had spoken sincerely. O'Hanlon himself looked -troubled, scared, affrighted, as though scarcely able, and wholly -unwilling, to believe his own words. O'Brien was the first to recover -his composure. - -"I will not," he said, "question what you say; I will go so far as to -assure you I am fully convinced you saw the ghost of that unhappy man. -You want me to tell you a story which, as I said, is a long one, and I -want you to tell me your story at length. Dine with me at 'The -Munster' this evening at seven, and we can chat the matter over." - -The reference to the hotel and dinner drew the mind of the lawyer back -once more into its ordinary groove. With a shrug of his shoulders and -a forced laugh, he said: - -"Right--you are right, O'Brien. This is not a good time or place for -our little private theatricals. I'll join you with pleasure at seven. -Here I have been holding you, which is an assault, and detaining you -against your will, which is false imprisonment--both punishable by -law. I ought to be too old a stager to be guilty of either offence. -But I cry mercy, and will do my best to wash away my offences in your -claret this evening. Till then, adieu." - -So they parted. - -O'Brien resolved to stroll about until it was time for dinner. He knew -every street, almost every house in Kilbarry. He had lived in the -neighbourhood the most part of his life. He had no relative alive, nor -any place he could call home. When in this neighbourhood he usually -stopped at "The Munster"; but of late years he had spent much of his -time in London. He owned the land close to which his salmon weirs -stood on the Bawn; but there was no house for him on them--only a few -rude, primitive farmers' houses. - -He was now thirty years of age, and had been a rover most of his life. -He had always made it a point to spend a month or two of the summer at -Kilcash, a sea-bathing and fishing village ten miles by road from -Kilbarry. Here it was that he learned what he knew of the Davenports, -for Mr. Davenport's place, Kilcash House, was only a mile inland from -the village whose name it bore. He had been personally acquainted with -the Davenports, and had often seen them, and knew all about them. - -O'Hanlon's words, now that he was from under the influence of the -manner which accompanied them, filled him with wonder more than -anything else. He was only nineteen or twenty at the time that man -Fahey was drowned--or, rather, committed suicide--and he could not -recall all the particulars of the case. When it occurred, he had been -living with his widowed mother at Kilbarry, and had not, like other -young men of the city, gone out to the scene of the tragedy. He knew -every nook of the coast for miles around Kilcash. It was a bold, bad, -rock-bound coast save at the village, where there was a bay and a -strand fatal to ships. He remembered that, from the first news of -Fahey's death, there had not been the least hope of recovering the -man's body. It was a tradition of the coast that the body of no one -who had been drowned there was ever recovered. Who or what Fahey was -he did not know, and so he resolved to banish the subject from his -mind until O'Hanlon reopened it that evening. - -The great feature of this day was O'Hanlon's assurance that his weirs -would not be torn up. If that were true, and Alfred Paulton recovered, -then he would have to think of building a house somewhere near the -weirs for--Madge. - -He got back to the hotel a little before seven, and wrote a letter to -Mr. Paulton, announcing his safe arrival, asking for news of Alfred, -and sending his kindest regards to the others in the order of their -seniority. It was a little comfort to be able to send even kind -regards to Madge through her father. But if he had the commissioners -by the collective throat at that moment, he could have throttled them -with great comfort to himself, and an assured consciousness that he -was a benefactor to mankind. - -Seven o'clock brought O'Hanlon and the dinner. The latter was served -in a small, snug, private room overlooking the broad white river. When -at length they were alone and had lighted their cigars, the guest -reverted to the Davenport affair, and asked for the full and true -history of the case as far as it was known to Jerry. - -Then O'Hanlon's turn came: - -"Since I saw you I have hunted up and glanced over the documents left -in my hands by the dead man Fahey. They are, I find, unintelligible, -as far as my lights now lead me, and I think we may dismiss them from -our minds for the present. I shall, however, keep them safe. I will -say nothing more of them than that in whatever portions of them Mr. -Davenport is mentioned, they always speak of him in terms of gratitude -and respect. It is plain that at one time the relations between these -two men were very close, but of the nature of these relations there is -no hint. At the time of the death of Fahey he had been hovering about -Kilcash for months. No one exactly knew who or what he was. He had -taken a mean lodging in the village, and given out that he was poor, -and had been ordered to the seaside for his health, and recommended to -get as much sea air and boating as possible. He often went out with -the fishermen, and at last bought a small punt, a mere cockleshell, -and kept it for his own exclusive use. In this he put off at all times -of the day and night, and the fishermen predicted that he would be -drowned some time or other; and so he was, but not in the way -anticipated by the people of the village. They made sure his boat -would be swamped one day, and that would be the end of him. An -additional reason for their fears was that he never swam, and said he -was too old to learn. - -"On the day of his death he was followed from a distance by two -policemen in plain clothes. They watched him leave the cottage in -which he lived at Kilcash, take to the downs, and make straight for -Kilcash House. They were not able to get near him until he had just -gained the house. He then became aware that he was followed, and ran -straight for the cliffs. The rest I have already told you. There never -was an inquest, for, as you may know, the bodies of people drowned -there are never found. - -"A week ago I was in the neighbourhood of Kilcash House. I had left my -horse and car at Kilcash, and was walking over the downs to the -village, when on the cliffs, just over the Black Rock, I cast my eyes -down, and there, on that large shelf of rock, as plain as I see you -now, I saw him. The same coat, the same Scotch bonnet, the same -trousers--not a thing altered since the first day he stood in my -office, going on eleven years ago." - -"What time of the day was it?" - -"Broad day. About three o'clock in the afternoon." - -"It must have been some one of about his stature dressed identically." - -"Must it?" cried the lawyer, scornfully. "You have not heard all yet. -I made up my mind to be sure. I ran--I _ran_ to the top of the path, -and went down to the rocks below. There was nobody there. You know the -place. Tell me how a living man could get away alive, except up the -path that I went down? It was Michael Fahey's ghost, as sure as I am a -living man." - -"I confess," said Jerry, in perplexity, "I cannot explain away what -you say, except upon the supposition that you were suffering from -delusion. How do you account for the appearance yourself?" - -"This is my way of reasoning it out. I either saw the ghost of Michael -Fahey or I did not. If I did, I account for it by the fact that -Davenport and he were associated together in something while they were -alive, and now that both are dead, one of them has to come back and -see that something left undone--a wrong unrighted, a debt unpaid, an -explanation unmade--is put straight." - -"But why should the one be Fahey? And why should it be at the Black -Rock? And why should he appear to you?" - -"The first, because I had nothing to do with Mr. Davenport; the -second, because seeing Fahey's ghost there would recall to my mind -most vividly the circumstance of his death; and the third, because I -hold the documents to which I have referred." - -"But don't you think the fact of Davenport's name having been brought -before the public so lately, and that you recollected the documents -you held belonging to Fahey, and that you looked over the cliff at the -very spot where he lost his life, may all have helped to impose upon -your imagination?" - -"Sir, an attorney of my years does not know the meaning of the word -imagination. You may say I am mad if you like, but don't attribute -imagination to me, or I shall break down altogether. O'Brien, do you -mean to say seriously that you take me for a crazy young poet? Great -heavens, sir, it can't have come to that with me in my declining -years!" - -"But, then, what did you see?" - -"A ghost--Fahey's ghost." - -"You don't mean to tell me seriously you believe in ghosts!" - -"I mean to tell you most emphatically I do not." - -"Then what is your contention?" - -"That I, being one who does not believe in ghosts, saw the ghost of -Michael Fahey this day week at the Black Rock." - -"I can make nothing of your position." - -"I can make nothing of my position either. I am beginning to think I -shall lose my reason. You are the first person I spoke to on the -subject. Don't say anything about it to a soul. I have no wife to blab -to, and I look on you as a friend. I had hoped you would have brought -me news from London--some facts not published in the papers, and -bearing on this branch of the case. But you haven't. If you let this -get abroad, some of my _kind_ friends will get me locked up. I got old -Coolahan locked up because he kept on saying that farthings were as -valuable as sovereigns because they had the Queen's head on them." - -O'Brien was sorely puzzled. It did not now look like a matter which -ought to be laughed at. Either O'Hanlon had seen the ghost of this -man, or he was losing his reason. There was one other possibility. He -said: "I am not going to make light of what you have told me, or -communicate it to a soul. There is one other question--a wild one, I -own. I wonder have you thought of it?" - -"What is it? If you have thought of anything which has escaped me, you -are a very Daniel come to judgment." - -"Could it be that man was not really drowned ten or eleven years ago? -Either the police may have been mistaken in their man, and the wrong -man may have leaped into the hole, or Fahey may have leaped in and by -some miracle escaped." - -"Yes, I have thought of both possibilities. The only answer will -dispose of both. The clothes seen ten or eleven, years ago, and those -seen this day week, were identical." - -"What! You identify them?" - -"Yes, if"--with a shudder--"those of last week could be produced and -handled. O'Brien, I'm not afraid of ghosts, but I begin to be afraid -of myself, now that I have begun to see them." - -"But after such a lapse of time, and at a long distance, as from the -top of the cliff to the plain of rock below. It must be a hundred -feet." - -"It is a hundred and twenty feet from the brow of the cliff to where -the cliff meets the sloping rock, and the figure was about one hundred -and seventy or eighty feet from the base. I measured both roughly. -That gives between seventy and eighty yards from my eye. Now, ten -years ago, and this day week, the colour, cut, and material of the -coat and trousers were identical, and both times there was a circular -green patch on the right elbow of the coat, about the size of my palm; -and both times the right leg of the trousers had evidently been torn -up as high as the knee-joint behind, and rudely stitched by an -unskilful hand. I'm not," he said, looking timidly around, "afraid of -ghosts, but I am of men. Keep my secret, O'Brien, if you care for me." - -"You may swear by me. By-the-way, I have more time than you. Let me -see those documents you have, and I'll try if I can puzzle anything -out of them." - -"With the greatest pleasure and thankfulness." - -And so the two parted. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - TOLD BY GORMAN. - - -The documents Jerry O'Brien found in his hand were four in number. He -read them all hastily first, and then went over them carefully word by -word. When he examined them next day, they proved in substance or text -to be as follows: - -No. 1. A will dated about eleven years back, by which he left all -property of any kind of which he might die possessed to Mrs. -Davenport, wife of his good friend Louis Davenport. He explained that -he would have left his property to Mr. Davenport himself, but that so -well did he know the depth of affection between Mr. Davenport and his -wife, that the surest way to make a bequest acceptable to the former, -was to leave it to the latter. The bequest was accompanied by no -conditions, and the will wound up with a hope that Mr. and Mrs. -Davenport might live long and happy lives. - -To the will was affixed a piece of paper, on which appeared in the -handwriting of O'Hanlon, the solicitor, this comment: - - -Note.--There being no trace of property or relatives of deceased, -nothing could be done. I sent my clerk to Mr. Davenport to make some -inquiries, but could learn nothing except that deceased was an -eccentric friend of Mr. Davenport, and that as far as he (Davenport) -knew, deceased had neither relatives nor property. - -This was signed "John O'Hanlon." - - -No. II. This was half a sheet of note-paper partly covered by writing -not nearly so regular or well-formed as the will. To judge by the -handwriting of No. III., it was the manuscript of Michael Fahey. It -ran thus: - - -Memorandum.--Rise 15·6 lowest. At lowest minute of lowest forward with -all might undaunted. The foregoing refers to _skulls_. With only one -_skull_ any lowest or any last quarter; but great forward pluck -required for this. In both cases (of course!) left. - - -No. III. was a letter of instructions from Fahey to O'Hanlon in the -handwriting of Fahey. It was as follows: - - -"Dear Sir, - -"I leave with you my will and three other papers. In case of anything -happening to me, please read the will and put it in force. But if -between this and then you hear nothing more from me, it will not be -worth while taking any trouble in the matter. The 'Memorandum' is to -be kept by you for me. In case I should absent myself from the -neighbourhood for any length of time do not be uneasy, as I am much -abroad. If I am away fifteen years, you may hand all these to my -friend, Mr. Davenport, but not till fifteen years have passed without -my return to the neighbourhood. - - "Yours truly, - - "Michael Fahey." - - -No. IV. was merely a long, narrow, slip of paper, bearing the -following: - - -"Dear Mr. Davenport, - -"Time has swallowed me, and everything connected with me. I hope when -you receive this you will have forgotten I ever existed. I leave all -the documents I own with Mr. O'Hanlon for you. - - "Always most faithfully yours, - - "Michael Fahey." - - -These did not throw a great flood of light on the subject. In fact, -they did not help him to see an inch further than he had seen before. -It was plain on the face of it that there must have been some kind of -connection between this Fahey and the Davenports; but what the nature -of that connection was there was no clue to. He had no particular -interest in the mystery, if it could be said to reach the dignity of a -mystery. He was a kind of indifferent centre in the events. He had -known the Davenports and O'Hanlon for years, and now by a strange -coincidence, or rather a series of coincidences, the Davenports, -O'Hanlon, the Paultons, Fahey, and himself had all been drawn -together. - -He shook himself and tried to argue himself into indifference, but -failed. He told himself the whole matter was nothing in the world to -him, and that, in fact, there was nothing particular in it to engage -attention. - -What were the facts? - -Mr. Davenport had, under acute mental excitement, committed suicide -after an interview with Tom Blake. He had left two documents -respecting that act. Both of these documents were written in pencil, -and on leaves of his pocket-book. One of these memoranda said he, -Davenport, had committed suicide. The other accused Blake of -poisoning, murdering him. Every one except Edward Davenport credited -the former statement. Blake had formerly been Mrs. Davenport's lover, -and might love her even still. Blake had got a thousand pounds years -ago from the deceased for giving up his pretensions to that lady's -hand. Blake had long been abroad; turned up unexpectedly at -Davenport's house in London the first night the latter was in London, -and the night of his death. Blake gets a hundred pounds from -Davenport, and a promise of a further hundred in a few days. - -What was this money given for? Not, of course, with the old object. It -did not come out at the inquest or elsewhere that the dead man had -been in the least jealous of his wife. She had not seen Blake for a -good while before her husband's death. Blake had been some years on -the Continent, without visiting the United Kingdom. It was -discreditable, but intelligible, that when the dead man was an elderly -and unfavoured lover he should buy off his rival; but it would be -absurd to suppose that ten or eleven years after marriage any man -would continue to pay considerable sums of money to a former rival for -absolutely nothing. Such an act would be that of a coward and a fool, -and the dead man had been neither. - -For what, then, had Davenport given this money to Blake? The latter -said the interview between the two had been of a pleasant character. -Why? Blake was disreputable, and Davenport eminently respectable. It -was absurd to suppose Davenport could have had a liking for Blake. -Taking that thousand pounds years ago must have destroyed any good -opinion Davenport had of Blake. Why, then, had the latter been -received well and been given money? He had not only been received well -and given money, but invited to dinner on a later date! It was simply -incredible that out of gratitude for that service rendered long ago in -Florence, Davenport was going to forget that this man had been his -rival, and invite him to his house and a necessary meeting with his -beautiful wife. - -O'Brien did not for a moment suspect the widow and her former admirer -of perjury, of concocting their stories. These stories were not at all -calculated to exculpate either of the two. In fact, these stories, -uncorroborated by the evidence obtained at the _post-mortem_ -examination, would have heightened suspicion rather than allayed it. -At first these stories seemed prodigal in daring, but this very excess -of apparent improbability made them seem most probable when read by -the light of Davenport's written confession. No, there was no reason -to suspect perjury. - -He could make nothing of it so far. But did those documents of Fahey's -aid one towards a solution? He could not see how they bore on the case -one way or the other, and yet the coincidences were remarkable. He had -seen Blake in London the day of the night on which Davenport died. -When Alfred Paulton told him what had happened at Crescent House, he -came to the conclusion Blake was in some way or other mixed up in the -matter. This conclusion turned out right, although not exactly in the -way he had expected. Now upon his coming back to Kilbarry he is met by -a still more remarkable story. A man whom O'Hanlon knew ten or eleven -years ago, and was then drowned at the hideous Black Rock, appears to -O'Hanlon in the same spot and same clothes as he had been last seen -alive in. It seemed as if he, O'Brien, were destined to be connected -with the Davenport affair whether he would or not. Alfred Paulton was -the greatest friend he had in London, and John O'Hanlon was the best -friend he had in Kilbarry. He knew Blake by appearance and report, and -he was acquainted with the Davenports; and here were all mixed up in -the same matter in more or less degree, and all in a disagreeable way. -It was the smallest of small worlds. He had no particular reason for -being interested in the complication; and, indeed, except for the -extraordinary statement made by O'Hanlon, the incident might be said -to be closed, were it not that he was not quite sure whether Alfred -Paulton--whom he hoped one day to have for a brother-in-law--had got -over the fascination exercised on him by that beautiful woman. Any -way, he had nothing particular to do now but fight those rascally -commissioners; so he'd just glance over these documents again, and see -if he could make anything out of them. - -With a sigh, he put them away a second time. He might as well look for -help to the stars. He would call at O'Hanlon's to-day and ask was -there any news. - -He found Mr. Gorman, head clerk to O'Hanlon, leaning against his -favourite shutter with his hands in his trousers' pockets, placidly -regarding through the window a tattered, battered, and wholly -miserable-looking man of between sixty and seventy, who was playing -"The Young May Moon," atrociously out of tune and out of time, on a -penny tin whistle. - -"Well," said O'Brien, briskly to Gorman, "any news?" - -"Not a blessed word," answered the clerk, resting his back against the -shutter instead of his shoulder, and so facing the visitor. "I suppose -you came over about your weirs? Deuced bother, Mr. O'Brien!" - -"It is an infernal nuisance. Do you know, Mr. Gorman, I think half the -people who ought to be hanged are never even brought to trial." - -"These Fishery Commissioners don't murder any one but fisheries and -the proprietors of fisheries, and there is no precedent for hanging a -man merely because he killed a fishery or the proprietor of a fishery. -However, Mr. O'Brien, you need not be afraid. Your weirs are as safe -as the Rock of Cashel. I often wonder why they call a rock a rock. -It's about the last thing that would think of rocking, and the sea, -which is the best rocker out, can't stir a rock that's in good wind -and form. It would take the Atlantic a month of Sundays to rock the -Black Rock, for instance, at Kilcash." - -The mention of the Black Rock made O'Brien start slightly, for it was -in the rock that famous and treacherous Hole yawned and breathed -dismay and destruction. It was odd Gorman should mention the rock -which had occupied such a prominent place in his thoughts that -forenoon. - -"It's strange," said O'Brien, walking over to the window, and placing -himself against the shutter opposite Gorman, "that I should have been -thinking of the Black Rock a little while ago! What put it into your -head now?" - -"Well, I tell you, nothing could be simpler or more natural. I knew -you arrived from London yesterday. I knew you were acquainted with the -Davenports of Kilcash, and a man who once had some connection with the -Davenports was last seen on the Black Rock, and drowned himself, to -escape the police, in the Hole. You may remember the circumstance?" - -"Yes," said O'Brien, instantly interested; "I have a faint -recollection of that man's death. Were you with Mr. O'Hanlon then?" - -"Oh, yes. I remember all about it. He was a client of ours. We didn't -do much for him; in fact, we didn't do anything for him. He left some -papers with the governor, and then got into trouble about passing -flash notes. The police had their hands just on him, when he leapt -into the Hole. You know what that means. The body was never found; but -that does not count as anything, for the bodies of persons drowned -near that spot are never found." - -"And nothing was known of the connection between this unfortunate -Fahey and the Davenports?" - -"I don't know anything about it, and I don't think the governor does. -It was supposed he was an old hanger-on of old Davenport's, since the -time Davenport was abroad. Davenport himself, as far as I could find -out, never volunteered information about Fahey; and, you know, he -wasn't the kind of man you'd care to ask unnecessary questions. He was -about the closest man in the county. I never had any business to do -with him, but I've kept my ears open." - -"He died very rich, I suppose?"--with a laugh. "A friend of mine is -already greatly interested in the widow." - -"Ah, no wonder! She's a fine woman--the finest woman in these parts. I -often saw her. You might do worse than try your luck there yourself, -Mr. O'Brien. If he left her the bulk of his fortune she will be very -well off. He had no one else in the world but his brother, who is -crack-brained, I believe; and the dead man was very rich--made a whole -fortune abroad, in various kinds of speculations, both in Europe and -America." - -"What did he speculate in chiefly?" - -"I don't know. All kinds of stocks and shares. They say he had some -plan never before adopted, and out of which he made money as fast as -he liked, and this plan he never would tell any one. At all events, -for more than ten years before he settled down here he had been -wandering pretty well over the whole civilized world. Every one who -knew of his great business cleverness wondered why he retired before -fifty, but he said he had enough for a lifetime, and that his asthma -was too bad for him to go on any longer. But somehow it leaked out -that he got a great fright about some bank on the Continent in which -he had a large sum of money--I think ten thousand pounds--lodged to -his credit." - -"Do you remember the story, Gorman?" - -"I do." - -"Well, tell it to me. But, for heaven's sake, first send out the boy -and order that man with the tin whistle to go away. Here's sixpence -for him." - -"Not fond of music! I thought you were." He took the coin, and -despatched the boy. "The Bank of England had its own reasons for -keeping the thing quiet at the time, and it never came fully before -the public, as the criminal was never discovered. Mr. Davenport gave -notice to the foreign bank that on a certain day he would require the -ten thousand he had lodged there, and that the more Bank of England -notes he found in the packet, the better he should be pleased. - -"On the day he had named he called and got the money, and that very -evening started for London with the cash. This was an unusual mode of -proceeding, but most of his ways were unusual, if not odd. On his -arrival the Bank declared several of the one hundred pound notes in -his packet to be forgeries, and a few tens were also spurious. - -"This discovery started an inquiry, and in a little while it was found -that one of the largest and most skilful forgeries ever made on the -Bank of England had just been committed, and that upwards of two -hundred thousand pounds worth of valueless notes had been palmed off -on foreign banks of the highest class. - -"The forgeries did not stop at the notes. The signatures of some of -the greatest banking firms had been imitated and used as introductions -to the Continental houses of eminence, and an elaborate scheme of -fraud had been based on these bogus introductions. The scheme had been -in preparation for a long time. At first a small private account was -opened in the regular way in London, the referees--two customers of -the bank--being a retired military man and a shopkeeper, I think. I -forget what name the account was opened in--false one, of course, -say Jenkins. - -"Jenkins's account was gradually augmented, and a balance of a couple -or three thousand was always kept. Moneys were now and then paid in -and drawn out. The account was highly respectable. In the end Jenkins -said he was going to live in Paris, and would feel obliged if his -banker would give him an introduction to a Paris house. This was done -as a matter of course. - -"In Paris the balance was still further increased, until it was kept -above five thousand pounds. Then Jenkins asked if he might deposit a -box containing valuable documents for safety in the bank. He got -permission and lodged the box. - -"Then he drew out all his balance very gradually, and when it was -exhausted, called, asked for his box, opened it in the presence of the -manager, and taking from it fifty Bank of England one hundred pound -notes, asked that they might be placed to his credit, as he was -expecting heavy calls momently. He had been speculating and had lost, -he said. In a couple of weeks he drew out the five thousand in one -cheque payable to himself. - -"Shortly after this he took from the box, and handed the manager ten -thousand pounds, saying he was still losing heavily, and should want -the money that day, subject, of course, to a fair charge on the part -of the bank. The bank accommodated him. He said there was a great deal -more than ten ten thousands in the box, and showed the notes to the -manager. Next day he came in a great state of excitement. He had a -vast fortune within his grasp if he could only get money that day. He -took from his pocket one hundred thousand pounds in Bank of England -notes, and from his box all that was in it--one hundred and ten -thousand more. Would they oblige him? It was neck or nothing with him. -If he hadn't the money within three hours, he would be a ruined man; -if he got the money, he could make a stupendous fortune. He would -leave the odd ten thousand in the hands of the bank against expenses, -interest, etc. Would they let him have two hundred thousand in French -notes on the security of the Bank of England notes? - -"After an hour's consideration the bank gave him the money, and never -saw Mr. Jenkins afterwards. The two hundred and ten thousand pounds -were forged notes. He had of course a capital of ten thousand pounds -in good notes, but these he carried off. What he did at the box was -mostly sleight-of-hand, for he was supposed to have brought the good -notes in his pocket, and by a little elementary legerdemain appeared -to take them out of the box which contained the forged notes. - -"Mr. Davenport was in Paris at the time, and by the merest chance drew -out all his money next day, when he got some of the forged notes, and -on bringing them to London the crime was discovered. - -"At first people were much concerned for Mr. Davenport, but they -afterwards heard he would get all his money from the French bank. It -appears Mr. Davenport gave two forged ten-pound notes--all the notes -were tens and hundreds--to the unfortunate Fahey; and although he -passed them in Dublin, he got as far as Kilcash before the police came -up with him. The silliest part of it all was that he should be such a -fool as to drown himself; for after he threw himself into the Hole, -Mr. Davenport recollected he had given him the notes, and said Fahey's -had come out of what the French bank had handed him. - -"The whole affair gave Mr. Davenport an ugly turn, and they say he -retired from business earlier than he had intended, even bad as his -asthma undoubtedly was. That's all I know of the story," said Gorman, -as he turned once more with his shoulder to the shutter, and gazed out -into the dull, damp street. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - THE SEA. - - -After a few more words of no interest with Gorman, Jerry O'Brien went -into the private office of O'Hanlon, and found that gentleman -encircled by hedges of legal documents, fast asleep, with a newspaper -before him. The opening of the door roused the solicitor, who -straightway sprang to his feet, exclaiming: - -"My dear O'Brien, delighted to see you! Sit down. I'll be back in a -moment." - -He left the room, hastened into the outer office, asked Gorman what -o'clock it was, and if the mail had been delivered yet, and then -hurried back to his client, saying: - -"Excuse my running away; there was something I had to say to my clerk. -Now, how are you? What kind of a night had you?" - -"I'm quite well, and had an excellent night. And you?" - -"Oh, bad, bad! Nothing could be much worse. I didn't get an hour's -sleep. I was dozing as you came in. Don't say anything about it. -Remember your promise! But I am sure I am breaking down. I am certain -I shall break down mentally soon." - -"Nonsense!" cried O'Brien, cheerfully. "I am not going to listen to -that rubbish in the noonday." - -"And a beautiful noonday it is," said O'Hanlon, looking out into the -meagrely illumined back-yard, with its grass-green water-butt resting -unevenly on its grass-green stand; its flower-pots three-quarters full -of completely sodden clay; its brokenhearted, lopsided, bedraggled -whisk, reclining dejectedly partly against the humid white wall and -partly against the bulged and staring water-butt; its dilapidated -wooden shed that did not go through the farce of sheltering anything -from the universal moisture save a battered watering-pot without a -rose; and its ghastly six-foot-high _arbor vitæ_--a shrub which makes -even summer sunshine look dull. - -"I've been looking over the papers you lent me, and I had a chat with -Gorman before I came into this room. Gorman told me more of Davenport -and long ago than I knew up to this. But I can make nothing of your -old client, and am sure the apparition was the result of pure nervous -relaxation." - -"But, confound it, my dear O'Brien, can't you see extreme mental -relaxation is what I am in dread of?" - -"Well, then, I won't say that. I'll say it was pure or impure liquor, -or liver, or anything you like. Of only one thing am I sure--namely, -that there was more than a little between this Fahey and Davenport." - -"That's my own impression too; but I can make nothing of these -documents." - -"It is not intended you should be able to make anything of them; and -if I were you, now that the two men concerned in them are dead and -done for, I'd bother no more about them." - -"Get it out of your head for good and all, O'Brien, that I am -troubling about the men. I am not; I am troubling about myself. I am -afraid I am going to have something seriously wrong with my brain, and -that's not a comfortable thing for a man who is not yet old to get -into his mind." - -"Well, I'm sure I don't know what to do. I have often heard it said -that one of the best ways to adopt in a case of this kind is to bring -the man face to face with the thing which causes him annoyance----" - -"What! Bring me face to face with what I saw! I think, O'Brien, your -brain is giving way before merely the story of my troubles." - -"No, no; I mean to set you face to face with the scene of your -adventure, and then when you perceive nothing unusual there, you will -be less disturbed by the memory of your last visit than you are now. I -myself am curious to look at the place once more. Will you drive over -with me now, and put your mind at rest for ever?" - -He spoke earnestly, considerately. - -O'Hanlon thought a moment, and then said with a sigh, followed by a -lugubrious smile: - -"I don't know about putting my mind at rest, but I think the drive -would do me good. I have been staying too much indoors of late. Yes, -I'll go. I'll be ready in half-an-hour. Call for me then, and I'll -have a car waiting outside. I hope the weather will keep up." - -O'Brien called at the time appointed, and they drove away towards -Kilcash. - -When they cleared the city, their road lay through miles of bog and -marsh, in which nothing grew but flags and osiers and bulrushes, with -here and there patches of thin rank grass. The causeway along which -they drove had been formed of the earth obtained from cuttings on each -side of it, and these cuttings made long straight lines of dreary -canals, uncheered by traffic. Snipe, and duck, and cranes were to be -seen here, but the ground was rotten, and, in places, dangerous. As -far as the eye could reach no human habitation was to be seen. On one -of these canals a poor hare-brained enthusiast had built a small mill, -now fallen into the last stage of decay. The useless water had no -power to turn the useless wheel. Now and then a bald gray rock rose a -few feet above the flat monotony of the swamp. To right and left, low -green hills touched the leaden sky. All in front and behind was -cheerless, unbroken morass. - -The air was heavy with moisture, but no rain fell. The iron rails, -woodwork, and cushions of the car were clammy to the touch. The -horse's head drooped as he plodded spiritlessly along the dark, miry -road. The driver wore an oilcap, oilskin coat, and had a heavy, -sodden, yellow rug about his knees. He used the whip with monotonous -regularity and monotonous absence of result. The horse seemed to feel -that not even man could be in a hurry on such a day. There was no -movement in sky, or air, or on the land. The car startled two cranes -that were fishing by the side of the road. They rose and fled with -such intolerable slowness as proclaimed their belief that no creature -which had once gone beneath could ever get from under the flat -pressure of those purposeless clouds--could ever shake off the slimy -unctuousness of the land. - -The two travellers sat back to back, holding their heads forward -against the soft, clinging, clammy air. They scarcely spoke a word the -whole way. The landscape afforded no subject for pleasant remark, and -the younger man did not care to make matters gloomier. He had nothing -new to communicate, so he smoked in silence. The elder man could not -rouse himself to take an interest in any subject not immediate to -himself, and the driver was half asleep. - -At last the ground began to rise very gradually. They were getting -near the sea. The air grew lighter, fresher, brisker. A thin white -vapour lay upon the marsh and rolled slowly inward, yet no wind could -be felt. The air had grown much warmer, and although the dull pall of -leaden sky still spread unbroken above, it could be felt that sunlight -existed somewhere overhead. The bleak vacuity of an overcast winter -day was being insensibly filled with assurances of activity and life, -and from the wide sweep of the full horizontal front there was the -breath, the inchoate murmur as though the leaves of a hundred thousand -trees felt the approach of wind. That was the fine, broad, opening -phrase of the diapason tones drawn by the ocean from the shore in its -portentous prelude to the silence of eternity. - -Higher and higher they crawled slowly, gradually, until they could -tell what part of the sky lay over the sea by reason of its greater -whiteness. - -And now the various movements in the orchestra of the sea began to -assemble and marshal before their ears. Here the shrill silver hiss of -the long waves toppling in curved cascades, and running swiftly inland -on the sand. Here the roar and rattle of stubborn boulders torn from -their rocky holds by the mad out-wash of the shattered wave. Here the -low hollow groaning of protesting caves, vocal, inscrutable. Afar off -the deep boom of the mighty wave, which, gliding up to the land, a -green, unbroken mound of water, flung itself in white, impotent rage -against the unrepining, unappalled, forlorn cliffs, and made the air -thunder with mutinous clamour. - -There was no storm--nothing beyond the ordinary winter roller of the -Atlantic. - -The car stopped, and the two friends descended. - -"It's only a few hundred yards from this to the cliff over the Black -Rock," said the driver. "But it's lonely there on a day like this. -Don't go down. Don't trust yourself on that rock a day like this. She -may begin any minute a day like this, and if she catches you between -her and the water, you're dead men." - -The two friends struck across the downs, the younger leading the way. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - THE ROCK. - - -Here was the dull blue wintry sea under the dull gray wintry sky. No -wind blew, no rain fell. A thin, soft sea moisture rose from the sea -and met a thin, soft cloud moisture descending from the clouds. The -long, even roller of the Atlantic stole slowly, deliberately, -sullenly, from the level plains of the ocean, growing to the eye -imperceptibly as it came. The water was thickly streaked with tawny, -vapid froth; the base of the high, impassable, brown rocky coast was -marked by a broad but diminishing line of yellow foam. - -No bird was visible in the air, no ship on the sea, no living creature -on the land but the two men, O'Hanlon and O'Brien. A mile inland stood -lonely Kilcash House, which had for years been the home of the dead -man and his beautiful wife. Below, between the towering, oppressive, -liver-coloured cliffs and the foam-mantled, blanched blue sea lay the -Black Rock, a huge, flat, monstrous table cast off by the land and -spurned by the sea. - -For a while the two men stood speechless on the edge of the cliff -overlooking the barren waste of heaving waters and the sullen ramparts -of indomitable heights. The deep boom of the bursting wave, the roar -of the outwashing boulders, and the shrill hiss of the falling spray, -made the dismal scene more deserted and forlorn. The sea and cliffs -were forbidding to man. They seemed to resent the presence of man--to -desire, now that they were not engaged in actual war, no intrusion on -the lines where their gigantic conflicts were waged. - -The Black Rock stretched out half-a-mile from the base of the cliff -into the sea, and was half-a-mile wide. Above it the land was slightly -hollowed towards the sea, and would, but for the Black Rock beneath, -form a bay-like indentation in the shore. The chord of this arc was -about six hundred yards, so that the greater mass of the Black Rock -projected into the sea beyond the heads of the cliffs. - -The Rock, as it was called for brevity in the neighbourhood, was only -a few feet above the reach of the waves and broken water when a strong -wind blew from the south-west. It shelved outward, and when the waters -were very rough, when a storm raged, the shattered waves leaped up on -it, and bounded, hissing in irresistible fury, towards the inner -cliff, but were arrested, dispersed, and poured down the sides of the -Rock ere they reached the inner cliff. The Rock was highest at the -centre, and descended to right, left, front, and rear. But although it -was lower at the rear than in the centre, it was much higher there -than in front. Viewed from above, it was not unlike the back of some -prodigious sea monster rising above the surface of the water. In shape -it resembled a vast creature of the barnacle kind, the apex of whose -shell would represent the highest point of the Rock, and the -corrugations stand for the ridges and hollows of the sides from the -highest point of the ledge to the lower ones. - -The colour, too, was not unlike that of a barnacle. For, although the -people had given it the name of the Black Rock, it was black only by -comparison with the cliffs. The surface was made up of smooth, slimy -ridges, dark blue-green in the hollows, growing lighter as the curve -sloped upward, and on the summit, here and there, deep yellow brown or -oak. - -Winter or summer, the Rock was never quite dry. It was always damp, -clammy, treacherous. It was always dangerous to the foot. There was no -fear of one who fell slipping into the sea, unless the misfortune -occurred very near the brink. Then a fall and a plunge were certain -death, for the great rollers of the ocean would grind or dash the life -out of a man against these rocks in a few minutes. But many a man had -slipped and hurt himself badly, and two fatally, on that cruel Black -Rock. - -Once a man of the village of Kilcash had fallen, broken his leg in two -places, and been carried up the cliff path and across the downs to -die. Another had slipped on the top of one ridge. For a moment his -body swept backward in an arc like a bent bow, until his head touched -the top of the next ridge behind. All his muscles instantly relaxed, -his chin was crushed down upon his chest, he rolled for an instant -into a shapeless heap, rolled down into the trough, and lay at full -length with dead, wide open eyes turned upward to the sun. Several -people had from time to time met with dire accidents on that dangerous -slope by reason of the uncertain footing it afforded. - -But the great terror of the Black Rock did not lie in the greasiness -of its surface. The chief danger lay below the surface. The deadly -monster of that desolate tract was hidden from view, until suddenly, -and generally without warning, it sprang forth upon its victim, and -seized him and bore him away to certain and awful death. It gave no -chance of respite or rescue; it gave no time for thought or prayer. -One moment man in the full vigour of life, full of the pride of life, -full joy in life, stood upon that awful field of slippery rock, and -the next was caught from behind and dragged into the foaming sea by a -force no ten men could fight against for a moment. - -All the year round this terrible monster of death lurked here, and -upon provocation would rush out, and, when opportunity offered, -invariably destroy. It could not be drowned with water or scared by -fire, or slain with lethal weapons. It could not be lured or trapped. -It would come to an end no one knew when. It had begun to exist -centuries ago. It varied in length with the season of the year, and in -bulk with the phases of the moon. It had its lair in a cave. No boat -along all that coast durst enter the Whale's Mouth for fear of it; for -although much could be foretold of its habits, all could not. No one -could infallibly predict for an hour what it would do--except one -thing: that any boat in that cave when it did appear would infallibly -be dashed into a thousand splinters. That was the only thing certain -about it. To be caught in its cave would, if possible, be still more -terrible than to be caught by it on the Black Rock. - -Its dimensions varied from twenty to a hundred and fifty feet one way -by ten to twelve and six to eight another. - -Along the whole coast it was spoken of with fear. Nothing else like it -was known in those parts. It was one of the sights which made holiday -makers seek the secluded fishing of Kilcash. The inhabitants knew its -ways better than strangers. And yet people of the village had fallen a -prey to its fury. More than a dozen villagers had within four -generations died in its deadly embrace, and more than an equal number -of visitors within the same period. Suppose the season visitors had -been at their highest number all the year round, it had been -calculated that forty of them would have been sacrificed in the time. - -Over and over again visitors had been warned against going near the -place; but the attraction of danger proved too strong for prudence, -and people would go for mere bravado or out of morbid curiosity. The -chance of contracting a fatal malady has no allurements for man: the -prospect of a violent death fascinates him. The love of daring certain -death by violence is found in few; the willingness to dare great peril -by violence is almost universal in young men of healthy bodies and -minds. It has been justly said that the most extraordinary contract -into which large bodies of men ever voluntarily enter is that by which -they agree to stand up in a field and allow themselves to be shot at -for thirteenpence a day; and yet men risk their lives daily willingly, -at a less price--nay, for no price at all. - -Here, on this very Black Rock, a terrible instance occurred with -disastrous result five years before, when three young Trinity College -students were staying for the summer vacation at Kilcash. They were -friends, and lodged in the same cottage. They went on little -excursions together. Of course they had heard all about the terrors of -the Black Rock. In an hour of eclipse they resolved not only to visit -the fatal Rock, but to lunch there under circumstances of the greatest -danger. They mentioned their intention freely, and were warned by the -simple people of the village that they ran a risk in going to the spot -they named, and at the time they selected, and that they absolutely -courted death by delaying for luncheon. That afternoon one of the -three ran the whole way back into the village and told the appalling -tale. He had strayed a few yards from his friends, when suddenly burst -upon his ears a thunderous roar. The Rock shook beneath his feet as -though it would burst asunder. He was instantly covered and blinded -with mist and sea smoke. He gave himself up for lost, and -instinctively ran towards the cliff. Then he heard a fearful crash of -waters, and again the Rock shook. He wondered his destruction had been -so long delayed. He waited until all was still. He turned round. His -friends had disappeared. Their bodies were never recovered. - -As it has been said, the Black Rock was not in reality black, but a -dark, dirty olive green. Perhaps it got its name from the dark or -black deeds which had been enacted on it. - -Around the Black Rock the cliffs do not stand very high. They reach to -little more than a hundred feet above the solid shelf below. In colour -they are of a deep liver hue. They lean outward and take the form of -huge broad broken pilasters, set against an irregular wall. These -cliffs, like the Rock, are always damp, but, unlike the Rock, never -clammy. They are smooth and flat, with sharp angles and rectangular -fractures. They are cold and hard, and seem built by nature to define -for ever the frontier of the ocean. - -At the point of the Rock furthest inland the cliff is of a softer -nature, and hence the water has eaten deeper in here. The cliff is -part clay, part gravel, and part boulder. Here is a temporary break in -the continuity of the regular formation. There is no depression on the -downs above to correspond with this fault. Thus at the back of what -has been called the bay, there are about two hundred yards long of -cliff, which the sea would soon tear away if it could get at it. But -the Black Rock stood between the greedy ocean and the vulnerable point -of the cliff. It formed a sufficient outpost. This part of the bay -slants inwards, not outwards, as the two arms. In this part a little -copper ore was once found, and a shaft sunk. But the mine proved of no -practical value, and, after absorbing much money, was abandoned fifty -years ago. The shaft was sunk two hundred feet; but here, even if the -mine had proved rich, the water would have presented serious -difficulties, for after getting down a hundred and twenty feet it -began to appear, and at a hundred and fifty it occasioned delay and -inconvenience. Forty years ago the top of the shaft had been covered -with planks and clay to prevent accident. Long ago the machinery and -wooden engine-house and tool-house had been carried away, and now the -site of the head of the shaft was indistinguishable from the other -bramble-grown parts of the sloping cliff over the Black Rock. This -head of the mine was always carefully avoided by the inhabitants, for -every one said some day or other the planks were sure to give way and -fall to the bottom. It was of no interest whatever to visitors, for -nothing was to be seen, and a landslip had destroyed the rude road -long ago made to it. It was on the right-hand side of one looking -seaward. - -On this inside of the bay of stone ran downwards the path leading to -the great table below. It was a natural path almost the whole way. Art -of the simplest kind had cut a little here and filled up a little -there, and levelled a little in another place, but the lion's share of -the work had been found ready to man's hand. There was no attempt at -road-making, or attaining to a surface. Those were luxuries of -civilisation: this was a work of rough art and benignant nature. - -As one faced the sea, the path crossed over from left to right, then -from right to left, and finally from left to right. Standing on the -cliff at the middle point of the bay, and looking down at the broad -expanse of slanting rock, only two things caught the eye, when the -dimensions, the colour, and conformation had been taken in. Directly -in front, and almost in the middle of the Rock, rose the apex of what -has been likened to the shell of a barnacle. It was not more than ten -feet above the level of the Rock, twenty feet from its centre, and was -part of the Rock itself. - -In a direct line with the apex, and about half-way between it and the -outer rim of the Rock, there is a black spot which, upon closer -inspection, proves to be a hole of some kind. At the distance it is -impossible to perceive any more. - -Towards this hole O'Hanlon pointed his arm, and said to O'Brien: - -"There's the Hole. You know it well enough." - -"Of course. But you could not recognise him so far off," said O'Brien, -shading his eyes to look. - -"No; but I told you I saw him in here quite close;" and he pointed. -"He or it went on without hesitation, and then jumped in. He or it, -whichever you prefer, O'Brien, went in as sure as I have a head on me. -Either that or I am going mad." - -O'Brien thought awhile in silence, with his hand on his chin and his -eyes turned on the bleak, dreary waste of stone and water before him. - -"O'Hanlon, you're not afraid to risk seeing anything--that thing -again?" he asked at length--adding, "I want to have a look at the -place." - -The other hesitated a little before he drew himself up, and said: - -"No. I may as well face it and be sure of the worst--be certain -whether I am to end my days in a lunatic asylum or not." - -The two men descended to the Black Rock. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - THE HOME OF THE MONSTER. - - -It was now growing dusk. The loneliness of the place was extreme. A -few sea-gulls were wheeling and crying in the dull air overhead. They -had come back from their long day's fishing far out to sea and up and -down the coast, and were leisurely wheeling, scouting, and sailing -shoreward to their homes among the crags. - -Nothing else stirred or broke the stillness, except the sea--the -imperial, the insatiable, the eternal sea!--the sea that for ever -chafes and storms, and seeks to eat away or overwhelm the land because -it spurns and writhes under its function of merely filling up the -hollows of earth and balancing the volume of the world. - -If all the solids of the earth were turned smooth in the mighty lathe -that drives the earth round its axis, then water would be supreme, and -this planet would be a polished, argent sphere, flashing through -interspaces between clouds as it spun and flew along the orbit of gold -woven of light for it by the sun. - -Day and night the waters work without ceasing to overwhelm the earth. -Day and night the torrents tear down the sand and boulders and trees -of the mountains and fling them into the hidden hollows at the mouths -of rivers. All the deltas of the world are offerings of the torrents -and rivers towards carrying out the grand scheme of the oceans -metropolitan. Pool and tarn and lake and inland sea, and remotest -waters that touch undreamed-of isles, are daily and nightly fretting -or tearing away the uncomplaining shores. - -The sun and moon and winds are leagued against the pastoral earth. -Daily the sun transports millions of tons of water from the harmless -plains of deep-sea waters, and the wind takes these vaporous foes of -the land and hurls them on the loftiest mountains, so that they may -gain the greatest speed and rending force and carrying power as they -fly back with spoils of earth to their old friend the sea. The sun -splits the cliffs with heat, and the winds lend fascines to the waves, -so that the injured portions may be reached, cast down, and another -line of defence destroyed. - -Lest the sun and the winds and the rivers are not enough to accomplish -the ruin of man's territory, the moon--the gentle moon of poets and -lovers--the cold, frigid moon helps with that coldest of all things on -earth, the glacier, to complete the havoc. The power of the wind is -but partial, intermittent; that of the moon and the glacier general, -everlasting. The tides are the heights commanding the outworks of the -land; the moving fields of ice unsuspected traitors, in the garb of -solidity, sapping the walls of the citadel. - -Even now the list of enemies is not complete. In the core and centre -of the earth itself the arch-traitor, the mightiest traitor of all, -lies, gravitation, which should naturally be the lieutenant of the -denser of the two combatants. This is the most relentless, the most -unmerciful leveller of all. It seizes with equal avidity upon the moat -that the sunlight only makes visible, and the loosened but yet -unapportioned cliff of a thousand feet high, cut by the river of a -Mexican cañon. - -Electricity, the irresistible enemy and imponderable slave of man, is -on the side of the waters. It binds the vapours of the oceans -together, and scatters them when it reaches the hills. It rends trees -and stones and buildings, and flings them down ready for easy -porterage by the more methodical water. - -One of these forces that ought to be on the side of the land, -gravitation, has deserted its own side for the water. It is one force, -and is universally operative. One of these forces that ought to be on -the side of the sea has deserted its own side for the land. It is one -force, but it operates through hundreds of thousands, of millions of -agents; it is the coral insect. It transmutes the waters which give -life and sustenance to it into land against which the waters war. It -raises up an island where there ought to be two hundred fathoms of -water. It uses up more material in making islands than all the great -rivers put together deposit at their deltas. - -The only loyal servant land has is the central fire. It can throw up -in one minute as much as all the others can tear down in a hundred -years. The central fire pushes an ocean aside with as much ease as a -wave raises a boat. It throws up the Andes in less time than it took -the sea, with its allied forces, to rob England of Lyonnesse. - -The coral insect and the central fire, the least and the hugest of the -world's working forces, are more than equal to all the forces arrayed -against them, and are the humble and the terrible friends of man. - -Here, by this gloomy sea, no coral insect toiled, no earthquake -heaved, no volcano thrust up a flaming torch of hope to heaven. Here -the enemies of the land had no foe to encounter but the resolute -indifference of the veteran cliffs. Here the sea, and the tides, and -the winds, and gravitation worked on unchallenged by active -resistance. Year after year, almost imperceptible pieces of cliff -fell, were engulfed. Year after year the incessant action of the waves -was gnawing deeper and deeper into the heart of the land. Year after -year the adamantine substance of the Black Rock was diminishing, -though in a generation no man noticed a change in the Rock, and few a -change in the cliff. - -This coast was honeycombed with caves. In the summer time, when the -weather was fine, pleasure parties put off from Kilcash for "The -Caves," as the district in which they were to be found was, with -peculiar want of fancy or imagination in so imaginative a race, called -by the inhabitants of the village. - -The region of caves was all to the east of Kilcash, and extended along -several miles of coast. Some caves were wide-mouthed, shallow, low, -uninteresting; others spacious, lofty, ramified. In order to excite -curiosity and inspire awe, some were reported to be unexplored; others -had legends. Others had sad stories of truthful tragedies. It was safe -to enter one at low water only, and safe to stay no longer than a few -minutes because of the stalactites. If you wished to see another, and -not stay in its black, chill maw for four hours, you must go on the -top of high water, and stay no more than a good hour. To a third you -might go at any time of tide. To a fourth only on the last of the -lowest of neaps, and then be quick and get away again. To a sixth only -on the top of spring tides. To one, and one only, which might be -entered at any state of tide--Never. - -This last cave, which not the boldest fisherman in Kilcash or the next -village to it would face, was called the Whale's Mouth, and ran in -under the Black Rock. - -The opening of the Whale's Mouth is on the south-west or extreme -seaward side of the Black Rock. At full of spring tide the entrance to -it is about fifteen feet high and of equal breadth. The difference -between high and low water here is about fifteen feet. Hence, at -lowest of spring tide, the measurement from the surface of the water -to the roof at the entrance would be thirty feet. - -At the entrance of the Whale's Mouth the outline of the Black Rock is -blunt, abrupt, solid. The base of the Rock is never uncovered by -water. The wash of the long roller of the Atlantic is always against -its sides. The general formation of the cave is that of a square. It -is more like the hideous distended jaws of the crocodile than of the -whale; but the reason for calling it the Whale's Mouth does not lie in -the immediate entrance, but further on, in the roof of the forbidding -cavern. - -For years no one had dared to enter that cavern. Along the coast were -stories of two boats which had ventured in. Not a plank, oar, or man -of the first had ever been seen again. Part of the boat, oars, and -crew of the other had been seen for one brief moment, smashed and -mangled, and then disappeared for ever. What the fate of the former -was no one could tell; what the fate of the latter had been all knew. - -As far as could be seen into the cave from the outside, there was -nothing dangerous or remarkable-looking about it. It declined slightly -in height, but the walls did not seem to come any closer together. -There was no rock or obstruction of any kind visible in it. The long, -even swells rolled in unbroken; but after each wave passed out of -sight there was a deep tumultuous explosion, and a strange, loud sound -of rushing and struggling water. There was no weakening or gradual -dispersion of the force of the wave. Its power seemed shattered and -absorbed at once. - -This cave had another mysterious and disquieting faculty. It absorbed -and discharged more water than could be accounted for by any other -supposition but that inside somewhere it expanded prodigiously. At -flood tide the water went in eagerly; at ebb tide it ran out at so -quick a rate, many believed a large body of fresh water, or foreign -water of some other kind, found a way into it. On flood tide, the -fishermen gave it a wide berth, lest by any chance or mischance they -might be sucked into it. - -Often curious people passing by at flood tide threw overboard articles -that would float, and watched them as they were slowly but surely -drawn into that gaping vault. There was no doubt they were swallowed -by that inky void, but they never were seen by man again. Some of the -simpler people believed that there was a whirlpool at the end of the -cave, and that if this whirlpool took anything down, it never gave -that thing, or sign or token of that thing, back again. People on -these shores attach miraculous powers to whirlpools. There are no -whirlpools of consequence in the neighbourhood, but terrible stories -of them had reached the people, and filled the simple folk with -superstitious awe. - -In this shunned and mysterious cell the rock-monster had its home. On -the sea it was harmless. But no one durst enter its haunt, and yet -this was not wholly from fear of the monster, but of the place itself, -with its loud explosions, its unaccountable indraught and outflow, and -the unreturning dead of the two boats. The monster had its home in the -cave; but his sphere of action was on the vast plain of rock above. - -O'Hanlon and O'Brien succeeded in crossing the Black Rock without -accident, and were drawing near the Hole. - -"It was there," said O'Hanlon, pointing--"just there. I saw him as -plain as ever eyes saw anything." - -O'Hanlon pointed to the north-east, or shore side, of the Hole. - -The two men drew nearer, and then, pausing a moment to fix their hats -firmly on their heads and grasp one another round the waist, crept -cautiously forward until they stood on the brink of the Hole. They -looked down. - -The Hole was almost square, about thirty feet by thirty feet, and -narrowing irregularly as it went down to about half that size. The -depth from where the two stood to the surface of the water below was -thirty-five feet. - -The bottom of the Hole was naturally scant of light, and the light now -in the sky was poor and thin. - -The sides were almost smooth, and at the bottom of the funnel the -angles a little rounded in. The rock upon which they stood seemed to -be about twenty-five feet thick, and the free space between the bottom -of the rock and the surface of the water ten feet. Thus -the height of the cave at the Hole was at the present time of -tide--half-tide flood--ten feet. - -At the bottom of the Hole the water was no longer smooth, even quiet, -but broken and turbid, opaque, and mantled with froth. Every wave that -entered the vestibule of the cave swung the uneasy seething mass -inward, to return in a few seconds on the back-wash. But the froth did -not come back every time; it crept further on, until at the third wave -the froth disappeared inward, to be succeeded by other froth moving at -the same rate. - -It made one giddy to look for any length of time. After a few minutes -both men drew back by mutual consent. - -"No mortal man could live down there for five minutes," said O'Hanlon, -with a shiver. - -"No," said O'Brien, with a laugh, "or ghost either, for that matter. -But, I say, O'Hanlon, what cool and roomy lodging it would afford to -all the Fishery Commissioners in the United Kingdoms!" - -"This is no place for joking," said O'Hanlon, uneasily. "Let us get -back. I am sick of this place." - -"Wait a minute," said O'Brien. "As this wretched man Fahey was seen -here both in the flesh and the spirit for the last time, let me read -the documents he left in your charge." - -He put his hand in his pocket, and read the papers by the fast-fading -light. - -"Come on. Take care you don't slip. The papers are simple enough on -the surface, except No. 11. Shall I read it to you?" - -"Ay," answered O'Hanlon absently. - -It was nothing to him. He was devoting his thoughts to getting safely -over this greasy, clammy, slippery surface. - -O'Brien read out slowly: - -"'Memorandum.--Rise 15·6 lowest. At lowest minute of lowest forward -with all might undaunted. The foregoing refers to _sculls_. With only -one _skull_ any lowest or any last quarter; but great forward pluck -required for this. In both cases (of course!) left.' - -"Well," said O'Brien, "I confess I can't make anything of it. Can -you?" - -"No," said the other listlessly. - -They had now reached the foot of the path. - -"I think it's rubbish. What do you say?" - -"Unmitigated rubbish." - -"What, for instance, can he mean by 'skull' and 'sculls' with a line -under each? The writing is that of a man of some education." - -"Oh, yes--he was a man of some education." - -O'Brien paused in his walk, and cried: - -"Stop! I think I have an idea." - -"Eh?" - -"From what you know of this man, do you think he could spell a word of -ordinary English?" - -"I should think so." - -"Then I _have_ an idea. - -"What is it?" - -"_Wait_." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - KILCASH. - - -O'Brien and O'Hanlon gained the top of the cliff, and reached the car -waiting on the road without saying anything further. The former was -busy with his thoughts; the latter, after O'Brien's word "Wait," sank -into indifference. - -"I'm ashamed of two sensible men such as you," said the driver, in a -southern brogue, "going down there on an uncertain season like this, -and at the end of daylight. It's a mercy you ever got back alive." - -"Or dead," said O'Brien, with a laugh. - -"Never mind, Terry; we're none the worse for it. Now, drive on to -Kilcash, and pull up at the Strand Hotel." - -The driver whipped his horse, and the remainder of the journey was -accomplished in silence. - -Kilcash is a small, straggling village, built on the slopes of the -cliffs surrounding Kilcash Bay, and on the low ground lying in front -of the bay. In summer it is usually pretty full of people, for -although no railway has yet reached it, hundreds of families live in -the neighbourhood, and many who dwell at a distance use it as a -holiday resort. In winter it is dreary, deserted, dead. The closed-up -lodging-houses and cottages which, under the influence of the summer -sun, grow bright and cheerful with flowers and the faces of children, -in winter stare with blank window eyes at the cold gray sky and -monotonous level of the sea. It was difficult to say who governed -Kilcash--five policemen and seven coastguardsmen, possibly; for there -was no other sign of official life. - -There was no Corporation, no Commissioners under the Towns Improvement -Act, no gas-house, no water-works, no sanitary board, no guardians of -the poor, no bellman, no watering-carts, no workhouse, no police-court, -no tax or rate collector, no exciseman, no soldier, no lawyer. There -were only three institutions, and these were curative--namely, two -houses of worship of different denominations, and a dispensary. - -Indirect taxation reached the people occultly; of direct taxation they -knew nothing. No doubt some one paid for mending their sewer when the -rain-water of winter burst it. No doubt some one paid for putting -metal on the roads when the ruts became absolutely dangerous. No doubt -some one paid the men who built up the breach in the Storm Wall. - -There was a slumbering belief that the police had powers, and the -coastguards functions. For instance, the police fished a good deal, -smoked fairly well, and were respectable with haughtiness. The -coastguards had a boat. In the eyes of Kilcash the possession of a -boat was sufficient to account for anything in the world. The -coastguards went out in their boat only in fine weather, which gave -them the aspect of gentlemen. They kept their boat scrupulously mopped -and painted--painted, not tarred; which was foppish, and a little -weak-minded. They carefully displayed in the station on the hill, -carbines and cutlasses of which Kilcash stood in no more awe than it -did of the bulrushes in the bog at the back of the village. To be -sure, there was a theory that upon occasion the police might call on -the coastguards to come out and assist them. But what this occasion -was no one knew. Sergeant Mahony had been heard to hint broadly that -in such a dire extremity--which would not, he said, curdle his blood -in the least--the chief command would devolve on him. Although nothing -was known for certain as to the exigency which might place the whole -offensive and defensive forces of the village under the command of -Mahony, Tim Curran had, when going home late of an evening, said he -supposed the landing of the French in Dublin Bay would lead to that -extraordinary act of power. Tim had been in Dublin for three days, and -was believed to be infallible on all matters connected, or that might -ever be connected, with the bay--from herrings to the French Fleet. It -must not be deduced from this that Kilcash assumed a very servile -attitude towards Dublin; for if Dublin had a bay, so likewise had -Kilcash. - -In the village there was one secret held by all, known by all, but -scarcely once in a lifetime spoken of by one neighbour to another. It -is more than likely that this secret would never have been dreamed of -only for a fool once famous in the village, now long since dead. And -even this fool told the secret to but few. For a reason lost in the -obscurity of local dulness, this fool was named "The Prince of -Orange." He went about barefooted, in the most gaudy raiment he could -beg. He preferred a soldiers or a huntsman's cast-off coat to any -other, and if he was fortunate enough to get such a garment, he -stitched to it all the blue, yellow, and green ribbons he could lay -hands on. He was one of the villagers killed by the monster of the -Black Rock. On the outer face of it the fishing was generally good for -long lines, and one day, while making believe to fish there with an -old brace and a piece of tattered ribbon tied together, he was -surprised and overwhelmed. - -The great secret of the people of Kilcash was that no man, woman, or -child of the whole village could understand why people came there in -summer. Of course the advent of the visitors filled the pockets of the -inhabitants, which was no more than the inhabitants were entitled to -expect, which was no more than natural, since it has been so for -generations. But why should people come to Kilcash in the summer -months? It was said they came to the sea. But why? - -Supposing a sailor had been at sea for three years and then came home -to Kilcash, did he want to look at the land? Did any one in the world -ever want to see the land? These people who came with the long, hot -days had near their own homes lakes or rivers, or pools or wells. All -these were water--nothing but water. There was salt in one, and not in -the other--that was all the difference. Put a bucket of sea-water -beside a bucket of fresh, and who could tell the difference without -tasting or smelling? - -When a man came back from a three years' cruise, did he go straight -off into the country and stand or lie staring at the fields and -haystacks? Not he. Either he came home to Kilcash, or went to a big -town where he could see strange sights and buy fine things with his -wages. Some came to fish. To fish! Why, every gurnet they caught cost -them about a pound of money. The doctors told them to come for health. -Health! What did they think of rheumatism, and fever, and bronchitis, -and pleurisy, and lumbago, and other diseases, a thousand times worse -at the sea than inland? Did any one ever know the land to kill a man? -How many thousands a year did the sea kill? In the heat of summer it -was all very well to bathe, and swim, and lie about on the sands and -rocks, to wade and tumble into pools and get drenched with spray. But -wait until the winter comes. Wait until they get the wages of their -summer folly. Wait until they are racked by pains, and choked with a -cough, and crippled with stiff joints. When they feel the penalties -they are far from the place where they incurred them, and the fools of -doctors tell them they must go back to the sea next summer in order to -get finally rid of their maladies! Rubbish. In reality they come to -the sea to drive in the few nails still wanting in their coffins. - -This secret made the people of Kilcash conscious of being hypocrites, -and accounted for the forced smile with which they greeted visitors in -summer, and the night of leaden gloom which descended on them when the -visitors departed for the year. The inhabitants of Kilcash never -smiled in winter. To laugh in winter would have sounded like a pæan -over their miserable, misguided visitors. It would have indicated a -heartless and brutal nature. - -O'Brien and O'Hanlon alighted at the "Strand Hotel," and ordered -dinner and beds. During dinner, O'Hanlon made two ineffectual attempts -to extract O'Brien's idea from him, but the latter would not speak. He -smiled, and repeated his former word "Wait." O'Brien in his turn tried -to induce O'Hanlon to talk, but the latter answered in the briefest -and most apathetic way. The dinner was finished in absolute silence. - -When it was over, O'Brien rose and said: - -"You won't mind my going out for an hour or so?" - -"Going out!" cried O'Hanlon, rousing up. "Where on earth are you going -at such an hour, in such a place? Not to that accursed Black Rock?" - -"No, no," said O'Brien. "Only I'm quite sure you would never dream of -entering such a place, I would ask you to come with me." - -"What place?" - -"Oh, you're too respectable for it, I assure you." - -"Nonsense! I'll go with you." - -"I'll lay you a sovereign you don't." - -"Done!" - -"Done! I'm going to the 'Blue Anchor' to drink a pint of beer and -smoke a pipe of tobacco. Hand over the money." - -"The 'Blue Anchor'--the Blue 'Anchor!' Are _you_ out of your mind too, -or are you joking? Oh, I know! You want to get rid of me for an hour, -but don't like to say so." - -"I have a bet of a sovereign on it, and I'll take the money now, if -you like. Will that convince you?" - -"No; I'll pay when you come back and tell me you have been there. But -if you really are going to that low beershop, tell me what you are -going there for." - -"Amusement. I find you dull." - -O'Hanlon screwed up his eyes and regarded O'Brien closely. - -"What is it?" he asked. - -He knew O'Brien much too well to think he meant to be offensive, or -even smart at the expense of an old friend without good reason. He -suspected O'Brien was waiving a direct answer, which might cause pain -to his hearer. - -"It's something you suspect, and don't like to tell me. You're not -going over to the dispensary to ask Dr. Flynn to drop in presently, as -though by accident, and find me here, and make an informal -examination?" - -This was said half-playfully. - -"Take care," said O'Brien, as he buttoned on his overcoat. "If you -don't knock off talking about your infernal sanity, you'll drive _me_ -mad; and won't that be a nice kettle of fish? Now look here: Are you, -or are you not, coming with me to the 'Blue Anchor' to smoke a frugal -pipe and drink a frugal pint of beer--or, more correctly, a pint of -frugal beer? Yes or no?" - -"No," answered O'Hanlon, sinking back hopelessly on the chair from -which he had risen. "It would be as much as my professional position -is worth." - -"All right, then; I'm off. I'll be back within an hour. Don't forget -you owe me a sovereign;" and he left the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - THE "BLUE ANCHOR." - - -The "Blue Anchor" was certainly not a place suited to the leisure -moments of a respectable solicitor enjoying first-rate practice in an -important town. It was small, low, dingy, blear-windowed, dilapidated. -It stood in a little by-street, if a place like Kilcash can be said to -have a by-street, since it has no main street or streets, all streets -being in some way or another intimately connected with the Storm Wall, -as the road inside that work was called. - -The "Blue Anchor" has no pretensions to a "front." On one side of the -door is a small, square window filled with small panes of unclean -glass. The house is two storeys high; the ground-floor consists of -three rooms--namely, the bar, tap-room, and kitchen. The floors of -these three rooms are formed of beaten clay, and boast of neither -straw nor sand. - -Within the bar are a plain deal table and four chairs. By means of -these, the bar is, for the sake of gentility, used as the family -refectory, for people of any pretensions know that dining in the -kitchen is a sign of low origin. Opposite the counter of the bar -stands the door into the tap-room. Folk who are in haste can be served -at the bar, but most of the customers of the "Blue Anchor" are -strangers to haste, and take their liquor seated in the tap-room--or -tap, as it is familiarly and affectionately called by those who are -familiar with the place. It is about twelve feet square, with a large -deal table in the middle, and a bench on each side of the table. At -the upper end is a hearth, on which smoulders a good peat fire, the -smoke from which goes up a large flue that comes down to within five -feet of the floor like a huge funnel. Two short pieces of logs, the -spoil of some wreck, serve as chimney-seats. The benches are of -home-make, and very unsteady on their legs. The continual presence of -beer seems to have muddled them as to the exact position of their -centre of gravity; and this condition, combined with the deplorable -unevenness of the floor, has made them despair of ever being able to -find it out. - -But the table is as firm as the Black Rock itself John Tobin, the -landlord--an enormously fat man, in gaiters, knee-breeches, and a -cutaway-coat--takes great pride in the invincible stability of that -table. Whenever he is angered by anything, he goes into the tap-room, -places his hands flat on the middle of the table, and gives two, -three, or four shakes, according to the agitation of his feelings. -Then he goes out to the front door, looks critically at the sky to -seaward, comes back to the bar, and, having mopped his forehead, -sighs, and is once more calm. - -The wonder of every one in the village is how the "Blue Anchor" -manages to live, and support John, his wife, and daughter. In summer -the men are too busy to go often, except for a pint or two before -retiring for the night; and in winter the men have very little or no -money to spend. - -When Jerry O'Brien reached the "Blue Anchor" he spoke a few cheerful -words to John Tobin, whom every frequenter of Kilcash knew, told him -he had run out from Kilbarry for the evening, with a view to seeing -how things were in the village, and how things were likely to be there -in the coming season. Jerry did not know exactly what the latter -phrase could mean, but it sounded friendly, as though he took an -interest in the place. - -Old John instantly attached a definite meaning to his words, and said, -with a smile: - -"Ah, sir, glad to hear it. Going to marry, sir, and settle down and -take a house here for the season?" - -Jerry started a little, coloured a little, and then said gaily: - -"No such luck, John--no such luck! I meant about the fishing, you -know. I'll go in and smoke a pipe for a bit." - -"And welcome, sir," said the fat old man, steering himself around the -end of the counter, and bringing his vast stomach safely into view, -with watch-chain, watch-key, and seals swaying giddily from his -overhanging fob. - -There were only two guests in the "Blue Anchor." Both were smoking -short clay pipes; each had a pint pewter pot before him. Jerry nodded -to each and said "Good evening" before sitting down. He called for a -pipe and tobacco for himself, and then asked if all, John Tobin -included, would have a drink, "because, you know," said he, "as I -never have been here before, it is only fair I should pay my footing," -a speech which was very cordially received. A wish was expressed by -John Tobin that since it was the first time he hoped it wouldn't be -the last. Upon which the two fishermen applauded and cleared their -throats in anticipation of beer. - -For a while O'Brien led the men to speak of the prospects of the next -season's fishing, and the chances of its being a good one. By the end -of half-an-hour they were ready for more beer. Then he ceased to ask -questions, and began to talk: - -"As I was coming along from Kilbarry to-day, I told Tim to stop -opposite the Black Rock, and I and Mr. O'Hanlon, who was with me, got -down and went out on it. I haven't been on it for I don't know how -long. Horrible place! I suppose very few people go over from the -village this time of year?" - -"Very few. Only for the good fishing there's off the tail of it, no -one out of the village would ever go there. It's a cursed spot. I -wonder you weren't afraid to go down, sir, at such a time of year. Ah, -but when you were passing it was no more than about half flood. -There's not so much danger at half flood as at full. Were you to the -southward of the Hole, sir?" said one of the fishermen. - -"No. I took care of that. I may be a fool, but I'm not such a fool as -that. I was curious to see the place because of the death of Mr. -Davenport." - -"Ah, yes," said John Tobin. "He's gone." - -There was neither joy nor sorrow in Tobin's voice, and that tone -expressed the general feeling of Kilcash towards the event. It was -nothing to the village, neither good nor harm. He had been little more -than a name to them. - -"Well, you all remember an unfortunate fellow named Fahey--Mike Fahey, -wasn't it?--who went down the Hole of his own free will, or, rather, -when he was chased by the police, ten or eleven years ago. Of course -you all remember him?" - -"Oh, yes"--they all remembered him. - -"Well, the affair of Mr. Davenport's death put him in my mind, and I -thought we'd go and look at the place where he took his awful leap. It -nearly made me giddy to look down, and sick to think of his awful -end." - -"And he wasn't in the wrong, after all!" said John Tobin. "Mr. -Davenport, I will say, afterwards cleared the man's character. That -was good of Mr. Davenport, wasn't it?" - -"Yes," said O'Brien; "but why did he make away with himself? If a man -knows he's innocent, he needn't run off and drown himself. He must -have remembered Mr. Davenport gave him the money. Why didn't he trust -Mr. Davenport to clear him?" - -The three men shook their heads. - -"That's what puzzles me," said O'Brien. "This unfortunate man was fond -of fishing." - -"And little's the good he got by it," said one of the fishermen. "He -had a miserable cockleshell of a punt, and it was the wonder of every -one he wasn't drowned seven days in the week. Nothing would satisfy -him but to keep dodging about that Black Rock in his tub of a punt, -all by himself, and he not able to swim a stroke. If he hadn't gone -down the Hole of his own will, he'd have been drowned by his own -foolishness some day." - -"How used he to manage that boat? With a sail?" - -"Sail! No, sculls." - -"Did he pull well?" - -"Not particularly well. Well enough, though, for a raw-boned chap like -him. Now that I remember it, I think he was pretty handy with the -oars--for a spell, you know. He'd be dead beat in a jim-crack with a -heavy oar in a yawl, but he could fiddle pretty fairly with the oars -he carried." - -"Did you ever see him scull from the notch?" - -"Ay, I have, sir." - -"And was he handy from the notch, too?" - -"Yes, in a hop-o'-my-thumb cockleshell like his. Why, you could twist -her round your finger in a mill-race. But as far as I can remember, he -could handle an oar aft as well as most of those that weren't brought -up to the work from boys." - -"And what happened to this miserable punt of his?" - -"Well, I don't think, sir, I can remember that. I know he lost it in -some kind of way or other--west, I think he said. Anyway, whether he -said so or not, it must have been west somewhere, for if anything -happened to the punt on the east shore he'd never come back to tell -what it was, for there isn't a landing-place there for anything from -the sea but gulls and curlews; and even if he was the strongest -swimmer in the barony his swimming would be no use to him, for he -could never get into Kilcash Bay--never get round the head." - -"Although, as you say, the east is much more dangerous than the west, -isn't it strange he should have lost his boat on the west side?" - -"Well, sir, it may and may not be strange. You see the western coast -is more broken up, and there are more coves, and little bays, and -little strands, and sharp rocks half covered, and so on, so that he -might stave her in there, and yet manage to get ashore. I'm very sorry -I can't remember what became of the punt." - -"Never mind," said O'Brien. "Now, do you know the exact rise and fall -of a neap tide at the Black Rock?" - -"The exact rise and fall?" - -"Yes; the exact rise of a neap tide from dead low water to the top of -high water." - -"I could not say to the inch, Mr. O'Brien." - -"Well, to the foot. I don't want it to the inch; the foot will do." - -The fisherman consulted his companion, who had not yet opened his -mouth. After a muttered talk, the spokesman said: - -"We wouldn't say to a foot, sir, if anything of consequence depended -upon it." - -"Fill up the measures again, John," said O'Brien, whose pint stood -before him untasted. "There's no bet on it; you needn't be afraid. I'm -only asking for information. I may be coming round here for the -summer, and I just want to find out all I can. How much do you think?" - -"Fourteen to sixteen feet." - -"You don't think fifteen feet six would be far out?" - -"No, sir. That's as near as can be. But there's the wind to be taken -into account when you come to inches." - -"How near were you ever to the Whale's Mouth--I mean, what was the -nearest?" - -"As close as that," he answered, stretching out his hand at arm's -length. He added significantly--"On the ebb." - -"How wide is the Mouth?" - -"I couldn't say exactly, sir. It's a place we're rather shy of, as you -know. I dare say it's as big as this room." - -"You couldn't pull a yawl into it?" - -"God forbid!" said the man devoutly. "Two did go in, and one was -swallowed up into the bowels of the land, and the other was broken -into ten thousand splinters. Pull a yawl in there! I'd go to the -Canary Islands for life first." - -"I don't mean to say _would_ you, but _could_ you?" - -"No." - -"Why?" - -"For two reasons. In the first place, there isn't room for the yawl -and the oars; and in the other place, I'd drop dead with the fright. -Heaven be between us and all harm!" - -"Is the Mouth much too narrow to allow a yawl to pull in?" - -"Mr. O'Brien, I and every one in Kilcash have a great wish for you, -sir; and if you're asking me these questions with the intention of -going into the Whale's Mouth, I'll not answer another one." - -"Upon my word and honour, Phelan. I haven't the least intention of -making away with myself, or with anybody else, by means of the Whale's -Mouth. I am inquiring simply for information, and perhaps if I come -here in the summer, I may ask you to take care of me while I am having -a look for myself; but just at present I want you to give me the -benefit of what you know. How much too small is it for a yawl to pull -in?" - -"I couldn't say how many feet, but some feet." - -"Ten?" - -"Hardly so many as that, but thereabouts." - -O'Brien was silent for a while. He looked down at the table, and made -some figures on it with his finger. The other men talked together. At -last he looked up and said: - -"Tell me, Phelan, did you, in looking into the Whale's Mouth, notice -whether it was straight, or inclined to the right or the left?" - -"It's quite straight, as far as you can see." - -"Are you quite sure of that?" - -"Certain." - -O'Brien then turned the conversation back into local channels again. -Soon after he took his leave, having by some strange freak of -preoccupation forgotten to drink his beer, although he had smoked his -pipe like a man. - -It was pitch dark. There was not a star in the heavens; no lights in -the village, save here and there the thin ray of a rushlight shining -through the wet window of some cottage. No phosphorescent gleam came -from the sea, but a mournful, ghostly sound of wailing, as its waves, -reduced by their passage up the bay, broke in diminished force against -the flat, uneventful sand. Here were none of the grand organ tones -heard near the lonely Black Rock, with its deadly legends, hideous -Hole, and irresistible monster. - -But O'Brien did not want to hear the sea now, either in its tame and -civilised musing or in its insane roar when it flung itself unimpeded -against the barriers of its dominions. He was thinking of the Black -Rock, and of his sick friend, Alfred Paulton; and of O'Hanlon, and of -the fate of Mike Fahey, and of Mr. Davenport, and of Tom Blake, and -of--of Madge--his Madge, as he called her to himself, now that it was -dark and no one was near. His Madge! - -All around him was dark, cold, vacuous; all within him was full of -light and warmth, and rich with figures in motion. He could not keep -his great company of players in order at first. They hustled and -jostled one another in his mind--all except Madge--his Madge! She -moved apart from all the others, and the moment she appeared all the -others fled as though abashed before her unstudied perfections. - -Up to this he had never seriously concerned himself about anything. He -had always been in fairly comfortable circumstances, although never -rich. He had been brought up in the belief that he need never take -much more trouble about the present or the future than an occasional -glance at his salmon weirs on the river, and here he was now -threatened with the loss of those weirs, which formed the backbone of -his income--at a time, too, when this income meant the one thing he -held dearest in the future--Madge! He had never been really in love -before; there had been a few trifling affairs, but up to this he had -never made up his mind to marry. That was the great test. Then look at -the way he was mixed up in the Paulton and Davenport affair! Alfred, -Madge's brother, succours Mrs. Davenport, and falls in love with the -widow. He, Jerry O'Brien, causes a relapse in Alfred's case by some -indiscreet words spoken by him of Mrs. Davenport. Then the Fishery -Commissioners (whom may perdition lay hold of and keep for ever!) come -howling to him about those weirs, and O'Hanlon tells him he must come -over to Ireland post-haste, or he'll be picked dry as a bone by the -Fishery Commissioners (whom may perdition--as before!); and no sooner -does he set his foot in Kilbarry than O'Hanlon placidly confesses -there is not so much need for haste for a day or two, or perhaps more, -and that his (O'Hanlon's) real reason for sending for him was because -of the ghost, or the ghost of a ghost, of one Mike Fahey, who had been -connected with the Davenports ten or eleven years ago, and had jumped -into the Hole in the Black Rock. A pretty complication, truly, for a -man to get into in a fortnight or three weeks! - -A pretty complication to get into, no doubt; but how would it all end? -Except for poor Alfred's illness and the Fishery Commissioners (whom-- -as before!), upon the whole he rather liked it. - -And now he must go back to O'Hanlon, who would think him lost. - -"I say, O'Hanlon," he said, cheerfully, as he got back to the -coffee-room, "you've won that sovereign, not I." - -"Did you go?" - -"Yes. I went and ordered the beer; but, I'm blowed, I was so much -amused that I came away and left it undrunk." - -"Amused! What in the name of all that is wonderful could amuse you at -that wretched beer-shop?" - -"I was only picking up some facts about your old friend, Mike Fahey." - -"Well, has any one seen him?" - -"I met three men, and they had all seen him." - -"In the name of heaven, when?" - -"Ten or twelve years ago." - -"Oh!" groaned O'Hanlon. "And not since?" - -"No." - -"That's not much good for me, is it?" - -"Is it the fact that they have not seen the ghost which strikes you as -being bad for you?" - -"Yes, O'Brien. You know something." - -"No, I do not; but I hope to know. I have learned something. But -still--_wait_." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - ON THE CLIFF. - - -Next morning O'Hanlon went back by himself to Kilbarry. Jerry O'Brien -made up his mind to stay a few days at Kilcash. His last words to the -perturbed attorney were encouraging, reassuring. He would divulge -nothing, nor indicate the nature of his hopes; but he told O'Hanlon in -a confident manner that he might dismiss all thought of his brain -being affected. "I now," he said, "verily believe you saw a ghost, the -ghost of Mike Fahey, on the Black Rock within the past month. Will -that satisfy you?" - -O'Hanlon shook his head. - -"I'm in the old fix still. I don't believe in ghosts; neither do you, -I am sure. You are saying this merely to quiet my fears." - -"You may trust me, I assure you. I am not saying anything out of a -desire to quiet your fears. If I do not tell you all, I am prevented -from doing so only by the want of conclusive evidence. I shall hang -about here until some more evidence turns up. I really believe what -you saw was no figment of your own brain." - -They parted thus. O'Hanlon was little satisfied, still he had no -resource but to endure. His faith in O'Brien was great in everything -save this one subject, which so unpleasantly and threateningly -engrossed his thoughts. He was a man of sanguine temperament, and now -the strength and impetuosity of his mind was turned inward and preyed -on his peace. - -O'Brien had little or nothing to do. His curiosity was strongly -excited. Owing to the uncertainty of the movements of the Fishery -Commissioners he could not leave the country. His heart was in London; -no hour went over his head that he did not think of his friends there. -He wrote to Mr. Paulton, and to his great relief heard that Alfred was -gradually recovering, and that Dr. Santley hoped to have his patient -up and about in a short time, his youth and good constitution -favouring rapid convalescence now that the acute stage of the disease -was passed. All at Carlingford House were well, and joined in sending -kindest regards to him, and hoped he would soon get rid of his -troublesome business, and run back to them. There was a postscript to -the effect that Dr. Santley had just that moment pronounced Alfred out -of danger, and said that he hoped in a fortnight or three weeks the -invalid would be able to seek change of air and scene--the two things -which would then be sufficient to ensure his restoration. - -O'Brien, upon reading this, struck the table with his hand, and cried -out: - -"Capital!--capital! Nothing could be better! This is the mildest -climate in all Europe. He shall come here. I'll run over for him if -all the Fishery Commissioners whom Satan can spare were to try and bar -my way. The least I may do after causing that relapse is to nurse him -for a while." - -O'Brien had little or nothing to do in Kilcash. No newspapers came to -him from London or Dublin. After luncheon he walked every day along -the downs as far as the Black Rock. There, when the weather was fine, -he lounged for an hour or so, and then strolled back to the hotel, -where he read some book until dinner. - -The "Strand Hotel" was of course deserted. He was the only guest, and -the staff had been reduced to one maid-of-all-work. - -"If Alfred wants quiet," thought Jerry, grimly, "he can have it here -with a vengeance. As long as those wretched Commissioners are about, I -could not stand Kilbarry. I'd be an object of commiseration there, and -I can't bear commiseration. If I only had Alfred here I'd be as happy -as a king. But until he comes I must try and keep up an interest in -O'Hanlon's ghost. I begin now to think O'Hanlon is going mad, after -all; for I can neither hear nor see anything of the late Mr. Fahey. It -wouldn't do to tell my misgivings to O'Hanlon. He really is cut up -about that spectre, and the only way to keep his spirits up is by -professing an unbounded belief in his phantom." - -No doubt Kilcash was dull, and would have been found intolerable by -any one not used to such a place at such a time. But O'Brien had been -brought up close to the sea, and its winter aspect was as familiar to -him as its summer glories. - -In summer, the sun and the clouds and the genial warmth of the air -take the mind off the sea, and reduce it to a mere accessory to the -scene. It is only one of many things which claim attention. In winter -the sea is absolute, dominant--master of the scene. In its presence -there is nothing to take the mind away from it. The land and the air -and the clouds have suffered change: the sea is alone immutable. It is -not then the adjunct to a holiday. In winter and summer its colour is -the result of reflection; but the dull, gloomy colours it reflects in -winter seem more congenial to it than the vivid brightness of gayer -skies. - -From his childhood O'Brien had been familiar with every phase of -change that possesses the watery waste. There was for him no -loneliness by the shore. He was no poet in the ordinary sense of the -word. He had never tried to string rhymes together. He considered that -a man who deliberately sat down to write verses which were not -intended purely to bring in money must be in a bad state of health. He -never concerned himself with elaborate analysis of his feelings, or -moaned because the destinies had not ordained splendours for his -career. He wished the Commissioners would let his weirs alone, so that -he might marry Madge Paulton. He wanted to lead a quiet, unromantic -life. He felt much more relief in abusing the Commissioners than he -should feel in writing a mournful ditty against fate. - -But he was in love, and dwelling by the sea in winter. He had -inadvertently caused his dearest friend a serious relapse in illness, -and he was asked by another friend to help him over a horrible -suspicion that this other friend had of his own sanity. Here surely -was matter for abundance of thought. So that, on the whole, he had no -moment of the day that was not filled with engrossing reflection of -some kind or another. - -He answered Mr. Paulton's letter at once. He was overjoyed to hear the -good news of Alfred, and he had made up his mind beyond any chance of -alteration that the finest place in the world for Alfred would be the -south of Ireland, and that there was no spot in the south of Ireland -at all equal to Kilcash for any one who needed recruiting. Then he -sent his very kindest regards to each member of the family by name, -and tried to write "Miss Paulton" like the rest of the letter, but -failed, so that it was the most ill-written part of all. He had little -hope of Alfred's coming. - -To his astonishment he got a reply thanking him for his kind -invitation, and saying that although Dr. Santley at first thought the -south of Europe would be preferable, he had at length yielded to -Alfred's earnest importunities to be sent to Ireland, where he could -enjoy the society of his friend Jerry, which he was certain would tend -more to his recovery than anything else in the world. - -"I am astonished," thought O'Brien, "that he did not insist on going -abroad, if it was only for the chance of meeting that siren who has -bewitched him. There is one thing plain from this--he has not only got -over his dangerous physical illness, but that much more dangerous -affection of the heart from which he has been suffering. What a -madness that was! I hope and trust, for his sake, that woman has -married Blake by this time. But no--I do not. That would be too bad a -fate to wish even to an enemy; and surely she has never done me harm." - -O'Brien did not repeat his visit to the "Blue Anchor," but now and -then he met burly Jim Phelan, the boatman, and talked to him about the -Black Rock and the Whale's Mouth. - -For the first week O'Brien was at Kilcash the weather had been -singularly calm. It had rained nearly every day; nothing else was to -be expected there at that time of the year. But scarcely a breath of -wind touched the sea. The long even rollers slid into the bay, and -burst upon the sands in front of the village. They flung themselves -wearily, carelessly against the cliffs without the bay, and after -tossing their arms languidly a moment in the air, fell back exhausted -into their foamy bed. - -One morning, as O'Brien was walking on the strand after breakfast, he -met Jim Phelan, and, as usual, got into talk with him. After a few -sentences of ordinary interest, Jim said: - -"The other night, sir, at the 'Blue Anchor,' you asked me a whole lot -about the Black Rock and the Whale's Mouth. Did you ever see her -spout?" - -"No," answered O'Brien, looking at the south-western region of the -sky. "I have often been here, winter and summer, but I have never been -so fortunate. Do you think there's going to be a gale?" - -"Yes, sir; there's going to be a heavy gale from the southward and -westward, and it will be high water at about three. You can see the -scuds flying aloft already, and I'm greatly mistaken if we haven't a -whole gale before a couple of hours are over. That won't give much -time for the sea to get up, but I am sure she'll spout to-day even -before the top of high water. Anyway, if she doesn't, I'm greatly -mistaken. Would you like to go over and see it, sir?" - -"Yes, Jim. I have nothing particular to do to-day, and I certainly -should like to see it." - -"Very good, sir. I have nothing particular to do to-day either, and if -you like I'll go over with you." - -"I should be very glad. When shall we start?" - -"Well, sir, if you are to see it you may as well be there at the -beginning, so we'll be off at once. Did you feel that?" - -"Yes." - -A puff of warm wind touched the two men, and then the air was still -again. - -"Go on, then, sir, to the hotel and put on your oilskins. I'll run and -get mine, and be back in a minute." - -"But I haven't got oilskins!" said O'Brien, with a smile. "Will a -mackintosh and gaiters do?" - -The boatman looked long and fixedly into the south-west before he -answered: - -"No, sir; a mackintosh would not be any use out there against what's -coming. This will be a whole gale, or I'm a Dutchman. It's been -brewing a long time, and we're going to have it now, and no mistake. -I'll get you a set of oilskins, and maybe if you went up to the hotel -and put your flask in your pocket, it wouldn't be out of the way -by-and-by. I'll bring the oilskins up to the hotel." - -"All right," said O'Brien; and he set off. - -In less than half-an-hour he found himself in a clumsy, ill-fitting -set of oilskins a size too big. Jim had brought a sou'-wester also. He -himself wore his own oilskins and his sou'-wester, and, so equipped, -the two set out for the Black Rock. - -As they reached the high ground of the downs, another gust of wind, -stronger and of longer duration than the former one, struck them. Jim -tied the strings of his sou'-wester under his chin, and O'Brien -followed his example. - -"It will be a sneezer," said the boatman, shaking himself loose in his -over-alls, as if getting ready for action. - -The sea was still unruffled. The two puffs of wind which had come as -the advance guard of the storm had passed lightly and daintily over -the sleeping ocean. The long clean-backed rollers swept slowly -shoreward, staggering a little here and there when they passed over -some sunken rock. Down in the south-west the sky was leaden-coloured, -with long fangs of cloud stretching towards the land and gradually -stealing upward and onward. An unnatural stillness filled the air. No -wild bird of any kind was to be seen. The gulls had long ago sailed -far inland. There were few sea birds here but gulls. - -"We'll be there before the first puff," said Phelan, buttoning the -lowest button of his coat. "She hasn't spouted now since a little -after Christmas. In that southerly gale we had then she spouted fine." - -"Did it come over the cliffs?" - -"No, sir--not quite up to the cliffs. 'Twas a southerly gale, you -know; and it takes a south-westerly gale to send it over the cliffs. -Ah, that was a stiffer squall than the last! It's coming on. Heaven -help the ship that makes this a lee shore for the next twenty-four -hours!" - -The prediction was verified, for a fierce gust had caught O'Brien in -front and threatened to tear the strings out of his sou'-wester. - -The two men turn and resume their way. The torn skirts of the -south-western pall of cloud are now almost overheard. They are -hurrying on at a dizzy rate. Out far upon the water under the lowering -cloud a dulness has crept. The great mirror of the sea has been -breathed upon and sullied by the wind. In shore, the waves rise and -fall tranquilly. - -The squalls now become frequent. Although the solid mass of the water -beneath is still unchanged, when the gusts fly across the waves and -strike the cliffs the foam is blown upward, hissing, and bursts into -smoke against the crags. From under the broadening cloud a faint -whispering sound comes, thin and shrill like a broadened whisper of -the wind in grass. - -"Do you think the storm will last so long as twenty-four hours?" - -"Impossible to say, sir. But I think there's that much due to us. Turn -your back to it, sir." - -They draw near the Black Rock. Each man keeps his body bent to -windward ready to meet the next onslaught of the gale. Now only a few -seconds pass between each gust. Each gust is stronger and longer than -the former one. When they are within a few hundred yards of the rock, -when they can plainly see the outline of the little bay in which it is -wedged, the storm bursts fully upon them. One blast strikes them, and -lasts a minute. They are obliged to stand still, leaning against the -gale. A lull of a few seconds follows, and then the broad, mighty -torrent of the wind bursts upon them in its uninterrupted fury, and -for a while it seems as if they must be swept away by its persistent, -tremendous force. - -At length they turn round, and, holding on their sou'-westers, gaze -into the face of the wind. The sea is now boiling, churning, but not -yet roused. Foam spurts aloft, where, before, the dull blue waters -rose and fell unbroken. The spray crawls further and further upward -against the red-brown cliffs. The roar and tumult of the wind is -pressing against them. The roar and tumult of the waters have not yet -begun. - -At that moment Phelan catches O'Brien by the arm, and points towards -the Black Rock. The figure of a man is seen clearly against the -sky-line. It gradually sinks from view. It is descending the path to -the Black Rock below. - -"Let us run," shouts Phelan. "It is certain death if he goes down." - -They run at the top of their speed in their clumsy oilskins. They -reach the cliff directly over the fatal rock. They look down, around, -at one another. Both start back with cries of surprise and horror. - -No one is to be seen. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - THE MONSTER LET LOOSE. - - -Neither man spoke. Phelan's amazement had bereft him of words. He knew -the place thoroughly. He had known and feared it from his earliest -years. To left and right were perpendicular cliffs. In front stretched -the evil Black Rock. From where they stood descended the pathway to -the table rock below. On the broken ground around them was nothing -taller than dwarf bushes, which could not conceal a goat and to reach -which the sure-footedness of a goat would have been needed. In his -youth Phelan had been as bold as any lad in the village. But neither -he nor any other lad of the village had ever dared to tempt death on -those steep, friable, rotten slopes. - -Beyond all doubt he had seen the figure of a man disappear over this -cliff a few moments ago. Where was he--it--now? The Black Rock lay -bare, naked, at their feet. A man's head could not be hidden there. -Whither had that figure gone? It could not have reached the sea in the -time. The monster had not yet broken loose, and the man could not have -been swept into the water. No shattered corpse lay on the greasy rock -beneath. A man cannot fly. What had become of this man? Or had they -seen a ghost? - -He turned to O'Brien and noticed that the latter looked pale and -scared. - -"You saw him?" he shouted above the storm. "You saw him as plain as -daylight?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you make of it?" - -"I don't know." - -Once more Phelan looked carefully around him. Absolutely no trace of -man was to be seen. Except for their presence, the place might have -been alone since the making of the world. He again turned to O'Brien. - -"Heaven be between us and all harm, but it must have been a ghost!" - -"He could not have got to the Hole in the time." - -"Not if he had wings." - -"Did you ever see Fahey? Of course you did. You told me about him." - -"Merciful Lord, it was Fahey!" - -The two men looked mutely into each other's faces. Anything like a -regular conversation was now impossible owing to the force and noise -of the storm. - -O'Brien had had a theory. The events of the last two minutes had -shattered his theory to atoms. The two policemen who had seen Fahey -jump into the Hole had not been mistaken. It was no ghost they saw. -They had tracked their man as surely as they had ever tracked any one -on whom they laid hands. He, being innocent, was suspected of a crime; -or, rather, he had innocently, in ignorance, committed a criminal act, -and being pursued and hard pressed, had flung himself headlong into -that awful pit. Within a couple of weeks or so, O'Hanlon had seen that -same figure in this place, and now he (O'Brien) had seen such a -figure, and Phelan had identified it. This was monstrous. What came of -all his inquiries respecting the Whalers Mouth and the accessibility -of the cave? Nothing--absolutely nothing. His theory was childish. He -was glad he had spoken of it to no man. - -What was to be his theory now? - -Phelan was stupefied, and stood staring at the cliffs and the rock as -if he expected them to undergo some stupendous change, display some -more incomprehensible marvel. O'Brien stood back a few paces from the -brink, and kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, which had lowered and -come nearer. - -Suddenly Phelan stepped back to O'Brien, and, putting his mouth close -to the ear of the other, shouted-- - -"She blows!" - -O'Brien dropped his eyes to the Black Rock. - -From the Hole a thin wreath of sea-smoke rose, and, bent sharply by -the gale, almost touched the cliff. A booming, hollow sound, like the -flapping of distant thunder among hills, weighed on the air, and then -came a shrill, loud hiss, as of falling water, and again the wind was -drenched in sea-smoke. - -Phelan stretched out his hands towards the Hole, and shouted-- - -"Look!" - -The word was scarcely uttered when the ground shook, and from that -Hole a solid column of water sprang aloft with a shriek that drowned -the raging of the storm. It rose fifty feet into the air, turned -inward towards the cliff, and then toppled and fell with a mighty -crash that again made the gigantic bases of the immemorial cliffs -tremble to their lowest depths. - -The monster had broken loose! - -O'Brien started back. He had from childhood heard of the awful Puffing -Hole, but had never seen it in action before. His first feeling was -that this could be no display of ordinary power, but that the cliffs -and rocks were riven by some Titanic force never exercised before. He -felt certain that when again he looked down he should see the Black -Rock shattered, disintegrated, annihilated. What could withstand such -a blow? - -The boatman drew him towards the edge of the cliff once more. He was -scarcely in position when the huge shaft of water sprang once more -into the air, this time to twice its former height. He was appalled, -and again sprang back. The gale caught the capital of the column and -lifted it bodily, dashing it against the cliff. O'Brien was covered -from head to foot with water. - -The two men shifted their position, so as to get out of the reach of -the water, and then stood mutely looking at the terrible phenomenon. - -When O'Brien's alarm subsided, and he knew by the conduct of his -companion that there was no occasion for fear, he stood fascinated by -the stupendous spectacle. He had heard this described hundreds of -times, but his imagination had not had space for grandeur such as -this. The Hole did not spout at every wave, but took breathing space -like a living thing. Now he understood why the opening of the cave was -called the Whale's Mouth. Now he understood why the people said "she -spouts" when the Puffing Hole flung its hundreds of tons of water a -hundred feet into the air. It was a daring fancy which saw in the -strange freak of nature a colossal representation of the spouting of -the whale. The Black Rock was the head, the cave the jaws, the shaft -in the rock the blow-hole of a whale multiplied a thousand times. - -And he, presumptuous fool that he was, had imagined a boat might enter -that cave and come out uninjured--that a man might throw himself into -that awful funnel and survive! - -In half an hour O'Brien and Phelan left the edge of the cliff and -turned their faces towards the village. Notwithstanding the oilskins, -both were wet through, for the spray and fine mist from the sea -penetrated at the neck, the wrists, and under the buttons in front. -They kept more inland on their way back. Phelan was the first to speak -of the mysterious figure they had seen. He had no difficulty in the -matter. They had seen the ghost of Fahey, who had committed suicide -there ten or eleven years ago. Nothing could be simpler or more -natural than this explanation. It was a horribly wicked thing to -commit suicide, but to throw one's self into the Puffing Hole was a -double crime; for, in addition to making away with life, it was -defying Providence--it was courting the most awful death that could be -sought by man. The supernatural appearance that day was to be a -warning to O'Brien, who had displayed an unwise curiosity as to the -Puffing Hole and the Whale's Nose. From the nature of O'Brien's -inquiries, it was, notwithstanding his denials, almost certain that he -had formed a design of going in a boat up the cavern. The spirit of -the dead man had been sent to show him the penalty of any such impious -risking of life, and to remind him of the fate he would surely -encounter if he dared to do anything so rash. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - A NIGHT TRAVELLER - - -When O'Brien got back to the "Strand Hotel" at Kilcash, he thought the -whole matter over for an hour or so. Then he sat down and wrote a -note: - - -"My dear O'Hanlon, - -"Jim Phelan, the boatman, and I went to the Black Rock to-day to see -the Puffing Hole spout. When within a few hundred yards of the cliff -over the Rock, we both plainly saw the figure of a man, which Phelan -declared to be Fahey's! Are you satisfied now? I am not. I'll run in -to Kilbarry to-morrow. - - "Yours always, - - "Jeremiah O'Brien." - - -Then he ate his dinner, and went out to pay another visit to the "Blue -Anchor." - -By this time Jim Phelan had told the story of that day's visit to the -Black Rock to many of the villagers, and although the simple fisher -folk as a rule retired very early during the long nights, most of them -made an exception on this occasion. Many of the men and women sought -neighbours' houses, and discussed the mysterious appearance of the -form of Fahey hours after their usual time for going to bed. - -But Jim himself was not at any of these domestic gatherings. He was -the hero of the hour, and the natural place for a hero was the taproom -of the "Blue Anchor." - -There was a feeling among the men of Kilcash that no subject of prime -importance to the village could be discussed anywhere else so well as -in the taproom of the "Blue Anchor." Ordinary events of an ordinary -day might be suited to the shelter of the Storm Wall on the shoreward -face in a breeze or rain, or the rocks beneath the wall when the -weather was fine. But neither of these, nor even the bar of the "Blue -Anchor" itself, accorded with grave or exciting discourse of an -exceptional nature. The taproom was the only place in which men could -give unbridled license to debate. Here one could not only unbend, but -give expression to the most audacious theories without danger of -reproof or repression by wives or mothers. - -When O'Brien entered, a dozen men were crowded into the dimly-lighted, -squalid room. As he had drawn near the house he heard voices raised in -eager conversation. His entrance was the signal for silence. This was -partly owing to his superior social position, and partly to the fact -that his name had mingled freely in the talk for some time. He sat -down, called for beer for himself and those around him, and lit a -cigar. The storm was still blowing so strongly that he had found it -impossible to smoke in the open air. - -Jim Phelan was there, and the men were all seated as close as the -rickety benches would allow. - -"Well, men," said O'Brien, "I dare say I could guess what you were -talking of. Did any of you ever hear of anything like it until -now?--I mean, did any of you ever hear that the ghost of this man -Fahey had been seen in the neighbourhood before?" - -Several men answered in the negative; the others shook their heads. - -O'Brien then rehearsed all he had gathered from Phelan of Fahey, and -asked the others if they could add anything to the tale. - -At this they shook their heads also. He then inquired if among them -they could find an explanation. But this produced no better result. He -felt baffled, discouraged. He had not counted on learning much, but he -had expected to gather something. - -After a stay of some time he left the "Blue Anchor" with nothing added -to his store of facts or surmises. During the time he had sat there -and smoked his cigar, he had heard much of what he knew repeated over -and over again, with the wearying garrulity of those into whose lives -few events of varied interest enter. - -The storm was raging still abroad, although the violence of the wind -had considerably abated. The sky was now strewn with shattered, rugged -clouds, wreckage of the gale. Here and there groups of pale stars -shone out in the dull sky. The night was not dark. No moon shone, but -a pale blue radiance filled the clefts and chasms between the clouds, -and fringed their rugged edges with hues of dull steel. - -By this time the tide was falling. The sea, even in the bay, had been -lashed into fury, and was breaking in sheets over the Storm Wall, -under the partial shelter of which O'Brien walked towards the "Strand -Hotel." - -He kept his head bent low, in order to avoid the flying spray. On his -right was the Storm Wall, with the bay beyond. On the left the -village, with its few scattered lights. Kilcash Bay made an irregular -shallow bow on the innermost side, and along this bow from one end to -the other of it the village was built. As became a house of such -importance as the "Blue Anchor," it stood near the middle of the bow, -not on the main road, but on a little narrow road running at right -angles to the Storm Wall, and on which were very few houses. At the -end of this by-road, and to the right facing the sea, lay the cottages -of the village. These were owned chiefly by fishermen, and were let to -visitors in the summer, while the families of the fishermen retired to -some other shelter, situate visitors never knew exactly where. To the -left stood the more ambitious half of the village. Here were the few -shops and two-storey houses it contained. At the further end of this -left-hand half stood the "Strand Hotel," the most imposing-looking -house in the place, and the point towards which Jerry O'Brien was now -making his way in the lee of the wave-beaten wall. - -O'Brien did not look at his watch before leaving the "Blue Anchor," -but he knew it was about nine o'clock. At such an hour, in such a -season of the year, the village was usually plunged in darkness, -except for the lights in the one hotel and the one public-house. The -few shops were never in the winter open after seven, and not ten in a -hundred of the inhabitants were out of bed at nine o'clock. But owing -to the story which Jim Phelan had brought back from the downs that -day, this was not considered an ordinary night, and there were more -lights than usual twinkling in the houses still. - -But as O'Brien forged his way laboriously forward, under the -protection afforded by the wall, he became aware that one of the shops -was not only open, but doing business too, at this advanced hour of -night. - -Between O'Brien and the shop were a broad road and a little -garden--for all the houses and cottages, including those with shops, -had gardens in front. - -O'Brien's mind was not busy at the moment, and out of idleness, rather -than curiosity, he kept his eyes on the open door of the shop as he -drew near and passed it. - -Before he had gone beyond the point at which he could command a view -of it without turning his head back inconveniently, some one came out -of the shop, the door closed, and all was dark. - -Here a severe gust of wind almost carried off O'Brien's hat, and he -paused a moment to pull it down over his brows, and wait until the -spray of a wave, which had just climbed the wall and sprung over it, -fell on the road in front. Partly to shield his face from the wind, -and partly out of a desire to try and make out what kind of being had -the daring to come with custom to M'Grath's at such an unusual hour, -he kept his face turned inland, and looked at the figure which had -emerged from the shop. The form was that of a man--a man of the -average, or perhaps slightly over the average height--bulky, or, -rather, bulged--no, not bulky, but bulged--irregular--stooped, stooped -as though he carried a bundle, or was very old, or was a hunchback. -The man was going on at a quick pace in the direction of the hotel. - -"He can't be staying at the 'Strand,'" thought O'Brien. "I am the only -visitor at the 'Strand.' And yet where can he be going? No person -living in the village would dream of knocking up M'Grath at such an -hour except in a matter of life and death, and M'Grath doesn't sell -drugs." - -They were now getting near the end of the houses. The "Strand" was the -last building in the village. The garden at its rear climbed partly up -the slope of the downs. The nearest dwelling-place beyond the hotel -was Kilcash House, the late Mr. Davenport's home. That house stood a -mile back from the cliff, and the shortest line from it to the sea -would bring one to the Black Rock. - -As O'Brien saw the man pass the last house of the terrace and approach -the hotel, he watched no longer, but turned his eyes out for one last -look at the sea, with the reflection, "There is nowhere else for him -but the 'Strand'--unless," he thought, with a smile, "he is going to -visit our old friend Fahey at the Black Rock. A nice quiet place to -spend an evening like this would be the Puffing Hole." - -He shuddered. Even here, two miles away from it, and within a few -yards of his comfortable room, with lamps and a fire, and absolute -security from the sea, it was not possible to think of that awful Hole -unmoved. Although the tide was receding, it was higher than when he -and Jim Phelan had been at the Rock. The water had then been flung up -a hundred feet into the air. Now, no doubt, it was mounting a hundred -and fifty feet--ay, two hundred feet, in a solid, unbroken, bent -column! What a hideous fate it would be to stand down on that fatal -rock and, with the certainty of immediate destruction, watch that dire -column mount up into the air! Ugh! It wasn't a thing to think of just -now. He had had enough of the sea and storm for one day. He'd go in -and turn up the lamps, and fit himself into an easy-chair in front of -the fire, and mix a tumbler of punch and smoke a cigar, and forget all -about the confounded sea, except that it was out here foaming and -fuming away, wholly unable to get at him. - -He looked towards the hotel. The man who had come out of M'Grath's -ought by this time to have got within its hospitable walls. No one was -to be seen stirring near it. - -"Ah, as I thought!" mused O'Brien complaisantly. "But what can they -have wanted from M'Grath's at the 'Strand' at this hour of the night? -And now that I think of it, the whole male force attached to the house -in any capacity consists of old Billy Coyne, the stable man, and -myself. I've not been in M'Grath's buying things--that is, at least, -not with my knowledge and consent. But then this is a queer place, -where queer things happen now and then." - -He turned to cross the road, but was again brought to a standstill by -a fierce gust of wind and dash of spray. While he was holding on his -hat, his face was turned towards the pathway leading to the downs high -above. He shook the spray off him, and was on the point of moving away -when his eyes caught something moving upward and forward on that path. -What the object was he could not determine, for the light was poor and -uncertain, and the distance considerable. One moment he thought it was -a pony; the next it seemed to resemble a human being. He stood still a -minute or two, long enough to make sure he could not come to a -conclusion, as the thing continued to recede and the light did not -improve. - -He shrugged his shoulders. The affair was not of the least moment to -him. He crossed the road and entered the hotel. He was in the act of -taking off his overcoat in the hall when he caught sight of old Billy -Coyne, who in the winter acted as handy man about the place, and -discharged now and then the functions of waiter and boots. - -"Who came in just now, Billy?" he asked. - -"Sorrow a soul, sir," answered the old man, helping O'Brien with the -coat. - -"I mean, who was the man that came out of M'Grath's carrying a bundle -on his back?" - -"Some one carrying a bundle on his back?" queried the man in -respectful perplexity. - -"Yes," said O'Brien, sharply. - -He was annoyed at what he considered the stupidity of Coyne. - -"The yard door is locked this hour, and no one could come in that -way. Ever since you went out, sir, I've been about here; and although -the sea and the wind are high, I am used to them, and no one could, -and no one did, come in. Nobody," added Coyne, emphatically, "crossed -that threshold"--pointing to the front doorway--"since you went -out, sir, until you yourself crossed it this minute. If you saw -_anything_"--mysteriously--"for goodness sake don't say a word about -it, or you'll have the missus and Mary in dread of their lives, if -they don't die of the fright. Did you see _it_ come in?" - -O'Brien dropped his brows a little over his eyes, and looked at the -man. Coyne did not seem as though he had been drinking or asleep. - -"Go and ask Mrs. Carey and Mary, and when you are coming back, bring -me some whisky and hot water." - -When Coyne reappeared it was with the full assurance that neither Mrs. -Carey, the landlady, nor Mary, the housemaid, had seen or heard any -one enter the house between Jerry's leaving it and his return just -now. - -What was Jerry to make of this? There was not the shadow of a doubt -that a man had come out of M'Grath's with a bundle of some kind on his -back. He had watched that man with a little curiosity until he was -quite sure he had no other cover to go to but the hotel. Then came a -time when his attention was taken off the figure and given to the sea. -No man was to be seen when he turned round, but something was going up -the path to the downs. That something must have been the man he had -seen leave M'Grath's. Nothing could be plainer than that. But who in -the name of all that was mysterious could think of knocking at -M'Grath's, and then ascend the downs with a heavy bundle on such a -night? There was no house for several miles in the direction taken by -the man with the bundle except the residence of the late Mr. -Davenport, and that was two miles off. - -Fahey, or---- - -Nonsense! This rubbish about ghosts was unworthy of a moment's -consideration. It was puerile, old-womanish, contemptible. Besides, -ghosts did not, as far as he knew, knock up the proprietor of a -general shop and buy or any way carry away heavy bundles on their -backs. He must not waste time with such rubbish again. - -But what about Fahey? Fahey was more of a ghost than his own ghost. -Either Fahey was dead or he was not. To jump into the Puffing Hole, -was, every one said, certain death. Fahey had been seen to jump into -the Puffing Hole--seen by two witnesses incapable of making a mistake -in the matter. The word of one man in a case of this kind would be -open to doubt, but two men said they saw Fahey jump into the Puffing -Hole years ago. That very day he (O'Brien) had seen a figure which Jim -Phelan recognised as that of Fahey, and that figure had vanished near -the hideous caldron, but without having time to get near it, and in -face of the fact that there was not another means of accounting for -its disappearance. - -What on earth could he make of this? And now here was a mysterious -figure getting a shop opened at night, and in the face of a fierce -storm starting over the downs in the direction of the Black Rock. - -But the whole thing wasn't worth thinking of. What was it to him if -Fahey's ghost were fictitious or real, or if Fahey were alive or dead? -He'd put the whole thing from him, and think of where exactly he -should build that house for Madge. - -Next morning, before starting for Kilbarry, he took a stroll and -turned into M'Grath's shop to buy a strap for his rugs. They sold -everything at M'Grath's--twine, and candles, and bread, and gunpowder, -and kettles, and vinegar, and calico, and tea, and butter, and -sweetmeats, and fishing-hooks, and hoops, and wooden spades, and white -lead, and garden seeds, and flowers of sulphur, and dried haddock, and -camp-stools, and crockery-ware, and pious pictures, and wall-hooks, -and penny bugles, and cod-liver oil, and bran, and a thousand other -things--to make a list of which would puzzle the most experienced -auctioneer or valuer. - -"You had a late customer last night," said O'Brien, when he had -selected the strap. - -"Yes, sir. He came to buy a few articles he wanted. He said that in my -father's time he often bought things in this shop, and that as he was -passing through the village late he wanted to see this place again for -the sake of old times." - -"How long is it since he was here, did he say?" - -"Thirty-seven years since he saw Kilcash." - -"Then he is not young." - -"Bless you, no, Mr. O'Brien! He's seventy-five, and with a bad cough -too; and to think of him walking a night like last night from this to -Kilbarry, with such a load too!" - -"Seventy-five--seventy-five!" muttered Jerry. "That's no good." - -"Ay, seventy-five, and looked every day of it. I don't think the poor -fellow is long for this world." - -O'Brien left. A man of seventy-five did not, he thought, bear much on -the case. The years were thirty or thirty-five too many. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - DULWICH AGAIN. - - -When Jerry O'Brien reached Kilbarry that afternoon, he drove straight -to O'Hanlon's office, and briefly recounted to the astonished -solicitor what he and Jim Phelan had seen at the Black Rock the day -before. O'Hanlon was for a few moments speechless with amazement. When -his amazement wore off a little, he found himself bound in on all -sides with perplexities. He told himself a hundred times that here was -evidence enough to satisfy the most sceptical of judges and juries; -and yet he, a mere solicitor, could not make up his mind to believe. -O'Brien, Phelan, and himself had seen something they would swear was -the figure of a man, and Phelan and himself would swear that what they -had seen was in the likeness of that Mike Fahey who had committed -suicide years ago by throwing himself into the Puffing Hole while, in -respect of a groundless charge, pursued by the police. It was -distracting--it was incredible; but it must be believed. - -He remembered when he was told at school that if a penny had been put -out at five per cent, compound interest in the year 1 A.D., it would -then equal in value a mass of gold containing a globe as big as the -earth for every second of time since the beginning of the Christian -era. At first he had said this astounding statement was not true, but -when it was plainly demonstrated that it was even a ridiculous -understatement, he did not say it was not true, but he could not -believe it, although the figures were irrefutable. - -This history of the reappearance of Fahey, or some shade or likeness -of him, was now above question. It stood on as firm a basis as -testimony could desire, and yet it was naught to him but myth. Many of -the greatest truths are unbelievable. This was a little truth, but in -its integrity was impenetrable. - -The one great consolation was that he, O'Hanlon, need no longer fear -his brain was playing him false. - -Like O'Brien, he came to the conclusion that impossible ghost or still -more impossible man, the affair was none of his. He wasn't going mad; -that was the great thing. - -That day the two friends chatted the matter over while they sat before -O'Hanlon's fire after dinner, and they both agreed that they would -then and there say good-bye to Mr. Michael Fahey, whether he was -matter or spirit. - -The solicitor had no more certain news of the beastly Fishery -Commissioners. They were still hovering about the neighbourhood; but -no one alive, themselves included, could tell what they were going to -do, or were not going to do, but they were still deucedly hard on -weirs. And--no; it would not be at all safe for Jerry to go to -London--just at present. - -The two friends separated early, Jerry going back to "The Munster." He -had no desire for a further time in Kilcash. Alfred Paulton would be -soon fit to travel, and then once more he should go back to the -village; but he now had business to watch in Kilbarry. Certificates, -and memorials, and declarations, and so on, had to be obtained or -attended to, and although O'Hanlon did all the business in connection -with the weirs and the Commissioners, both men deemed Jerry's presence -advisable. He was extremely popular in the town, and the request of a -principal is always more efficacious than that of an agent. - -He had been only a few days at "The Munster," when a letter put into -his hand one morning caused him an agreeable surprise. The envelope -bore the London postmark, and the superscription, shaky though it -happened to be, was unmistakably in the handwriting of Alfred himself. - -Jerry broke the cover hastily, and read the brief pencil note with -pleasure, until he came to the last two sentences--"I do not know -where _she_ is. They will not tell me anything about her." - -"Not cured, by Jove!" said Jerry to himself, with disappointment. "One -would think his illness and relapse would have put some sense into his -head, or knocked some nonsense out of it. But, after all, what is -there wrong in it? Why shouldn't he fall in love with whom he likes? -She is older than he, and I am sure she would not marry him, even if a -sleepy Government would only have the good sense and good taste to -hang Blake instead of worrying honest folk about weirs and other -things. Alfred is the best fellow in the world. Who could associate -with Madge and not be good--except, of course, myself? But Alfred is -dull; there's no denying that. He's more than a trifle mutton-headed. -Madge has all the brains of the family, and the best heart, too, only -she's going to throw that away. Is she? Wait till you see, Madge. My -darling!" - -He crooked his arm and held it out from him, and looked at the sleeve -of his coat tenderly, as though a head rested there. - -"I'll spoil you with love when I get you. Spoil you with love! No -woman ever yet was spoiled with love. It's the flattery and -foolishness which spring from a desire to win a woman any way, no -matter how, so long as you win, that spoil women. I'd like to see a -Fishery Commissioner spooning. By Jove, it would be a fine thing if a -fellow had a sister a Commissioner was spooning! First you could get -him to allow you to do anything you liked, and the moment he turned -crusty, you would only have to ask your sister to poison him. I'm -sorry I haven't a sister. But, stay, I will have one soon. Edith -_must_ marry a Commissioner. When Madge and I are settled, I will ask -Edith to stay with us, and fill the house from garret to basement with -Commissioners. (I wonder how many of the beasts there are?) But I must -not say anything to Madge about this scheme until we are married. If I -mentioned it now she might object to the poison--there is no depending -on women, until they are married. But once a woman is married you may -count on her for anything. Look at Lady Macbeth! What a wife she was -to have at a fellow's elbow! Why, she wasn't merely a wife--she was a -spouse. What the difference is I don't know; but I'm sure she was a -spouse more than a wife--just as an awful father or mother is a -parent. But what is it I was thinking of?" - -Jerry could be cool and collected and coherent when he liked, but he -did not like it now. - -Days passed by uneventfully with Jerry at Kilbarry. He answered -Alfred's letter, but made no reference to Mrs. Davenport. He thought -it safer not. He was quite sure neither Mr. nor Mrs. Paulton would -look with favour on their son taking a continued interest in the -widow. To him there was something grotesque in Alfred falling in love -with a widow. Beyond doubt Alfred was in love with this strange and -beautiful woman. Jerry did not wonder at his young friend's -enthusiasm. He would have been a cold-blooded man under thirty who -could see her without feeling profound admiration. But Alfred would -have to get over this infatuation. It could never come to anything. Of -course time would cure him. Up to this, time had apparently been -losing its opportunity. When a man is in love with the sister of a -friend, it makes matters pleasanter if the girl's brother is involved -in a similar enterprise. But Jerry would rather forego such an -advantage in his case than that matters should become serious between -Alfred and the beautiful widow. - -Daily Jerry saw O'Hanlon, and daily urged upon him the desirability of -despatch. So importunate was the younger man, that his friend and -adviser at length became suspicious and finally certain of the cause -from which Jerry's anxiety for haste sprang. "When the weirs are out -of danger," said the solicitor, "I know the next job you'll give me to -do." - -"What is it?" said Jerry, colouring slightly, and looking his -companion defiantly in the face. - -"A settlement--a settlement! A marriage settlement, I mean!"--with a -wink. - -"Don't be a fool, O'Hanlon. I wish you'd get a settlement about the -weirs." - -At length the day came on which Jerry set out for London for the -purpose of bringing over his friend for change of air and scene. In -two senses of the phrase, the weirs were still where they had been -five weeks ago. One of these senses was satisfactory: the weirs -had not been pulled down by the ruthless Commissioners. The other -sense was discouraging: the Commissioners had not yet done with the -weirs, and the weirs were still in danger of being pulled down, -as engines which obstructed the free navigation of the river Bawn. -Notwithstanding this, Jerry made the journey in the best of humours, -and having arrived without adventure or accident at Euston, drove to -his old lodgings and renewed his acquaintance with the civil landlady -and the odious table-cover. - -His first call next morning was at Dulwich. He had not written to say -the hour at which he would reach Carlingford House, and when he -arrived and asked the servants after each member of the family, he -found they were all out with the exception of the invalid. At first -this rather chilled Jerry, but upon a moment's consideration he -thought that after all it was best Alfred and he should have a few -moments together alone. There was no reason, as far as he knew, for -precautions of any kind; but Alfred might be excitable, and it was -desirable that Mrs. Davenport's name should occur but sparingly, or -not at all. - -He was shown into a little back drawing-room, where he found Alfred -sitting in an easy-chair at the window. Alfred rose with eager -alacrity. The two friends held one another by the hand for some time -in silence. Then Jerry spoke and thanked heaven Alfred looked so well, -quite well, better than ever he had seen him before--thinner no doubt, -but better. "Why, you have got a colour like a bashful girl in a -little fix!" - -"I--I have just heard surprising news." - -"What is it?" asked Jerry, looking keenly at his friend. - -"First, tell me when are we to go to Ireland--to Kilcash?" - -"Whenever you like, my dearest Alfred." - -"But how soon?" he asked eagerly. - -"Whenever you like, my dear boy, I am at your disposal. But do not run -any risk--do not hasten away for my sake." - -Jerry was thinking of how little it would cost him in the way of -self-denial if he were obliged to pass a month under this roof. - -"But will you hurry away for _mine?_" - -"For _yours_, my dear Alfred! Of course I'll do anything you wish. But -how hurry away for _yours?_" - -"Then we can start to-morrow for Kilcash?" - -"_To-morrow!_ Why, what's the matter, Alfred?" - -"Ah, I know it is too late for to-day. But to-morrow we set out for -Kilcash." - -"If you wish it. But why this excitement? It's the dullest place in -the world." - -"Dull--dull! Why, she's there by this time!" - -"_Who, in the name of mercy?_" - -"Mrs. Davenport." - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - ANOTHER VISITOR. - - -O'Brien was struck dumb. "Mrs. Davenport," he thought, in a dazed, -unbelieving way--"Mrs. Davenport at Kilcash! It can't be possible. -There is some mistake." Here was a complication on which he had never -counted--which it would have been idle to anticipate. The position in -which he found himself was perplexing, absurd. It was useless to hope -any longer that Alfred was not desperately in love with this woman, -who had recently been the central figure in a most notorious and -unpleasant inquiry. Alfred had seen her only a few times, and could -not have exchanged a word with her since that awful night. It was -absurd. - -"Mrs. Davenport," said Jerry, slowly, "had, I thought, gone away by -this time. How do you know she is in Ireland, or on her way there? Who -told you?" - -Alfred smiled and sat down. - -"A friend found it out for me. She did go to France for a week, but -she came back the day before yesterday, and is in Ireland now. I am -most anxious to see her again. Poor woman!--she must have suffered -horribly." - -He had observed a look of anxiety, if not disapproval, on Jerry's -face, and tried to make it seem as though he took no more than a -friendly interest in the widow. - -"Alfred," said Jerry, slowly and seriously, "it won't do. I can see -you are hard hit." - -"Nonsense!" cried Alfred, gaily. - -Jerry directed the conversation far afield from the subject to which -Alfred would willingly have confined it. - -But Alfred was not to be baffled or denied. The moment a pause -occurred he broke in with: - -"Jerry, you have not told me yet whether we shall start for Ireland -tomorrow or not?" - -"Alfred, have you ever been in love?" - -"Never!"--with a laugh, a slight increase of colour, and a dull, dim -kind of pride in some feeling he had, he knew not what--a feeling of -comfort and exaltation. - -"Because, you know, it's an awfully stupid and miserable feeling. It's -not good enough to cry over or to curse over. Sighing is despicable." - -"How on earth do you know anything about it, Jerry? I thought you were -a woman-hater." - -"Ay," said Jerry, vaguely. "Do you know of all people in the world -whom I should most like to be?" - -"No." - -"One of Shakespeare's clowns. What digestions these clowns had! They -are the only perfect all-round men I know. Mind you, they are no more -fools than they choose to be. If they pleased, they could all be Chief -Justices, or Archbishops, or Fishery Commissioners, or anything else -fearfully intellectual they liked; but they preferred to be clowns, -and kept their superb digestions, and made jokes at lovers and -such-like human rubbish. Motley's the only wear." - -"What on earth is the matter with you, Jerry? I never knew until -now that you had a leaning towards poetry!" Alfred was gratified -to find O'Brien thus bordering on the sentimental. He would have -embraced with delight any chance of breaking into the most extravagant -sentimentality himself. To think of O'Brien countenancing sentiment -was too delicious. He added: "I don't know much about Shakespeare; -but, for my part, I think his fools are awful fools." - -"Why, Alfred--why?" - -"Because they are so desperately wise." - -"Ay," said O'Brien, in a still more desponding tone. "A fool must be a -fool indeed when he chooses to be wise. - - - "'Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! - O any thing, of nothing first create! - O heavy lightness!--serious vanity! - Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! - Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! - Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! - This love feel I, that feel no love in this. - Dost thou not laugh?'" - - -"No," answered Alfred: "I don't see anything to laugh at. That seems a -very wise speech. Is it spoken by a fool?" - -"By an amateur fool, and a bad amateur fool, too. It is one of the -silliest speeches in all Shakespeare. Whenever Shakespeare wanted to -have a little sneer up his sleeve, and to his own self, he put the -thing in rhyming couplets. Nearly all his rhyming couplets are jokes -for his own delight, and for the vexation and contempt of all other -men. Shakespeare did penance for his sins in his puns, and revenged -his injuries on mankind in his rhyming couplets.... That's your -mother's voice." - -"Yes," said Alfred, going to the door and opening it, "that's my -mother and the girls. Come here, mother; here's Jerry O'Brien." - -"Your mother and _my_ girl," said Jerry, down low in his heart. -"'Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is.' Romeo is the most -contemptible figure in all history, and Juliet the most adorable." -Aloud he said at that moment: "And you, Miss Paulton--how are you?" - -"Quite well, thank you." - -"What a low blackguard," he thought, "Shakespeare was to kill Juliet! -But he killed Romeo, too, and that may have justified him in the eyes -of heaven. I'd forgive him even his rhyming couplets if he'd only turn -his tragic attention to those accursed Commissioners. Just fancy a lot -of apoplectic fools, bursting, so to speak, with the want of knowledge -of anything, and standing between that darling and me! May the -maledictions of----" To Madge he said aloud, in answer to her -question: "Yes, I had a very good passage across--not a ripple on the -water. You have never been across?" - -"No, never. I should very much like to go," she said, as she sat down -on a chair, adjusted her mantle, and looked up in his face. - -"Oh, you ought to go over," he said; "the scenery is romantic." - -He thought "romantic" might be too strong for Mrs. Paulton, so he -added hastily: - -"And the garden produce--owing," he added, in explanation, "to the -humidity of the climate." - -He felt rather foolish, and that he had been saying very foolish -things. But then he didn't care. He did not want to shine before her: -she was the beacon of his hope. - -"Perhaps," she said, looking up, "father might take us over next -summer, or the summer after." - -She looked up in his face again. It was desperately provoking. - -"Or the summer after," thought Jerry, with a pang. "Does that girl -sitting there, three feet away from me, and who doesn't think I care -for her a bit, imagine for a moment that I am going to let her wander -about all the earth with that respectable old gentleman, her father, -till the crack of doom? Nonsense! She isn't a bit good-looking," he -thought, looking down into her eyes, and when she lowered her eyes, -gazing devoutly at her hat--"she isn't a bit good-looking--not half as -good-looking as Edith, and Edith is no beauty. But still, I think, I'd -feel excellently comfortable if the others would go away, and I might -put my arm round her and try to persuade her that she was happy -because I did so." - -"You find Alfred almost quite well again?" asked Mrs. Paulton genially -of Jerry. - -"Oh, yes. He is almost as well as ever, and of course will be better -than ever in a little while." - -"A few whiffs of sea air will put me on my legs once more," said -Alfred, with abounding cheerfulness. "I feel as if the very look of -the sea would set me all right." - -"You unfortunate devil!" thought Jerry. "Are you so bad as that? Oh, -for the mind of one of those plaguey clowns! Falstaff was the only man -who ever enjoyed life thoroughly--Falstaff and Raffaelle. What was the -burden of flesh carried by Falstaff compared to this 'feather of -lead!' What were all the jealousies which surrounded Raffaelle's -career compared to my jealousy of the hat that touches her hair, or -the glove that touches her cheek!" - -"You will of course stay with us while you are in London," said Mrs. -Paulton. "I told Alfred to be sure to say that we insisted upon your -doing so, and the silly boy forgot it." - -"Oh, he'll stay, mother," answered Alfred. "He'll stay with us while -he's in London." - -The invalid gave a glance at Jerry. The latter understood it to be an -appeal for a very brief respite indeed from travelling. Jerry was in -no small difficulty as to what he should say or how he should act. He -would like to stop at Carlingford House a month, a year. Even a month -was out of the question. But it was too bad that Alfred should be in -such a violent hurry to go away. He believed Madge's brother had no -suspicion that Madge was particularly dear to him. Still, common -hospitality would scarcely allow a man to hurry a guest away from -under his own roof after twenty-four hours' stay, particularly when -that friend had come several hundred miles to do his host a good turn. -No, hospitality would not allow a man to do it, but love would. He, -Jerry, could not plead fatigue. That would be grotesque in a healthy -young man. He would not lie and say he had business in London which -would keep him a few days there, and yet it was shameful and -ridiculous that after a whole month of separation he should be obliged -to fly from her almost before he had time to get accustomed to the -music of her voice. What delicious music it did make in his hungry -ears! He would ask Alfred, without any explanation, if the day after -to-morrow would not suit him quite as well as tomorrow. - -He made a sign to Alfred, and the two young men passed through the -folding doors into the front drawing-room. Here a bright fire burned. -Alfred went to the fire--Jerry to the window. The latter looked out, -started, and said slowly: - -"Alfred, there's a visitor coming up the garden." - -"All right," said Alfred without interest. - -"And it's a woman." - -"All right." - -"And it's Mrs. Davenport." - -"What!" - -In a second Alfred was by Jerry's side. - -Jerry laughed softly. - -"All right?" he repeated in an interrogative voice. - -Alfred's face blazed, but he did not speak or move. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - "I HAVE BEEN ALWAYS ALONE." - - -Mrs. Davenport knocked at the front door, and was shown into the back -drawing-room, where the ladies were sitting. - -"I have come, Mrs. Paulton," she said, "to thank you and Mr. Paulton -and your family for the great kindness you showed me in my trouble. I -am afraid that at the time I was too intent on my own misfortunes to -say as fully as I ought what I should have felt. Indeed, to be quite -candid, I do not know exactly what I said to you or your husband, or -exactly how I felt." - -Mrs. Paulton went over to her, and took the hand of the widow. O'Brien -and Paulton could hear and see everything going on in the back -drawing-room, as they approached the folding-doors slowly. - -"My dear Mrs. Davenport," said Mrs. Paulton gently, as she pressed the -visitor's hand, "you must not think of the matter. We were, and are, -deeply sorry for you, and our only feeling in the matter was one of -regret at not having had an opportunity of being more useful." - -This was true now. Both William Paulton and his wife were by the -inquest perfectly satisfied Mrs. Davenport had for a while suffered -from ugly suspicions because a crazy old husband had made away with -his life in a perfectly mad manner, and without being in the least -induced to the act by any fault of his wife. Every one agreed with the -jury that it had been a case of suicide while suffering from temporary -insanity. - -Another thing greatly helped Mrs. Davenport into the good graces of -the Paultons. After Blake's release he stayed in London, although Mrs. -Davenport was away in France. Since the trial young Pringle had kept -Alfred informed on all matters connected with the widow. - -Both Mr. and Mrs. Paulton now felt as though they had done an absolute -wrong to this woman, and Mrs. Paulton knew that her husband would be -delighted to show her any civility or kindness he could. The husband -and wife were, as their son had said, two of the kindest and most -generous people in England. - -Alfred and Jerry entered the back room. She held out her hand to the -former, and thanked him for what he had done. She gave her hand to -Jerry, and said, with a wan smile: - -"I owe you an apology, Mr. O'Brien, for my rudeness to you when last -we met." - -"Rudeness! Mrs. Davenport!--your rudeness to me! I am shocked to hear -you say such a thing. I am shocked to think you should have for a -moment rested under so unpleasant an idea. Believe me, you were never -anything but most polite and considerate to me." - -Madge admired this speech of Jerry's, for it seemed to her very -generous. She did not greatly admire Mrs. Davenport. She thought her -too grand and cold and reserved. But she did not go as far as Edith, -who positively disliked their visitor. - -"I am quite clear as to my bad conduct," insisted Mrs. Davenport, with -her wan smile. "When I met you in this house the day after the--the -dreadful event, I did not speak to you, although I recognised you -instantly." - -"But, Mrs. Davenport, you don't for a moment imagine I did not realise -how terribly you were tried just then?" - -"It is very good of you to make such liberal allowances for my -conduct, but I fear I did not deserve your generosity; and I am more -than afraid, if you knew exactly how I felt, you would not be able to -forgive me so readily. I suppose it was owing to the state of -excitement I was in at the time that the moment I set eyes on you, Mr. -O'Brien, I looked upon you as an enemy." - -"An enemy--an enemy!" cried Jerry, in surprise and confusion. "What -could have put such a notion into your mind?" - -"I am sure I don't know," she answered, shaking her head slowly. "I -experienced nothing but the greatest consideration from you and every -one else here. I have since learned that I owe my introduction to Mr. -Pringle to you--to you and Mr. Paulton," she added, looking gratefully -at the young man. - -Alfred coloured with delight and embarrassment. To see and hear her -was delight enough to outweigh all the troubles he had yet known; but -to feel that her voice and eyes were thanking and praising him was -intoxicating. - -She was dressed in complete widow's weeds. Her face was pale, placid, -unwrinkled. Her dark eyebrows, dark eyes and lashes, and full red -mouth afforded the only breaks in colour. All the rest was pale, -delicate olive. The head had still the grand imperial carriage, the -eye the same unflinching, haughty fearlessness. The full, red lips met -closely, readily, at the clear, curved line, and parted easily, -readily. Only hints of the superlative graces of the figure came -through her heavy mantle. The hands lay clasped in suppliant ease in -the lap. Now that she was free from commanding excitement, her voice -drew attention to itself. The face and head, and the carriage and pose -of the head, were full of authority and command; the figure full of -feminine yielding gentleness. Now that the voice was unburdened by -heavy emotions, it partook at one time of the nature of the head; at -another of the nature of the figure. In giving thanks to Mrs. Paulton, -it was slow, stately, gravely harmonious; in confessing her want of -generosity to Jerry, it was low, soft, full, intensely sympathetic. - -Her words had taken O'Brien quite aback. Was it divination, instinct, -that told her he had been friendly only in externals, and that he owed -her no particular goodwill? Or was it that she did not at the time of -the fatal occurrence wish any one to be near who knew much of her -former life? Could it be that if he had been absent from the inquest -some of the unpleasant events preceding her marriage would not have -been so nakedly exposed by either her or Blake? Who could tell? Not -he, certainly. - -He looked from Mrs. Davenport to Alfred, and mentally pitied him. - -"I cannot wonder," he thought, "at his falling in love with her. If I -were in his shoes, I don't know what might happen to me. Fortunately I -am safe." - -He glanced gratefully at Madge. - -She could not understand exactly what he meant by his eyes; but she -knew they were not eyes of disapproval or dislike, and so she looked -down because she would have liked to look up. - -A general and desultory talk was going on. Alfred felt quite well -already. Notwithstanding his feeble state, he felt the strength of ten -men against all the world. He felt towards her a worshipful tenderness -he could not describe--did not want to describe, only wanted to enjoy. -When one is sailing in the sun over a summer bay, who wants to analyse -the light, and hear of the solar spectrum? When one is at the opera, -who cares about the number of vibrations it takes to produce a certain -note? When one is in love, who cares to analyse the charm? Delight is -not so plentiful in the world that we need pick it to pieces. Alfred -would not try to find out why he was supremely happy in her presence. -His happiness was enough for him. Others might say what they pleased -of her. All he would say was "Let me be near her." - -Of the two friends, O'Brien was the more robust by far. His nature was -sturdy, almost aggressive. He had a hatred of what he called -"tinkering his opinions." He could be as straightforward and downright -as any other man alive. He could stick to his opinions, and had a -contempt for consequences. In manner he was a trifle arrogant. It was -this feeling of independence and self-assertion which made him feel -but slightly attracted towards Mrs. Davenport, and which often -repelled him from her. - -"If she were my wife," he thought, "there would be two masters in the -house, and it would end in my throwing her out of a window--an act -which would no doubt import unpleasantness into our household. And yet -if she thought well of wheedling me, she could. A man could never be -her husband. Davenport was her owner. If ever she marries again, it -will be a master or a slave. Poor Alfred would make a fine master for -such an Amazon! But it's downright brutal of me to call her an Amazon. -After all, it would be a very terrible thing to be loved by that -woman. I think if I were married to her, I'd rather she hated me and -mastered me, always provided it was not I who went through that -window. When you find yourself continually thinking of a woman you are -not in love with, it's a bad sign of the woman, as a rule." - -Alfred had been of service to her--service however slight--on the -evening of that terrible catastrophe. He had seen her aidless, alone, -helpless, dismayed. Her voice that night struck the keynote of the -music she had awakened in his heart. To those who did not know her -well--to those who had not seen her in difficulty and despair, her -outward seeming might be one of command and victory. But he had found -her distracted with horror, had lent her aid, and seen her relieved by -his own act. He had, in however humble a way, played the part of -protector. He had seen the feminine, the dependant side of her nature -revealed. She might be stately, commanding, self-sufficient, imperious -to others. To him she would always be the woman who once leaned upon -his manhood. Her beauty, her grace, her commanding stateliness might -draw other admirers to her side; to him the child-like helplessness of -her womanhood lent the charm which could never die or fade away, and -brought him more close to her heart than if he had sat and worshipped -at her feet for years. He had been the donor of little in her -distress; he would be the donor of all he had or could command in the -world for her protection and peace. - -While the ladies and the two young men were chatting soberly together, -Mr. Paulton came in. He was unfeignedly delighted to see Mrs. -Davenport. He had never been easy in his mind since that day she left -his roof in the depth of her misery. Although she had gone away of her -own free will and of her own independent initiative, he was unable to -rid himself of the feeling that he expelled this woman from his roof -when she most needed friendship and protection. She had come out of -the ordeal of the trial purified, if purification were necessary; and -public opinion, of which he stood in great respect, not only held him -justified in the countenance he had given her, but applauded him -loudly for his bold, open-handed help to a lonely woman in a strange -place. - -"And what are your plans for the future?" asked the old man in his -most solicitous voice. "If I, or any of us, can be of the least -service to you, I hope you will command us." - -She thanked him sadly, and said that all which any one could do for -her he had already done. She had gone to France for a short time to -calm herself after the late excitement, but she could not content -herself abroad. - -"My life, Mr. Paulton, up to this, has been tempest-tossed, although -little may have been seen of the disturbance. I am weary of strife, -and yearn for quiet. Kilcash is not a very lively place, but it seems -to me that I have within the past couple of months had enough of -excitement to satisfy me for the rest of my time." - -He smiled, and shook his head in gallant expostulation. - -"No doubt," he said, "a little rest in your old home will be grateful -and beneficial to you; but we must see you again. We have not so many -friends that we can afford to lose you." - -"I am a very new friend," she said sadly. - -Alfred would have given ten years of his life to tell her she was -dearer to them than all the other friends they had in the world. His -father said: - -"The depth of friendship is not to be measured by years only, or, -indeed, chiefly. Some people have the faculty of making better friends -in an hour than others can in a lifetime. We were brought together -under most peculiar and distressing circumstances, and you have won -all our love." He took her hand with paternal cordiality. "If we are -so unfortunate as not to find a little place in your heart, it must be -owing to some defect on our part--owing to the want in us of some -faculty which could enlist your regard. It is not, I am sure, my dear -madam, from any lack of desire to win your confidence and good will." - -All this rather long and old-fashioned speech was said with a sweet, -benevolent chivalry which would have silenced and abashed any one -who felt disposed to regard it as too fine and elaborate for a -drawing-room scene of our own day. "Bravo, sir!" cried Alfred. He was -a good, affectionate son, and had always been on the best terms with -his father; but he never felt absolutely proud of the old man before. -He coloured with pleasure. This simple homage of the old man touched -all--Mrs. Davenport herself--as something sacred. The tears stood in -his wife's eyes. What a privilege it was to own the love and share the -confidences of such a gentle and generous heart! "I am sure," said -Mrs. Paulton, scarcely able to keep her tears back, "that you will -always think of us as of old friends. I know you will make up out of -your own goodness whatever you may find wanting in us." - -Mrs. Paulton took the widow's other hand in both hers. - -Mrs. Davenport opened her lips as if to speak, but no words came. Then -slowly and mutely the tears formed in her eyes and fell down upon her -black dress. Alfred and O'Brien withdrew into the front room and -closed the folding doors; the two girls stole noiselessly away. - -Mr. Paulton moved to the window. Mrs. Davenport's head gradually sank -on her chest; she breathed heavily, and swayed slightly to and fro. -She rose slowly. - -"I must go now," she said. - -"No, no; you must not. You must stay with us. You are too lonely." - -She looked fearfully into the other woman's eyes. - -"I have been alone since I was born, and I am afraid." - -"Afraid of what?" asked Mrs. Paulton, anxiously. - -She thought the fear must have some connection with the widow's recent -trial. - -"I am afraid of companionship." - -Mrs. Paulton rose and stood before her guest, gazing wonderingly into -the dark, fathomless, tearful eyes, now startled, looking as though -they expected to see a strange, disturbing object. - -"Come with me to my room." She nodded towards her husband. "We shall -be quieter there." - -"I cannot. I must get back. I am going"--a shudder--"home this -evening." - -Mr. Paulton turned round and said: - -"You shall not go to-night. You must not leave us so soon. Go with my -wife; she will comfort you. You have an hour between this and -luncheon." - -The beautiful woman raised her face. - -"Forgive me, Mr. Paulton. I have as much hatred of anything like a -scene as any one else, but I feel--I feel a bit broken--broken down. I -am not so young as I look. I am thirty-four; but in all my life I have -lived alone, within myself, and your kindness--the kindness of you and -Mrs. Paulton has been too much for me. It may sound strange, but -kindness is unkindness to me. I shall be better when I find myself -alone once more. I am used to such companionship--none other. -Good-bye." - -He went to her, and took her again by the hand. - -"Hush, child--hush! I will not have you leave us to-day. If we have -been able to do a little for you, do you a little for us. Stay with us -this one day, if no more--only this one day." - -"No, no; I cannot. Good-bye." - -"Wait!" he said, holding up his hand and approaching the folding doors -that opened into the front room. "It is a long and lonely journey to -the south of Ireland. Perhaps we can find you an escort--company." He -passed into the front room. The two young men were seated at the -window looking out on the little garden between the house and the -road. "You re going to Ireland, to Kilcash, Alfred--when?" - -"We were thinking of going soon, sir; but----" - -He paused and looked at his friend. He knew his father well, and -guessed that he had asked the lonely woman to stay with them for a -while. His father had indeed said more than once he wished an -opportunity of this kind might occur. - -"Can you go to-morrow? Mrs. Davenport wants to go to-night; but if you -can manage to go to-morrow she may be induced to stay to-night with -us." - -"We shall only be too happy, sir," said Alfred, turning away to hide -his satisfaction. - -"Very good. We shall say to-morrow evening," said the old man, as he -withdrew into the back room and shut the doors. He went to where the -two women stood. "It is all settled. We will not ask you to do too -much for us this time. Mr. O'Brien and my son are starting for the -south of Ireland to-morrow. They are going to the village near which -you live--Kilcash--and will leave you at your own gate." - -"Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Paulton going to Kilcash! Surely this is arranged -for me--at the moment." - -"No, indeed; it has been settled for weeks. You see"--he smiled, and -imported some gaiety into his voice--"Fate is stronger than you. You -would not ask them to set off at once--to-night? Mr. O'Brien arrived -in London only last night, and I could not dream of asking him to -start again for Ireland this evening. Besides, Alfred, I am sure, -could not get ready in time, and you must not go alone. Take her -upstairs now, Kate, and make her rest till luncheon. Take her away, -Kate." - -"But," she persisted, as Mrs. Paulton guided her reluctant steps to -the door, "I am used to being alone." - -"Not travelling alone. I must have my way this time." - -"But I really am used to travelling alone." - -"Then we must insist upon this being an exception. Now, we never allow -any arguments in this house." - -He opened the door for the two ladies. Mrs. Davenport shook her head -mournfully, and suffered herself to be led out of the room by Mrs. -Paulton. - - - - - END OF VOL. II. - - - - - * * * * * * * * * * - CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. - - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Tempest-Driven (Vol. II of 3), by Richard Dowling - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEMPEST-DRIVEN (VOL. 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