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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..150f8f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51963 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51963) diff --git a/old/51963-0.txt b/old/51963-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6866f0c..0000000 --- a/old/51963-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6154 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Other World - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51963] -Last Updated: November 16, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE OTHER WORLD - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -Author of ‘The Jessamy Bride,’ ‘Nell Gwyn, Comedian,’ ‘The Original -Woman,’ ‘Castle Omeragii,’ Etc. Etc. - -London: Eveleigh Nash - -MCMIV - - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - -“_This Other World is indeed not so far distant from our own that is -ruled by the sunne and moon. Therein the Prince of the Power of the Air -hath his dominion, whose servants are the Witch and the Warlock,... the -Night hagge,... and those that some, for want of a better name, term -Ghosts, Ghouls (breeders of sadde dreams),... also the Hob Goblin -(himself a foul fiend, albeit full of pranks),... Lyars all, but -dangerous to trajfick with and very treacherous to Mankind. They lure to -Perdition soone or late._” - - - - -A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. - -The majority of the passengers aboard the steam yacht _Bluebottle_ said -that it was anybody’s game. In the smoking-room--when neither Somers nor -Norgate was present of course--the betting varied daily according to the -events of the day. At first the odds were slightly in favour of Teddy -Somers--yes, she undoubtedly gave signs of enjoying the companionship -of Mr Somers. She had been seen by trustworthy witnesses standing -behind him while he sketched with a rapid pencil the group of Portuguese -boatmen surrounding the solitary Scotchman, who had got the better of -them all in a bargain, within the first hour of the arrival of the yacht -in Funchal Bay. Afterwards she had been noticed carefully gumming the -drawing upon a cardboard mount. Would a girl take all that trouble about -a man unless she had a sincere regard for him? was the question which a -sapient one put to a section of his fellow passengers, accompanying an -offer of three to one on Somers. - -But after a pause, which somehow seemed to suggest an aggregation of -thought--the pauses of a conscientious smoker are frequently fraught -with suggestions--a youth who had been accused of writing poetry, but -whose excellent cigars did much to allay that suspicion, remarked--“What -you say about the drawing suggests that the girl takes an interest in -him, and that would be fatal to her falling in love with him.” There -was another long pause, during which the smokers looked at one another, -carefully refraining from glancing at the speaker, until the man who had -offered the odds said-- - -“Do you mean to tell us that a girl’s being interested in a chap isn’t -the first step to her falling in love with him?” - -“I have no hesitation in saying so much--I could say a good deal more on -the same subject,” replied the propounder of the theory. - -Then it was that a number of the men glanced quickly toward him,--there -was something of an appeal for mercy in the glance of most of them: it -seemed as if they were not particularly anxious to hear a good deal more -on the same subject. - -It is scarcely necessary to say, however, that the circumstance of their -not wanting to hear a good deal more did not prevent the poet (alleged) -from telling them a good deal more. It took him twenty-five minutes -to formulate his theory, which was to the effect that it is -impossible--impossible was the word he employed: there is no spirit of -compromise on the part of a theorist, especially when he is young, -and more especially when he has been suspected of writing -poetry--_impossible_ for a woman to love a man who has at first merely -interested her. - -“Love is a passion, whereas interest is--well, interest is merely -interest,” said he, with that air of finality which a youthful theorist -assumes when he is particularly absurd--and knows it. “Yes, when a woman -hates a man thoroughly, and for the best of reasons,--though for -that matter she may hate him thoroughly without having any reason for -it,--she is nearer to loving him thoroughly than she is to loving a -man who merely interests her, however deep may be the interest which he -arouses.” - -“I’ll give three to one in sovereigns on Somers,” said the man who had -originally offered the same odds. He was clearly not amenable to the -dictates of reason, the theorist said: he certainly was not amenable to -the dictates of a theory, which, however, is not exactly the same thing. - -“It’s anybody’s game, just now,” remarked another of the sapient ones. - -“Anybody’s except the man’s in whom she has become interested,” said the -theorist. - -“My dear young man,” said the professional cynic--he had scarcely -recovered from a severe attack of _mal de mer_--“My dear young man, -you’re not a very much greater ass than most boys of your age; but you -will really not strike people as being much below the average if you -only refrain from formulating any theory respecting any woman. The only -thing that it is safe to say about a woman--any woman--every woman--is -that no human being knows what she will do next.” - -“Yes, but we were not talking about what a woman will do next, but what -she will do first,” said the poet, who was not easily crushed. “Now I -say that she----” - -“Oh, do dry up!” shouted a smoking man in a corner, who had just -rung for a whisky-and-soda. “I’ve heard more nonsense within the past -half-hour than I ever heard during an entire year of my life. There is -no sense in arguing, but there is some sense in betting. If you -believe in your theory, back it with a sovereign to show that you’re in -earnest.” - -But the young man’s theory did not run into coin; though in other -directions three to one on Teddy Somers was officially reported as -offered and taken. - -Two days afterwards the layer of the odds tried to hedge. The fact was -that the girl had shown such a marked inclination for the society of -Jack Norgate in preference to that of Teddy Somers, it seemed as if -the former would, to make use of an apt phrase, romp in. But before the -steam yacht _Bluebottle_ had crossed the equator the odds were even, -as a passenger named Molloy--he was reputed to be of Irish -descent--remarked. - -It was a pleasant company that had left Gravesend on September 10th, for -the six months’ cruise to cheat the winter (see advertisements) in -the steam yacht _Bluebottle_, 3500 tons, Captain Grosvenor, R.N.R., -in command. The passengers numbered sixty, and included singularly few -disagreeable persons, in spite of the fact that the voyage was one that -only people with money and leisure could afford. The vessel was well -found, and her commander and officers were the pick of the Company’s -fleet, and possessed innumerable resources in the way of deck games. The -report found ready credence in the service that Captain Grosvenor had -gained his position through being the originator of deck-golf. -However this may be, he certainly recognised in the amplest way the -responsibilities of the position of trust which he occupied, and he -never allowed any duty to interfere with his daily exposition of the -splendid possibilities of deck-golf. He had started a golf tournament -before the yacht had left the Channel, and he hove to for three days -in the Bay of Biscay, when the heavy sea that was running threatened to -interfere with the playing off of the tie between Colonel Mydleton and -Sir Edwin Everard. - -The cruise promised to be all that the advertisements had predicted it -would be. But before Madeira was reached comments were made upon the -extraordinary scarcity of young girls among the passengers. Among a -certain section of the passengers the comments on this point had a -highly congratulatory tone, but among another section the matter was -touched upon with a considerable amount of grumbling. Old voyagers, -who were accompanied by vigilant wives (their own), foresaw a tranquil -voyage, undisturbed by those complications which their experience told -them invariably arise when attractive young women are to be found in -graceful attitudes on deck chairs. On the other hand, however, there -were several men aboard who had just sufficient experience of going down -to the sea in steam yachts to cause them to look askance, during their -first day aboard, over the deck chairs, which were occupied mainly by -fathers and matrons. Yes, there was, undoubtedly, a scarcity of girls. - -The fact is that such a pleasure cruise as that which had been mapped -out for the _Bluebottle_ differs essentially from the ordinary Indian or -Australian voyage. On the two last-named, girls are to be found by -the score going out or returning. It is not a matter of pleasure with -them--though most of them contrive to get a good deal of pleasure out of -it--but a matter of necessity. The majority of people who set out on -a cruise in a steam yacht do so only because time hangs heavy on their -hands, and they do not take their daughters with them, for the simple -reason that their daughters decline to expatriate themselves for six or -eight months at the most critical period of their lives. - -Only six young women were among the passengers, of the _Bluebottle_; of -these only three were quite good-looking, and of these three the only -really beautiful one was Viola Compton. It did not take the experienced -voyagers long to perceive that Miss Compton would have an extremely good -time aboard the yacht. With all their experience they knew no better -than to suppose that a girl is having a good time when she has half a -dozen men at her feet, and a reserve force of twenty others ready -to prostrate themselves before her at a moment’s notice--when she is -sneered at by her less pretty sisters, who tell one another that she -gives herself insufferable airs--when she is frowned at by the wives of -uncertain husbands, who call her (among themselves) a forward minx, -and when she cannot snub the most odious of the men who disarrange her -cushions for her, and prevent her from reading her novels by insisting -on chatting to her on all the inanities which a long voyage fosters in -men who on shore are alluded to as “genial.” If to be in such a position -is to be having a good time, Viola had certainly the best time on record -even before the yacht had crossed the Line. She had about a score of men -around her who never allowed her to have a moment to herself; she was -bored by Colonel Mydleton’s story of Lord Roberts’ mistakes when in -India, the crowning one being--according to Colonel Mydleton--the march -to Kandahar, which he assured her was one of the greatest fiascos of -the century; she was rendered uncomfortable for a whole afternoon -of exquisite sunshine by the proximity of the poet, who insisted on -repeating to her a volume of lyrics that only awaited a publisher; she -was awakened from a delightful doze after tiffin by the commonplace -jests of the young man who fondly believed himself to be a humourist; -she was sneered at by the other girls and frowned upon by the matrons, -and she was made the subject of bets in the smoking-room,--in short, she -was having, most people agreed, an uncommonly good time aboard. - -The captain knew better, however: he had kept his eyes open during a -lifetime of voyages on passenger steamers, and he could see a good deal -with his eyes without the aid of a binocular telescope. - -There could be no doubt that Miss Compton treated both Teddy Somers and -Jack Norgate with a favour which she could not see her way to extend -to the other passengers. It was only natural that she should do so, the -captain saw at once, though he was too experienced to say so even to his -chief engineer, who was a Scotchman. Norgate and Somers were both nice -chaps, and had won distinction for themselves in the world. The former -was a mighty hunter, and had slain lions in the region of the Zambesi -and bears in the Rockies: the latter was well known as an artist; he -was something of a musician as well, and he had once had a play produced -which had taken a very respectable position amongst the failures of -the season. Both men were very well off,--the one could afford to be a -hunter, and the other could even afford to be an artist. They were both -clearly devoted to Viola; but this fact did not seem to interfere with -the friendship which existed between them. Neither of the two tried -to cut out the other so far as the girl was concerned. When Somers was -sitting by her side, Norgate kept apart from them, and when Norgate -chanced to find himself with her, his friend--although the tropical -moonlight was flooding the heaven--continued his smoking on the bridge -with the captain. - -The captain was lost in admiration of both men; he reserved some for -the girl, however: he acknowledged that she was behaving very well -indeed--that is, of course, for the only really pretty girl aboard a -ship. The captain was a strong believer in the advantages of a healthy -competition between young women: the tyranny of the monopolist had -frequently come within his range of vision. Yes, he saw that Miss -Compton was behaving discreetly. She did not seek to play off one man -against the other, nor did she make the attempt to play off a third man -against both. For his own part, he utterly failed in his attempt to find -out in what direction her affections tended. He saw that the girl liked -both men, but he did not know which of them she loved--assuming that she -actually did love one of them. He wondered if the girl herself knew. He -was strongly inclined to believe that she did not. - -But that was just where he made a mistake. She did know, and she -communicated her knowledge to Teddy Somers one night when they stood -together watching the marvellous phosphorescence of the South Atlantic -within ten days’ sail of the Cape. A concert was going on in the great -saloon, so that there was an appropriate musical background, so to -speak, for their conversation. Teddy had said something to her that -forced from her an involuntary cry--or was it a sigh? - -Then there was a pause--with appropriate music: it came from a banjo in -the saloon. - -“Is that your answer?” he inquired, laying one of his hands upon hers as -it lay on the brass plating of the bulwarks. - -“My answer?” she said. “I’m so sorry--so very sorry, Mr Somers.” - -“Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” he said softly. “I tell you that I -love you with all----” - -“Ah, do not say it again--for pity’s sake do not say it again,” she -cried, almost piteously. “You must never speak to me of love; I have -promised to love only Jack--Mr Norgate.” - -“What--you have promised?--you have----” - -“It only happened after tiffin to-day. I thought perhaps he might have -told you--I thought perhaps you noticed that he and I--oh yes, you -certainly behaved as if you took it for granted that... ah, I am so -sorry that you misunderstood.... I think that I must have loved him from -the first.” - -There was another long pause. He looked down into the gleaming water -that rushed along the side of the ship. Then she laid one of her hands -on his, saying-- - -“Believe me, Mr Somers, I am sorry--oh, so sorry!” - -He took her hand tenderly, looking into her face as he said-- - -“My dear child, you have no reason to be sorry: I know Jack Norgate -well, and I know that a better fellow does not live: you will be happy -with him, I am sure. And as for me--well, I suppose I was a bit of a -fool to think that you----” - -“Do not say that,” she cried. “I am not worthy of you--I am not worthy -of him. Oh, who am I that I should break up such a friendship as yours -and his? I begin to wish that I had never come aboard this steamer.” - -“Do not flatter yourself that you have come between us, my dear,” - he said, with a little laugh. “Oh no; ‘shall I, wasting with -despair?’--well, I think not. Men don’t waste with despair except on -the lyric stage. My dear girl, he has won you fairly, and I congratulate -him; and you--yes, I congratulate you. He is a white man, as they say -on the Great Pacific slope. Listen to that banjo! Confound it! I wonder -shall I ever be able to listen to the banjo again.... Shall we join the -revellers in the saloon?” - -They went into the saloon together, and took seats on a vacant sofa. -Some people eyed them suspiciously and said that Miss Compton was having -an exceedingly good time aboard the yacht. - -Later on, Somers congratulated his friend very sincerely, and his friend -accepted his congratulations in a very tolerant spirit. - -“Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose it’s what every chap must come to sooner -or later. Viola is far better than I deserve--than any chap deserves.” - -“It’s a very poor sort of girl that isn’t better than the best chap -deserves, and although I think you are the best chap in the world, I -should be sorry to think that Miss Compton has not made a wise choice. -May you be happy together!” - -“Thank you, old chap. I must confess to you frankly that some days ago I -thought that you----” - -“That I?” - -“Well, that you had a certain tendresse for her yourself.” - -“I! Oh, your judgment must have been warped by a lover’s jealousy. ‘The -thief doth think each bush an officer’--the lover fancies that every -man’s taste must be the same as his own. May you both be happy!” - -It seemed that his prayer was granted so far at least as the next day -was concerned, for certainly no two people could appear happier than the -lovers, as they sat together under the awning, watching half a dozen of -their fellow-passengers perspiring over their golf. - -Mrs Compton--she was an invalid taking the cruise for her health’s -sake--was compelled to remain in her berth all day, but Jack Norgate -visited her with her daughter after tiffin and doubtless obtained the -maternal blessing, for when he came on deck alone in the afternoon his -face was beaming as Moses’ face beamed on one occasion. There was a -slight tornado about dinner-time and the vessel rolled about so as to -necessitate the use of the “fiddles” on the table. It continued blowing -and raining until darkness set in, so that the smoking-room was crowded, -and three bridge-parties assembled in the chief saloon as well as a -poker-party and a chess-party. Four bells had just been made, when one -of the stewards startled all the saloon by crying out of the pantries-- - -“Coming, sir!” - -A moment afterwards he hurried into the saloon, putting on his jacket, -and looked round as if waiting to receive an order. The passengers -glanced at him and laughed. - -“What’s the matter?” asked the doctor. - -“Didn’t some one call me, sir?” the man inquired. - -“Not that we heard,” replied the doctor. - -“I thought I heard some one sing out, sir,” said the steward, looking -round. - -“It must have been some one on deck,” suggested Colonel Mydleton. “Shall -I cut the cards for you, doctor?” - -The steward went on deck. He was met by Mr Somers, who, in reply to the -man’s inquiry, said-- - -“Call you? No, I didn’t call you.” - -“The infant Samuel,” said one of the poker players, and the others at -the table laughed. - -“It’s raining cats and dogs, or whatever the equivalent to cats and -dogs is in these parallels,” said Somers. “I got wet watching the -_Bluebottle_ show a clean pair of heels to a tramp. She’s in our wake -just now. I think I’ll turn into my berth.” - -He went to the bar and called for a brandy-and-soda, and then sang out -“Good night,” as he hurried to his cabin. - -The next morning Miss Compton appeared at the breakfast table, and -so did Somers, but Norgate had clearly overslept himself, for he was -absent. The captain inquired for him. - -“He must be on deck, sir,” said one of the stewards, “for he was not in -his cabin when I went with his chocolate an hour ago.” - -“Oh, he’ll turn up before we have finished breakfast,” said Somers, -attacking his devilled kidneys. - -But his prediction was not realised. A pantry boy was sent on deck in -search of Mr Norgate, but Mr Norgate was not to be found. A steward -hurried to his cabin, but returned in a few minutes, saying that his -bunk had not been slept in. The captain rose from the table with a -well-simulated laugh. A search was organised. It failed to find him. The -awful truth had to be faced: Mr Norgate was not aboard. Viola Compton -was hysterical. Teddy Somers was silent; no one had ever seen him so -deathly pale before. - -Theories were forthcoming to account for Norgate’s suicide--people -took it for granted, of course, that he had committed suicide. Only one -person suggested the possibility of his having fallen overboard, and of -his cry being that which the steward had heard, for a part of the pantry -was open on the starboard side. But against this it was urged that Mr -Somers must have been on deck at the time the steward had heard, or had -fancied he heard, that cry, and Mr Somers said he had heard nothing. - -For a week the gloom hung over the whole party; but by the time the Cape -was reached, Miss Compton was able to appear at the table once more. She -looked heartbroken; but every one said she was bearing up wonderfully. -Only the poet had the bad taste to offer her his sympathy through the -medium of a sonnet. - -***** - -On leaving the Cape the bereaved girl seemed to find a certain plaintive -consolation in the society of Mr Somers. He sat beside her in his deck -chair, and they talked together about poor Jack Norgate; but after a -week or two, steaming from Bombay to Ceylon, and thence through the -Straits to Sydney, they began to talk about other subjects, and before -long the girl began visibly to brighten. The passengers said she was a -woman. - -And she proved that they were right, for when one lovely night Teddy -Somers suggested very delicately to her that his affection for her was -the same as it had always been, there was more than a little reproach in -her voice as she cried-- - -“Oh, stop--stop--for Heaven’s sake! My love is dead--buried with him. I -cannot hear any one talk to me of love.” - -He pressed her hand and left her without another word. - -She remained in her deck chair far removed from the rest of the -passengers for a long time, thinking her thoughts, whatever they may -have been. The moon was almost at the full, so that it was high in the -sky before the quartermaster made six bells, and those of the passengers -who had not already gone to their berths arose from their chairs, -murmuring that they had no notion it was within an hour of midnight. A -few of them, passing the solitary figure of the girl on her chair, -said “Good night” to her in a cheery way, and then shook their heads -suggestively together with such an exchange of sentiments as “Poor -girl!--Poor girl!” - -“Very sad!” - -“Melancholy affair!” but it is doubtful if their hearts were so -overcharged with sympathy as to interfere to any marked degree with -their slumbers. - -The girl remained upon the deserted deck and watched the quartermasters -collecting and storing away all the passengers’ chairs which lay -scattered about, just as their owners had vacated them. When they -had finished their job no one of the ship’s company remained on the -quarterdeck. The sound of the little swish made by a leaping flying-fish -had a suggestion of something mysterious about it as it reached her -ears: it seemed like the faint whisper of a secret of the sea--it seemed -as if some voice outside the ship was saying “Hist!” to her, to attract -her attention before making a revelation to her. - -But she knew what the sound was, and she did not move from her chair. - -“Alas--alas!” she murmured, “you can tell me nothing. Ah! there is -nothing for me to be told. I know all that will be known until the sea -gives up its dead. He loved me, and the sea snatched him from me.” - -The tears with which her heart was filled began to overflow. She wept -softly for a long time, and when at last she gave a sigh and wiped the -mist from her eyes she found that the moon, previously so brilliant, had -become dim. Its outline was blurred, so that, although the atmosphere -was full of moonlight, it was impossible to say what was the centre of -the illumination. It seemed to Viola as if a thin diaphanous silk -curtain had fallen between the moon and the sea. Every object which an -hour before had cast a black shadow athwart the deck--the spars of the -mainmast, the quarterboat hanging in its davits--was clearly seen as -ever, only without the strong contrasts of light and shade. The sea out -to the horizon was of a luminous grey, which bore but a shadowy -resemblance to the dark-blue carpet traversed by the glittering golden -pathway to the moon, over which Viola had pensively gazed in the early -night before Somers had come to her side. - -She now stood at the bulwarks looking across that shadowy expanse, -marvelling at the change which had come about within so short a space of -time. - -“My life--it is my life,” she sighed. “A short time ago it was made -luminous by love; but now--ah! now----” - -She turned away with another sigh and walked back to her deck chair. She -was in the act of picking up her cushions from the seat when, glancing -astern, she was amazed on becoming aware of the fact that she was not -alone at that part of the ship. She saw two figures standing together -on the raised poop that covered the steam-steering apparatus at the -farthest curve of the stern. - -She was amazed. She asked herself how it was possible that she had -failed to see them when she had looked astern a few minutes before. -The figures were of course shadowy in the strange mistily luminous -atmosphere, but they were sufficiently conspicuous in the place where -they stood to make her confident that, had they been there five minutes -before, she would have seen them. - -She stood there wondering, the cushion which she had picked up hanging -from her hand, who the men were that had come so mysteriously before -her eyes an hour after the last of the passengers had, as she thought, -descended to their berths. - -She could not recognise either of them. They were separated from her by -half the length of the stern. - -Suddenly she gave a little gasp. The cushion which she had held dropped -from her hand, for one of the figures made a movement, turning his back -to the low poop rail over which he had been leaning, and that moment was -enough, even in the pale light, to allow of her recognising the features -of Jack Norgate. - -She gave a little cry of mingled wonder and joy, but before she had -taken even a step toward that tableau, she had shrieked out; for in the -second that separated her exclamations, the figure whom she saw in front -of the one she knew had sprung upon him, causing him to overbalance -himself on the low rail against which he was leaning, and to disappear -over the side. - -She shrieked and sprang forward; at that moment the second figure -seemed to fade away and to vanish into nothingness before her eyes. She -staggered diagonally across the deck astern, but before she had taken -more than a dozen blind steps her foot caught in the lashing of the -tarpaulin which was spread over a pile of deck chairs, and she fell -forward. One of the officers on watch, who had heard her cry, swung -himself down from the roof of the deckhouse and ran to her help. - -“Good God! Miss Compton, what has happened anyway?” he cried. - -“There--there,” she gasped, pointing to the poop. “He went over the -side--a minute ago--there is still time to stop the steamer and pick him -up.” - -“Who went over the side? No one was aft but yourself,” said the officer. - -“It was Jack--Mr Norgate. Oh, why will you make no effort to rescue him? -I tell you that I saw him go over.” - -The officer felt how she was trembling with excitement. She tried to -rush across the deck, but would have fallen through sheer weakness, if -the man had not supported her. He brought her to the seat at the side of -the cabin dome-light. - -“You are overcome, Miss Compton,” he said. “You must calm yourself while -I look into this business.” - -“You do not believe that I saw anything; but I tell you--oh, he will be -lost while you are delaying,” she cried. - -“Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But for heaven’s sake sit here. Leave -the thing to me.” - -He ran astern and made a pretence of peering into the distance of the -ship’s seething wake. He was wondering what he should do. The poor girl -was evidently the victim of a hallucination. Several weeks had passed -since her lover had disappeared, and all this time her grief at his loss -had been poignant. This thing that had happened was the natural result -of the terrible strain upon her nerves. Of course he never thought of -awaking the captain or of stopping the vessel. - -While he was still peering over the taffrail, her voice sounded beside -him. - -“Here--it was just here,” she said. - -He turned about. - -“Good Lord! Miss Compton, you should not have left your seat,” he cried. -“Let me help you down to the cabin.” - -“Have you not seen him in the water?” - -“There is no one in the water. In this light I would be able to see a -man’s head a mile astern. I will put my arm under yours and help you to -get below. Trust to me. We would all do whatever it was in our power for -your sake. We all sympathise with you. Shall I send a quartermaster for -the doctor?” - -Viola had thrown herself down on the seat where he had placed her, and -was sobbing with her hands before her face. The man did his best to -soothe her. He made a sign to a quartermaster who had come aft to -register the patent log, and told him to send the ship’s doctor aft. He -had no notion of accepting the sole responsibility of soothing a young -woman who was subject to disquieting hallucinations. - -In a few minutes the doctor relieved him of his charge. Miss Compton had -become quite tranquil. Only now and again she gazed into the steamer’s -wake and pressed her hand to her side. She allowed herself to be helped -below in a short time, and did not refuse the dose of bromide which the -doctor thought it his duty to administer to her. - -The next day the doctor and the fourth officer had a whispered -conference. They agreed that it would be better to say nothing to any of -the other passengers respecting Miss Compton’s hallucination. - -“Poor girl--poor girl!” said the doctor. “I have been observing her for -some time, and I cannot say that I was surprised at what occurred last -night.. It is only remarkable that the breakdown did not happen sooner.” - -“I am glad that none of the rest of the ship’s company heard her when -she cried out,” said the officer. “Lord! you should have seen the look -in her eyes when she stretched out her hand and insisted that she had -seen the man topple over. I thought it well to do my best to humour her -until I had a chance of sending for you. I felt that it was on the cards -that she might throw herself over the side.” - -“It was touch and go,” said the doctor. “Ah, poor girl!” - -A week had passed before Viola reappeared among the passengers. Her -mother explained to kind inquirers that she had remained on deck quite -too late one night and had caught a chill. The doctor bore out her -unimaginative explanation of the girl’s absence, and added that it was -much easier than most people suspected to catch a chill south of the -Line. When Viola was at last permitted to come on deck she received many -tokens of the interest which her fellow-passengers had in her progress -toward recovery. - -It was not until the evening of her first day out of her cabin that -Somers contrived to get a word or two with her alone. - -He was asking after her health when she turned upon him suddenly, -saying-- - -“Mr Somers, it was you who threw Jack overboard!” - -“Good God!” he cried, starting back from her. “For heaven’s sake, Viola, -do not say so monstrous a thing! What!--I--Jack-------” - -“You did it,” she said firmly. - -“My dear child, how on earth have you got hold of such a notion?” he -asked her. - -“It was revealed to me that night--the night before I broke down,” she -replied. “I had been sitting alone in my deck chair, and I was at the -point of going below, when there--there on the poop at the side of the -wheel astern, the whole dreadful scene was revealed to me. I tell you -that I saw it all--Jack and you: I was not sure at first that the second -figure was you, but I know now that it was you. I saw Jack turn round -and lean against the rail, and that was the moment when you sprang at -him.” - -The man took some steps away from her. - -He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He returned to her in a few -moments, and said-- - -“My dear child--oh, Viola! how is it possible for you to entertain so -horrible a thought? Jack Norgate--my best friend!” - -“You hoped to marry me--he is your rival--you murdered him!” - -Somers flung up his hands with an exclamation and hurried down to his -cabin. - -The next day he came to her after tiffin. - -“I want to speak a word to you apart,” he said. - -She went with him very far forward. Only a few passengers were on deck, -and these were in their chairs astern. - -“I want to confess to you,” he said in a low voice. “I want to confess -to you that it was I who threw Jack Norgate overboard.” - -She started and stared at him. She could not speak for some time. At -last she was able to say in a whisper-- - -“You--you--murdered him?” - -“I murdered him. The temptation came over me. Oh, Viola, you do not -know how I loved you--how I love you! My God!--should do it again if I -thought it would give me a chance of you.” - -She continued staring at him, and then seated herself by his side. - -“You--threw him overboard?” she whispered again. - -“We were standing side by side on the poop deck far aft, watching the -tramp steamer on that night; the yacht was rolling--he slipped--I gave -him a push.... I have lost my soul for love of you, and you think the -sacrifice worthless.” - -“Oh, it is too horrible--too terrible!” she said. “For me--for me!” - -He was silent. So was she. They sat together side by side for an hour. -His terrible confession had dazed her. She was the first to break the -silence. - -“Terrible--it is terrible!” she murmured. “Who could have told me that -there was any love such as this in the world?” - -“It is my love for you,” he said quietly. “It is the love that dares -all--all the powers of time and eternity. I tell you that I would do it -again; I would kill any other man who came between us. But my crime has -been purposeless; we are to part for ever at Sydney in two days.” - -“Yes,” she said. “It is better that we should part.” - -She gave him her hand. He held it tightly for a moment, then dropped it -suddenly, and left her standing alone on the deck. - -“Was there ever such love in the world?” she murmured. “But it is -terrible--terrible!” - -The next day she went to where he was sitting alone, far from the other -passengers. - -“Mr Somers,” she said, “you will not really leave the yacht at Sydney?” - -“If you tell me to stay, I will stay by the ship--I will stay by you, -and you shall know what love means,” he said. - -“Ah,” she said, “I think I have learned that already.” - -“My beloved--you tell me to stay?” - -“I believe that you love me,” said she. - -“My darling--my beloved! You are more to me than all the world--you are -dearer to me than my hope of heaven!” - -“Yes: you have shown me that you are speaking the truth. It is very -terrible, but I know that it is the truth.” - -“It is the truth. And I know that you love me.” - -“I wonder if I ever loved any one else,” said she, after a pause--“that -is, I wonder if any one else ever loved me as you have done.” - -That was all that passed between them at the time; but two days later -his hand was clasping hers as the steamer went past the Heads into the -loveliest harbour of the world. - -***** - -It was very early in the morning when he left his cabin to go on deck. -The yacht was swinging at anchor. The sound of many voices came from the -deck. - -She was waiting to receive him at the door of his cabin. He put both his -hands out to her: she did not take even one of them. She stared at him. - -“I suppose you are the greatest scoundrel in the world,” she said. - -“Viola--dearest!” - -“I say you are the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, for you tried to -obtain my love by telling me a lie--a lie--a horrible lie. You did not -murder Jack Norgate. He fell overboard by accident that night, when no -one was near him, and he was picked up by the ocean tramp which you had -been watching--not beside him, but on the bridge. You are a wicked man. -You told me that you murdered him, but you did nothing of the sort. -There he is, coming toward us. I did not tell him how false you were, -and I do not intend to tell him; but I know it for myself.” - -“It was you yourself who suggested the thing to me,” said he. “Did you -not come to me accusing me of having murdered him? Did you not say that -it had been revealed to you in a vision?” - -“A vision? Oh, I was in need of a dose of bromide--that’s all,” said -she. - -Then Jack Norgate came up with the captain by his side. The hand that Mr -Somers offered him was limp and clammy. - -“Here’s another of the ghost seers,” laughed Jack. “They all look on me -as a ghost aboard this craft.” - -“It was a marvellous escape,” said the captain. “Luckily the tramp was -a fine old slow tub, and still more luckily she had a good look-out for -one hour only. Why, you couldn’t have been in the water for more than -ten minutes.” - -“It seemed about a week to me, old man,” said Jack. “And as for the -tramp--well, we arrived at Sydney before you any way.” - -The captain laughed. - -“It was a providential escape,” said he. - -“It was a providential escape,” said Viola, putting her arm through -Jack’s and walking away with him. - - - - -“MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.” - - -I. - -I am so pleased that it has come about, my dearest Madge,” said Mrs -Harland. “I always hoped that Julian would take a fancy--I mean that -you--that you would come to think tenderly of Julian. It was the one -hope of my life. What should I have done if he had come to me with a -story of having fallen in love with one of those horrid modern young -women--the sort who are for ever having their names in the papers about -something or other--charities and things? Charity has become the most -effective means of self-advertisement in these days.” - -“If he had come to you saying that he loved such a girl, you--you would -have loved her too, you dear old thing!” cried Madge, kissing her on -both cheeks. - -“Madge, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mrs Harland with dignity--the dignity -of the lady with a grievance. - -“It is of yourself you would feel ashamed if your son came to you with a -tale of loving a girl--any girl--and you failed to see her exactly with -his eyes,” laughed Madge. “But I know you are glad that your duty in -this respect is so easy: you have always loved me, haven’t you? How -could you help it? When I think of how naughty I used to be; of -the panes in the greenhouse I used to break, playing cricket with -Julian--panes that involved no penalties; when I think of your early -peas that I used to steal and eat raw out of the pods; when I think of -all the mischief I used to put poor Julian up to, usually giving him a -good lead over; and when I reflect that not once did I ever receive -more than a verbal reproof from you, then I know that you could not -help loving me,--it was not my fault that you did not think of me as the -greatest nuisance in the county.” - -Mrs Harland laughed, though she had entered upon this interview with -the girl who was to be her daughter-in-law very seriously, and in by no -means a laughing spirit. - -“I loved you always, because you were always a girl to be loved, and my -prayer day and night, dear, was that Julian would come to think so in -good time,” said she. “I was, I admit, slightly alarmed to find how -very friendly you and he always were: every one knows that nothing is so -fatal to falling in love as great friendliness.” - -“Of course,” said Madge. “How funny it was that I should never think -about the matter at all! And yet I feel that I must always have loved -him, just as I do now. How could any one help it, my dearest mother?” - -The fond mother of Julian Harland made no attempt to answer so difficult -a question. Some mothers may be able to formulate on economic grounds -how it is that young men do not find it impossible to resist the charms -of their numerous daughters; but the mother of an only son declines to -entertain the notion that he may fail to attract any girl who has had -the good fortune to appear attractive in his eyes. That was why Mrs -Harland fully acquiesced in Madge’s view of the irresistible qualities -of Julian. - -“He is a good boy, he has never been otherwise than a good boy,” she -said. “Still--well, I know that his future is safe in your keeping, my -Madge.” - -She had heard of extremely good boys making extremely undesirable -matches with young women in tobacconists’ shops. It would seem as if -every university town must be overflowing with tobacconists’ shops, and -as if every tobacconist’s shop must be overcrowded with attractive -young ladies; one reads so much (in books written by ladies) of the -undergraduate victims to tobacconists’ girls. She felt glad that her son -Julian had not come to her from Oxford with a story of having made -up his mind that he could only be entirely happy if married to one of -these. She felt that he had been a really good son in choosing -Madge Winston, the most beautiful girl in the county, rather than a -snub-nosed, golden-haired girl from behind a tobacconist’s counter. Yes, -he deserved great credit for his discrimination. - -“And I am doubly glad that you have become engaged just now,” she -continued. “You will keep him at home, Madge.” - -“He has never shown any tendency to roam again,” said Madge, with an -inquiring look into Mrs Harland’s eyes. “He has often said that having -had his tiger-shooting in Kashmir, he is perfectly satisfied.” - -“It was not that sort of shooting that was in my mind,” said Mrs -Harland. “But his father was a soldier--my father was a soldier. Look -round the hall, Madge--nothing but uniforms in every picture. That is -why----” - -“You are afraid that if this war breaks out in earnest----” - -“That’s it--that’s it. He belongs to a race of soldiers. There has not -been a war since Blenheim between England and any other Power in which a -Harland and a Severn have not fought.” - -“That is a splendid thing to be able to say; and yet Julian was content -with his Militia. Isn’t that strange?” - -“It was for my sake, dearest Madge. I saw in his face before he was -sixteen the old racial longing to be a soldier, and I made an appeal to -him. He put his career away from him for my sake, Madge. He promised to -stay at home with me in my loneliness.” - -“You were able to make such an appeal to him?” There was a suggestion -of surprise in the girl’s voice, and it carried with it a curious -suggestion of coldness as well. - -“Was it selfish of me--was it, Madge? Oh! I dare say it was. Yes, it -must have been selfish; but think of my position, dear. He is all I have -in the world now. What would life be worth to me if he were away, or if -he were in danger? And then, think of his responsibilities. The property -is not a large one, and it requires careful treatment. You don’t think -that I was unreasonable, Madge?” - -“Oh no, no,” said the girl. “You were right, quite right; only----” - -“Only--only what, dear?” said Mrs Harland. “What is on my mind exactly -at this moment,” said Madge, “is, that I--I would not have been strong -enough to say that to him.” - -“To say what to him, Madge?” - -“What you said--to ask him to stay at home when he had his heart set -on being a soldier, as his father and as his grandfathers were. Even -now--but what’s the use of discussing a situation that cannot arise? -Even if the war breaks out, he is only a Militia captain, so that he -cannot be called on for duty in a campaign.” - -“Of course, the war will be over in a month or two, and there is no -chance of the Militia being called out; but it is just for the next -month or so that I have my fears--my fears, I should say. I have none -now that I know that you have promised to make him happy--to make _me_ -happy. I had my fears that at the first sound of the trumpet in his -ears all the instincts of his house... Look at those uniforms in every -picture round the hall.... Ah, I was afraid that he might ask me to -release him from his promise.” - -“And you knew that you would have released him without a word of demur,” - said Madge. “You know that you would do so, for you belong to a fighting -house, too. Bless me, I’m the only representative of civilianism among -you all. Oh, it is high time that the fighting Severns and the fighting -Harlands got a pacific element introduced among them.” - -“That is what I feel,” said Mrs Harland. “Madge, you will not allow him -ever to yield to that tradition of his house. I feel that so long as -he is by your side he is safe. One campaign at least will take place -without a descendant of the Harlands having anything to do with it.” - -Before Madge had time to make a reply the gravel of the drive was sent -flying against the lowest panes of the room by the feet of a horse -reined in suddenly. - -“Julian has returned with some important news,” said Madge, glancing -outside. - -In another instant a man’s step sounded in the porch, and Julian Harland -entered the old oak hall with a newspaper in the same hand that held his -hunting crop. - -“It has come at last!” he cried. “War! war! war!” - -“England has declared war against the Transvaal!” said Madge. - -“On the contrary, it is Mr Kruger, the Boer farmer, who has declared war -against Great Britain!” said he. - -“Poor Mr Kruger!” said Madge. - -“I am sorry--very sorry! War is terrible! I know what war means,” said -Mrs Harland. - -“Sorry!--sorry!” cried her son. “Why, what is there to be grieved, -about? You’re not a friend of Mr Kruger’s, mother?” - -“I know what war means,” said she. - -“And I don’t,” said he. - -There was something in his voice that suggested a sigh, and it seemed -that he was aware of this himself, for he threw his riding crop into a -corner, and cried out quite cheerily--“I’m happy to feel all the springs -of domesticity welling up within my bosom since you made me the happiest -chap in the county, my Madge. I have no greater ambition than to sit in -a chair at one side of the fire with you to look at, my Madge. How -rosy you are, my dear. What is keeping the lunch, mother? We must drink -together ‘Confusion to Kruger!’ His ultimatum--fancy a half-caste Dutch -peasant having the impudence to write an ultimatum to Great Britain!--it -expires to-day. We’ll not leave the hall till we are sure it has -expired.” - -He continued in this excited strain during lunch, and Madge found that -she too was in the same vein. War was in the air, and while the crowds -in London were cheering aloud and singing “God Save the Queen!” with -flashing eyes, the little group of three at the table in that old -Somerset hall stood up and drank to the success of the Queen’s soldiers -in South Africa. Around them on the oak panels were the pictures -of Harlands in red coats, Harlands in blue coats, Harlands in -the demi-armour of the Stuarts, Harlands in the chain mail of the -Lancastrians. Every man of them carried a sword and kept his eyes fixed -on the living head of their house sternly, anxiously. - -And that was why Julian, after drinking to the toast which he had given -a moment before, remained on his feet with his glass still in his hand, -and with his eyes looking from picture to picture as though he had never -seen one of them previously in his life. - -His mother watched him, so did Madge. - -The glass dropped from his hand and was smashed in pieces on the floor, -and he fell back into his chair and gave a loud laugh. - -“That’s Kruger!” he cried: “smashed!--smashed!--beyond recovery!--beyond -coaguline--smashed--and without a Harland raising his hand against -him,--that’s what they are saying--those Harlands that have had their -eyes fixed on me, as if I needed their prompting. Come along, sweet -womenfolk, and have a look at the sundial that Rogers unearthed when -digging the new rose-bed, where the remains of the old maze were,--the -date is carved on it, 1472 a.d. Just think of it, hidden for perhaps -three hundred years and only unearthed yesterday, at the very hour that -you promised to be my own Madge! A good omen! What does it mean except -that a new era for the old house is beginning? Come along, my dearest.” - -There was no great alacrity in Madge’s response to his challenge. - - -II. - -His father was killed in the Soudan, having inherited the property when -his elder brother had been killed, a few years before, in Zulu-land. -Four brothers, all of them men of splendid physique, had been slain in -battle within a space of four years, and three widows and many children -had been left desolate. - -He knew the story of heroism associated with every one of the four, -and he knew the stories of the heroism associated with the death of his -grandfather at the Alma, and his greatgrandfather at Waterloo. That was -why he had taken it for granted from his earliest years that he was to -be a solder. It never occurred to him that there was any other destiny -possible for a Harland of the Hall. - -But when his mother came to him one day and poured her plaint into his -ear, entreating him for her sake to think of himself as associated with -a happier fate, he had yielded to her, though he made no admissions in -regard to the comparative happiness involved in the fate of dying on -the field of battle, or as a senile fox-hunter after a protracted run to -hounds. He showed himself to be a dutiful son, and he went to Oxford and -then ate his dinners at the Temple, as he believed a reasonably aspiring -country gentleman should do if he wished to retain his self-respect. He -had also drilled every year with the Militia regiment in which he held a -commission, and was rapidly qualifying for the rank of major. - -But during these years the country was engaged in no war that made -any great demand upon its resources: he had no great temptation to go -against the Afridis, and he felt sure that Khartoum could be reached -by Kitchener without his personal supervision. But his mother noticed -a change upon him as he read day by day of the probabilities of a war -breaking out between England and the Transvaal. A strange uneasiness -seemed to have come over him, and he talked of nothing except South -Africa as a campaigning ground. - -His mother became more uneasy than he was, and she was only in a measure -relieved when one day he came to her, telling her that he had asked -Madge Winston, the daughter of the Vicar of Hurst Harland, to marry him, -and that she had consented. Mrs Harland told him that he had made her -the happiest mother in the world; but from the chat, just recorded, -which she had with Madge in the hall before Julian had returned with -the news of the ultimatum, it will be gathered that she had still some -misgivings. - -They were strengthened by observing Julian’s strange behaviour during -the drinking of the toast. She saw the light that was in his eyes as he -talked a little wildly about the coming campaign. She had seen such a -light in the eyes of his father when talking of a coming campaign. She -knew what it meant. - -She did not accompany Julian and Madge when they went out together -to look at the old pillar sundial which a gardener had dug up the day -before. She was happily able to make a reasonable excuse for staying -behind: a servant had just brought her a message to the effect that one -of the lacemakers of the village had come by appointment to see her. She -had interested herself for several years in the lacemaking, and was in -the habit of getting old pieces of her own splendid collection repaired -by one of the cleverest of the girls. - -This girl was still in the hall when Julian and Madge were driven -indoors by a slight shower, and Mrs Harland showed them the piece of -work which she had had mended. It was a delicate handkerchief bordered -with rosebuds, and curiously enough, as Julian pointed out, the sprays -arranged themselves so as to form a constant repetition of the letter M. - -“That stands for Madge, doesn’t it?” cried he. - -“It stands for Medici,” said his mother. “This particular piece of -lace belonged to Marie de’ Medici, though no one ever noticed that the -rosebuds entwined themselves into the letter M.” - -“I will buy the handkerchief from my mother for you, Madge,” he cried. -“Who knows what magic may be ‘in the web of it,’ like poor Desdemona’s! -These Medici were uncanny folk. The earlier ones certainly understood -the art of magic as practised by the highest authorities in the -Middle Ages. Yes, the M stands for Madge. Take it, dear, I won’t be so -ungracious as to add Othello’s charge to Desdemona about keeping it; and -if I should find it in a railway carriage or anywhere else in years -to come, you may make your mind easy. I’ll not strangle you on that -account.” - -“I got it mended on purpose for you, Madge,” said Mrs Harland. - -“You are so good,” said the girl, spreading out the filmy thing -admiringly. “You know that there is nothing I love so well as lace, -and this design is the most perfect that could be imagined. A thousand -thanks, dearest mother.” - -Julian seemed before the evening to have become quite resigned to -staying at home; and during the next few weeks, though he followed -the progress of the preparations for the campaign with great interest, -pointing out what he believed would be the plans of each of the -divisional commanders to his mother and Madge, yet he never semed to -be unduly eager in the matter. He seemed to look on the campaign in a -purely academic spirit--merely as a Kriegspiel,--and his mother’s fears -vanished. She blessed the day that Madge had come to the Hall. It was -Madge, and Madge only, who had succeeded in restraining his burning -desire to be in the thick of the fight. - -But, then, following swiftly upon the news of the arrival of the First -Army Corps and the successes of the sorties from Ladysmith, which elated -the whole of England for some days, came like a thunderclap the news of -a disaster--a second disaster--a third! It seemed as if the campaign -was going to collapse before it had well begun. The change made itself -apparent in every part of England--in every household in England, and in -none more vividly than at Harland Hall. A change had come over Julian; -he had no word for any one; he walked moodily about the house and the -grounds, taking no interest in anything. He made an excuse for going -up to London for a day or two, and he returned with a mass of news. The -country had been taken by surprise in regard to the Boer preparations. -The campaign was going to be a long one, and every available man was to -be called out; he had it from good authority--the best authority in the -world. - -His mother saw that the old light had come back to his eyes, and she -shuddered. - -The next morning when Madge came downstairs she saw her sitting in the -hall, with her head bent down, her son standing over her with a paper in -his hands. - -“Madge! Madge!” cried the mother, “you will tell him to stay; he is -going to leave us, but you will tell him to stay. He will stay if you -implore of him.” - -“Yes,” said he, “I will stay if Madge asks me; but she will not ask me.” - -“You will ask him--you will implore of him to stay, Madge, my daughter!” - cried Mrs Harland. - -There was a long silence. The girl had become deathly pale. She stood at -her chair at the table. She did not speak. - -“Why are you silent?--why are you dumb?” cried the mother. “Will you see -him go forth to die, as all the others of his family have done in the -past? Cannot you understand what has happened? Oh! you have only just -come down. You have not heard the news: the last of the Reserves have -been called out, and volunteers are being called on from the Militia!” - -“And I have volunteered,” said Julian in a low voice. - -She was still deathly pale. Her hands grasped the carved back of the -chair. She did not speak. - -“Dear Madge, you will tell him?” began Mrs Harland. - -“Yes,” said the girl, “I will tell him that I am proud of him--that if -he had remained at home now I would never have married him!” - -She walked steadily across the hall and put both her hands out to him. -He took them in his own, and bent his head down to them, kissing each of -them. - -Then he raised his head and looked round at the portraits in the panels, -and laughed. - -He left the Hall in the evening. - - -III. - -It was the most dismal Christmas that any one in England could -remember. Here and there a success had been snatched from the enemy; -but the list of casualties published every day made the morning papers -a terror to read. The British losses had passed the tenth thousand, and -still Buller could not reach Ladysmith and Methuen could not cross the -Modder. It seemed as if the last of the Egyptian plagues had fallen on -England, and there was not a household in which there was not one dead! - -It was a dreary Christmas at Harland Hall. News had arrived a few days -previously of Julian’s safe arrival at the Cape and of his having taken -part in a skirmish on his way to the front. Every morning his mother and -Madge--who had come to stay at the Hall for another month--picked up the -newspaper and glanced with fearing eyes down the usual casualty list. -When they failed to find his name there they breathed again. There was -no thought of festivity in the Hall this Christmas Day, and it was a -relief to Madge as well as to Mrs Harland when bedtime came. Before -going to bed the girl sat for some time before the fire in her room, -with Julian’s portrait in her hand, and on her lap some of the things -which his hands had touched--a shrivelled November rose which he had -discovered on the last stroll they had together through the garden--a -swan’s feather which he had picked up and thrust with a laugh and a mock -taunt into her hair--the lace handkerchief which had been given to her -on the day of the outbreak of the war. She sat there lost in her own -thoughts--praying her own prayers. - -Suddenly she became aware of an unusual sound--a sort of tap at rare -intervals upon her window-pane. At first she fancied that it was a twig -of ivy which was being blown by the breeze against the window, but the -next time the sound came she felt sure that it could only be produced by -a tiny pebble flung up from the carriage drive. - -For a few moments she was slightly alarmed. She quickly extinguished her -candle, however, and then went to the window, drawing the blind a little -way to one side and peering out. There was no moon, but the sky was full -of stars, and she knew that if any one was on the drive there was light -enough to make her aware of the fact. For some time, however, her eyes, -accustomed to the light of her room, were unable to make out any figure -below; but after waiting at the window for a few minutes, it seemed -to her that she could detect the figure of a man in the middle of the -drive. - -She shut out all the light of the fire behind her and continued peering. -Beyond a doubt there was a man outside. He was waving something white up -to her. In another instant she knew him. A terrible fear took hold upon -her, for she knew that she was looking out at a man in khaki uniform, -and she knew that that man was Julian Harland. And now she saw him -distinctly in the starlight: he was making signs to her, pointing to the -porch and walking in that direction. - -She dropped the blind. There was no doubt whatever in her mind now: -Julian had returned suddenly, and for some reason he wished to be -admitted into the house secretly. - -She stole down the broad shallow staircase into the hall, and by the -light of the glowing logs which smouldered in the big grate she found -her way to the oaken door that shut off the porch from the hall. She -loosened its chains as silently as possible, and opened it. Then she -went through to the porch and found herself standing opposite the -studded hall door. There she paused for an instant, asking herself if -she should open it. - -A low tap sounded on it from the outside. - -“I am here,” she said in a low voice; “am I to open the door for you, -Julian?” - -“Open, Madge, quick--quick, I am wounded,” he said. - -With trembling fingers she unfastened the bolt, opened the door, and -allowed him to pass into the porch. - -“O, my darling, have you been wounded?” she cried. She had not put -herself into his arms: she had a sense of his being wounded, and she was -afraid of hurting him by coming in contact with the wound. She felt his -hand on hers. - -“It is really only a trifle, Madge,” said he; “you will be able to bind -it up for me, and you must not awaken poor mother. The shock of seeing -me might kill her.” - -They went side by side into the hall, and he sank down with a sigh -of relief on the big settee before the fire. She broke up one of the -smouldering logs, and it glowed into a great flame which showed her that -his face was very pale and that he had grown a beard. - -She was on her knees at his knees in a moment. - -“Dearest Julian!” she cried, with her arms about him, “how did you come -without sending me word? Oh, where are you wounded?” - -“The arm--the right,” he said rather feebly. “It is only a flesh wound, -I know, but it was enough to knock me over, and it has been bleeding -badly. If you wash it and bind it up a bit, however, it will be all -right until the morning, when I can have it looked to.” - -Slowly and painfully he raised his right arm. He had apparently slit up -the sleeve of his tunic, and the pieces fell away to the right and left -of his arm, showing her a wound black with coagulated blood. - -“My poor boy--my poor boy!” she said. “I shall do my best with it; but -it is an ugly wound. Why should I not send a man to the surgery? Dr -Gwynne will come at once.” - -“No, no,” he said; “I don’t want to make a fuss at this hour. You can -manage without outside help. Hadn’t you better light the candles?” - -She sprang to her feet, and picking up one of the long chips from the -log basket, lighted it in the fire and then transferred the flame to two -of the old sconces at the side of the fireplace. As the light flickered -on him she saw that his tunic was torn and splashed, and that his -putties were caked with mire. No wayside tramp could be in a more -dilapidated condition than Julian was in. He had clearly been walking -some distance; and yet she could not recollect seeing any clay for miles -around of the same tint as that which was caked upon his garments. - -She was about to ask him why he should not go upstairs to his own room -where she could attend to him properly, but she restrained her nurse’s -instinct to ask an irritated patient questions. She examined the wound -and said-- - -“I will wash it for you and bind it up till the morning. I shall get a -basin in my own room.” - -“‘A ministering angel thou!’” he said, with a very wan smile. “By -the way, Madge, do you remember the lace handkerchief--the Medici -handkerchief?” - -“I was looking at it only an hour ago,” she said. - -“‘There’s magic in the web of it,” he said. “Fetch it and bind up my -wound with that cobweb drawn over rosebuds and I shall be all right.” - -She hastened to her room, and in a few moments had picked out from a -drawer some soft linen, a bottle of arnica, and a pair of scissors. She -had attended ambulance classes, and had confidence in her own capacity -to deal with any ordinary “case.” Then she put the lace Medici -handkerchief with the other appliances, and, carrying a large china bowl -with her water jug, came quietly down the stairs once more. - -He had fallen asleep on the settee, but in an instant he was awake. He -was plainly vigilant at once. - -“It is beginning to feel a bit stiff, but that is on account of the -bleeding,” he said. “I knew I was doing wisely in awaking you only. I -couldn’t stand a fuss.” - -“I will make no fuss,” she said, “and I shall hurt you as little as -possible. I will even refrain from asking you any questions.” - -“That’s right; I feel so sleepy,” said he. - -In a deft and businesslike way she washed the clotted blood from the -wound, and she quickly perceived that it was only a deep flesh wound, -but it had bled a great deal and that had weakened him. She bandaged the -arm with layers of linen, and when the bandage was secure he cried-- - -“Now for the handkerchief--that will make me all right in a moment. The -earlier Medici were, I told you, wonderful folk, though the later----Ah, -you are a good girl.” - -She knew that he must be humoured. She made no protest against using her -handkerchief in such a way. - -“You have no idea how relieved I feel,” said he. “My dearest girl, I -knew that I would be safe in your hands. Now get me a big drink of water -and I shall be all right.” - -She hastened to where a great cut-glass carafe and its goblet stood -on the oak sideboard. He gave an exclamation that suggested more than -satisfaction while the water was sobbing in the throat of the bottle, -and when he had drunk a clear pint he gave a sigh. - -“I haven’t had such a drink for weeks,” he said. “Now, dear girl, I’m -dying with sleep, and so, I fancy, are you.” - -“You do not mean to sleep here?” she cried. “You will go to your own -room, Julian, dear; a fire has been lighted in it every day to keep out -any possible damp.” - -“I couldn’t think of such luxury when so many of my poor comrades are -lying under the cold stars,” said he. “Don’t urge me, Madge; but go to -your own bed and sleep well.” - -Even while she was still looking at him, he laid his head back among the -pillows of the settee and fell asleep. She waited by his side only for a -few moments, and then went quietly up to her room. She threw herself on -her knees by her bedside and wept tears of joy at the thought that he -had come safe home again, with only a wound that a few weeks would heal. - -But when she had undressed and got into bed she could not help feeling -that his homecoming was strange beyond imagination. He had sent no -telegram, he had arrived with the stains of battle still on his uniform, -and, strangest of all, his wound was not an old one. Not many hours had -passed since he had sustained it. - -What on earth was the explanation of all this? - -She felt unequal to the task of working out the question. She felt that -all other thoughts should give place to the glorious thought that he was -safe at home. He would explain everything in the morning. - - -IV. - -When she awoke this thought was dominant. He was at home--safe--safe! - -She listened at the door of his room to catch his cheery laughter with -the first of the servants who might discover him. But no such sound came -to her ears. She was nearly dressed when Mrs Harland entered her room. - -“Well!” she cried. “Well! you have seen him? Good heavens, why do you -look at me in that way? Have you not seen him?” - -“Dear Madge,” said Mrs Harland, “your eyes have a strange gleam in them. -What do you mean by asking me if I have seen him--_him?_ Is there more -than one _him_ for me and for you?” - -“But he came here late last night, he threw pebbles up at that window, -and I let him into the hall and bound up a wound of his--a flesh wound -only. I left him sleeping on the settee.” - -Mrs Harland stared at her. - -“My poor Madge!” she said. “You have had a vivid dream. How could -he possibly have been here when not a week has passed since we got a -cablegram from him? It would take him a week to get back to Cape Town -alone.” - -“I don’t try to explain anything,” said she. “Only he came into the hall -as sure as we stand here together, and I bound up his wound--just -below the elbow of the right arm. If I did not do so, where is the lace -handkerchief? Here are all the things I was looking at before I heard -the sound of the pebbles on the window, and the Medici handkerchief was -there too. Where is it now?” - -“Poor child! Poor Madge!” cried Mrs Harland. “You must try to keep your -thoughts away from him for a day or two. You and I need a change of -scene badly.” - -“Oh, no; I am not going mad, I can assure you, my dearest mother,” said -Madge. “I tell you that--where is the handkerchief?” - -“There is the breakfast gong,” said Mrs Harland. “I believe you, dear; -you were with him in heart.” - -Madge laughed, and went downstairs. She gave a glance at the sconce in -which she had lighted the candles; it contained four candles burnt down -to the sockets. - -The papers had no special news; but later in the day two telegrams -arrived. One was for Mrs Harland, the other for Madge. - -They tore open the covers with palpitating fingers. - -The first dispatch said: - -“_Flesh wound--very slight._” The second--that addressed to Madge--said: -“_Thank you, dearest_.” They exchanged telegrams, but not a word. - -***** - -He was invalided home after acting as escort to Cronje down to Cape -Town, and saving a gun at Reddersburg (mentioned in despatches), but no -one alluded to the wound which he had sustained on Christmas Day in a -skirmish at the Modder. - -One evening, however, when he was able to sit outside the house, Madge -turned to him, saying: “What did you mean by sending me that telegram, -‘_Thank you, dearest?_” - -He gave a laugh. - -“I wonder if you have still by you that Medici handkerchief?” he said. - -“No,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I must plead as Desdemona -did about hers, it disappeared mysteriously. I cannot produce it for -you, my lord.” - -“Ah, now I should get as mad as any Othello,” said he, “but on second -thoughts I will refrain.” - -“Listen, dear Julian,” she said. “I am resolved to confess all to you, -though you may think me a bit of a fool. Listen: on Christmas night -I went to my room and seated myself before the fire, thinking of you, -dearest,--your portrait was in my hands, and on the table were some of -the treasures your hands had touched, the handkerchief among them. Then -I heard--I seemed to hear--no, I prefer to tell the truth--I actually -heard the sound of a pebble flung against my window. I looked out, I -saw you on the drive, and I went downstairs and opened the hall door for -you. You were wounded just where you were actually wounded--and I bound -up your arm with the handkerchief and went to bed. In the morning there -was no sign of your having been here, but--but--the handkerchief was -gone. Don’t think me a goose.” - -“A goose? Heavens! a goose!” he cried. “Listen to my story, dear. When I -was wounded in that scrimmage, I fainted through loss of blood, and when -I recovered my senses I went in search of the ambulance tent. It was -late before I came across a transport waggon, which had been disabled by -a shell. I crept inside it, but found nothing there, and I was dying of -thirst. And then--then--you came to me with bandages and water--plenty -of water in the cut-glass carafe that stands on the sideboard. You -lighted a candle, bound up my arm, and left me comfortably asleep, where -I was found by our ambulance in the morning. Yes, that’s the truth, and -that is why I sent you the telegram, and this is the handkerchief with -the stains upon it still.” - -He drew the lace handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. -She gazed at it, but he only laughed and said-- - -“I told you ‘there’s magic in the web of it.’” - - - - -THE BASELESS FABRIC - -Tis sorry that you’ll be to hear that ould Denny Callan is dead, -sir,” said the station-master--he was, strictly speaking, the -junction-master--at Mallow, to whom I had confided my hopes of -eventually reaching my destination at St Barter’s, in the same county. -He had been courteously voluble, and sometimes even explicit, in giving -me advice on this subject; he also took an optimistic view of the -situation. All things considered, and with a moderate share of good -luck, I might reasonably hope to reach St Barter’s House within a couple -of hours. That point, which was becoming one of great interest to me, -being settled, he thought that he was entitled to assume that I should -be grieved to hear of the death of “ould Denny Callan.” He assumed too -much. I had never heard the name of the lamented Mr Callan. I could not -pretend to be overwhelmed with grief at the news that some one was dead -whom I had never heard of being alive. - -“Tubbe sure, you’re a stranger, sir--what am I thinking of at all--or -you’d know all about the road to St Barter’s,” said the official. “Oh, -but you’d have liked ould Denny, sir, if you’d but have known him. A -more harmless crayture you couldn’t find, search high or low. ‘Tis a -great favourite that he was with the gentlemen--ay, and for that matter, -the ladies--though I wouldn’t like to say a word against him that’s -gone. Oh, they all come away from St Barter’s with a good word for -Denny. Well, well, he’s at rest, and I don’t expect that you’ll have to -wait much longer for your train, sir.” - -When I had got out of my compartment in the express from Dublin an hour -before, I was told that I should only have to wait for ten minutes to -make the connection that would take me on to Blarney--the station for -St Barter’s--but the train which was reputed to be able to perform this -service for me had not yet been signalled. After the lapse of another -twenty minutes I began to think that the stationmaster had taken too -roseate a view of my future. It did not seem likely that I should, in -the language of the ‘Manual,’ “attain my objective” that day. - -I had reached a stage of bewildering doubt, which was not mitigated by -the arrival at the junction of a long train, and the announcement of the -guard to the passengers, “Change here for Ameriky,”--it was explained -to me that the train was full of emigrants bound for America via -Queenstown,--when the station-master bustled up to tell me that the -Blarney special had just been signalled from Kilmallock--the Blarney -special was getting on very well, and with good luck should be available -for passengers from Mallow within half an hour. - -The good luck on which this estimate was founded was not lacking. -My train crawled alongside the platform only five minutes over the -half-hour, and the official wished me a continuance of good luck, -adding-- - -“It wouldn’t be like going back to the same place now that poor ould -Denny is gone, if you had ever been there before, sir. Best his sowl! -‘Tis the harmless crayture that he was. You’ll be sorry that you didn’t -know him, sir, when you find the place a bit lonesome.” - -I was half-way to Blarney before my sluggish mind was able to appreciate -the contingencies suggested by the station-master. I had never before -been to St Barter’s, but if I had ever been there I should regret my -returning to the place now that a certain person, of whose existence I -had been unaware, was gone. That was how I worked out the matter, and -before I had concluded the operation I had become quite emotional in -regard to the demise of Denny. I shook my head mournfully at the thought -that I should never see him--that I had come too late--too late! I had -no idea that the local colour, which is associated by tradition with -this neighbourhood, was so potent; but, indeed, when the obliging -station-master at Blarney, who entered into conversation with me while -the porter was looking after my luggage, remarked-- - -“So poor ould Denny is gone at last, sir!” I shook my head sadly. - -“Poor old Denny! poor old Denny!” I said with a sigh. “Ah, we’ll all -miss poor old Denny. He was the most harmless man--St Barter’s will not -be the same without him.” - -The station-master did his best to comfort me for half an hour--that was -the exact space that I had to wait for the car which was to carry me to -St Barter’s. When it did arrive, the excuse given by the red-haired boy -who had charge of the “wee mare” was that it was a grand wake entirely -that Denny had last night. - -He told me more about it (with statistics of certain comestibles, -mostly liquid) when driving along one of the loveliest roads possible to -imagine, past the grey square tower of Blarney Castle, embowered among -its trees, and on by the side of the greenest slopes I had ever seen, -beneath the branches of one of the groves renowned in history and in -song. A broad stream flowed parallel with the road, and every glimpse -that I had through the trees on both sides was of emerald hills--some -in the distance, others apparently sending their soft ridges athwart the -road. I felt that at last I was in Ireland. - -On the side of a gracious slope, gradually approached by broad zigzag -drives which follow the swelling curves of long grassy billows, -the buildings of St Barter’s stand. They are neither venerable nor -imposing--only queer. It seemed to me that everybody must have been -concerned in their construction except an architect. But the compiler -of a guide-book could, with every desire to be economical of his space, -fill half a dozen pages with a description of the landscape which faces -the windows of the front. The green terraces below the gardens dip -toward the brink of a glen through which a trout stream rushes, and the -woods of this sylvan hollow straggle up the farther slope, and spread -over it in a blaze of autumnal gold that glows half through the winter. -Where the wooded slopes and the range of green hills begin, undulating -into a soft distance of pasturages, with here and there a white -farmhouse shining out of the shadow of an orchard, and at the dividing -line of the low slopes, the turret of Blarney Castle appears above the -dark cloud of its own woods. - -Before I found myself facing this entrancing landscape, I could not for -the life of me understand why my client, who might have lived where -she pleased, should spend half the year at St Barter’s. But now I -understood, and I took back the words which I had spoken more than -once, when in mid-channel the previous night. A family solicitor may be -pardoned for occasionally calling a client a fool. I had called several -of my most valued clients by this name. I did so for the same reason -that Adam gave for calling the fox a fox--because it was a fox. But I -had never to retract until now. “Hydros” are horrors as a rule, but St -Barter’s is a beatitude. - -A couple of hours after lunch--the water which was placed on our table -was as exhilarating as champagne--sufficed for the transaction of the -business which had brought me to Ireland, and I was free to return by -the night train. I had, however, no mind to be so businesslike; for the -scenery had clasped me tightly in its embrace, and in addition I found -that the resident medico had been in my form at Marlborough, and I was -delighted to meet him again. I had lost sight of him for nine or ten -years. - -It was by the side of Dr Barnett that I strolled about the grounds and -learned something of the history of the curious old place. - -“Rambling? I should think it is rambling,” he said, acquiescing in my -remark. “How could it be anything else, considering the piecemeal way -in which it was built? It was begun by a very brilliant and highly -practical physician more than fifty years ago. When the house, as it was -then, was fully occupied, and he got a letter from a person of quality -inquiring for rooms, he simply put the inquirer off for a week, then set -to, built on a few more rooms, and had them ready for occupation within -the time stated. This went on for several years. If the Lord Lieutenant -had written for a suite of apartments he would have had them ready in -ten days. That sort of thing produces this style of architecture. St -Barter’s is the finest example extant of the pure rambling. But it is -the healthiest place in the world. People come here expecting to die -within a fortnight, and they live on for thirty years.” - -“But now and again there is a death,” said I. “What about poor ould -Denny? The most harmless crayture----” - -Dr Barnett stared at me. - -“Was it in the London papers?” he cried. “Oh, I see; you have been -talking to the driver of the car. Poor ould Denny! He was everybody’s -friend.” - -“And yet quite harmless? The place will never seem the same to me as it -would have done if I had not arrived too late to see Denny. Was he your -assistant, or what?” - -The doctor laughed. - -“He was simply ‘poor ould Denny!”’ he said. “That was his profession. -It was pretty comprehensive, I can tell you. He was here when the house -would be overcrowded with ten guests. He roofed a whole wing with his -own hands. Then he dug the pit for the gasometer, thirty years ago, and -he lived to dam the trout stream that works the dynamo for the electric -light. He was also an accomplished _masseur_, and set up the hatchery -that supplied the stream with trout.” - -“His name should have been Crichton, not Callan. Anything else?” - -“He could do tricks on the billiard table, and he knew all that there is -to be known about hair-cutting.” - -“Is that all?” - -“That’s all--no, stay! he was a sculptor’s model for some time. I can -show you the result of his labours in this direction, if you would care -to see it.” - -“I certainly should care to see it.” - -“Come along, then.” - -He led me half-way round the building, from where the two storeys of the -centre block dwindled away to the single bedroom sheds of one wing. We -passed by the side of the terrace garden, and I made a remark respecting -the fine carving on some of the stone vases. - -“They were the work of the sculptor who chose Denny for his model,” said -the doctor. “Here we are.” - -I followed him between two fine cedars, and in another instant we were -face to face with a very striking colossal figure of a man holding aloft -a goblet. The head and the torso were very powerful, but the latter was -joined on to a conventional Greek pedestal, at the foot of which there -peeped out four tiny hoofs of satyrs. - -“What do you think of it? my friend inquired?” I told him that I -thought there was a good deal of strength in the modelling of the -figure, but I could not understand the satyrs’ hoofs. - -“I take it for granted that the sculptor left the hair unfinished,’ I -added; for one could not help remarking the roughness of the masses at -the top of the head. The sculptor had merely blocked out the heavy locks -of hair; he had made no attempt to define them. - -“The story of the work is rather a sad one,” said the doctor. “The -sculptor was a nephew of the man who built this place. He had worked in -a good studio in Italy, and was, I believe, a pupil of the distinguished -Irishman, Foley. He was devoted to his profession, and exhibited in some -of the London galleries. But every one knows that it is very difficult -to make a name--and a profit--as a sculptor, and he realised this truth -only when he had spent the greater part of his small patrimony. He came -here, and built for himself that cottage which you see at the other side -of the terrace, and, in order to keep himself employed, he carved -all these vases and urns which you have been admiring. Unfortunately, -however, among the doctor’s patients at the house there was a wealthy -linen merchant from Ulster--one of that vulgar crowd who had become -suddenly prosperous when the American Civil War prevented the export of -cotton from the southern ports; and this gentleman, meeting the sculptor -daily, and feeling probably that he would like to pose before the world -as a patron of Art, gave him a commission to execute a colossal figure -to support a lamp at the entrance to the new house which he was building -for himself. He made no stipulation as to the design, only the cost was -not to exceed a thousand pounds, and the work was to be ready within -a year. Of course, the poor sculptor was delighted. He accepted the -commission, and, thinking of the artistic rather than the business side -of the transaction, never dreamt of drawing up an agreement with his -generous patron. Before a month had passed, he had obtained his material -and made his clay sketches. Looking about for a model for the figure, -he was struck by the fine proportions of Denny, and had no difficulty in -inducing him to add to his other occupations the more restful one of a -sculptor’s model. For several months the work progressed satisfactorily, -and it was very near its completion, when the model contracted a malady -which necessitated the shaving of his head and interrupted his sittings. -The sculptor was not greatly inconvenienced, however. He turned his -attention for some weeks to the carving of the pedestal, and got that -completed before his model was able to resume his sittings. But even -then the sculptor could only deal with the torso, for Denny’s crown was -as bald as an egg. In a couple of months, however, the doctor assured -him that he would have as luxuriant a crop as would qualify him to -pose for one of the artists who produce the advertisements for -hair-restorers. The work was now practically finished. As the model -remarked, the edifice only needed the thatch to be put on the roof to -make it presentable. Then the proud artist wrote to his patron, telling -him that his commission was executed, and inviting him to come and -see it. After the lapse of a week or two the patron arrived, and was -conducted by the sculptor to view his masterpiece. The patron viewed -it in silence for some minutes, and then burst into a fit of laughter. -‘Man, dear!’ he managed at last to gasp in the raucous accent of his -native province--‘Man, dear! what’s that thing, anyway? Tell us what it -is, if you can. A Greek figure? They must have had funny figures, them -Greeks, if they had feet like yon. You must take me for a queer fool if -you fancy that I’d let the like o’ yon stand fornenst my house. You may -make a fool of yourself as much as you please, but I’ll take good care -that you don’t make a fool of me!’ What could a refined man say to a -brute like this? Well, he said nothing. He stood there in silence, with -his eyes fixed upon the face that he had carved, and the patron left him -staring at it. He stared at it all day, and the doctor, walking round -the garden that night, saw him staring at it in the moonlight, and led -him away to the cottage, and sent him to bed. He never rose from that -bed, except once. Two days later, his housemaid entered his room and -found him kneeling at his window--the statue could be seen where he had -placed it--where it now stands--and he was quite dead.” - -I could not speak for some time after the doctor had told me the story, -for I felt that it was the saddest I had ever heard. - -“His heart was broken,” I said. “But perhaps you will tell me that -science has proved that such a rupture is impossible.” - -“I will tell you nothing of the sort,” said he. “A broken heart is the -best possible way to describe the effect upon a sensitive brain of such -a shock as the sculptor sustained. His heart was broken. I am sorry that -I hadn’t a livelier story for you. People come to Ireland expecting to -be amused; but it seems to me that the history of the island from the -earliest times is one prolonged lament. The finest music of the national -melodies is to be found in the most mournful.” - -I stood with my eyes fixed upon the statue. - -“Strange, isn’t it, that I should arrive here to be told that pitiful -story within an hour or two of the death of the model?” said I. “The -poor artist! I am sure that he felt that he was immortalising Denny; and -yet--I suppose that in a year or two no one will know anything either -of the sculptor or his model. Perhaps the vulgarity of the Ulster patron -is, after all, the most enduring of all the qualities that went to the -production of this work.” - -“The patron eventually became one of the most distinguished bankrupts -of his generation,” said Dr Barnett. “He died a few years ago, but -vulgarity did not die with him. Yes, I think you are right--vulgarity is -immortal.” - -“I wonder if our friend Denny was proud to be reproduced in the stone, -or was he mortified at the result of his first connection with art?” I -remarked, while we were strolling back to the house. - -“He took an interest in the thing up to the very last,” replied the -doctor. “I have often seen him take a surreptitious glance at it, and -pass away from it, stroking his head mournfully. He confided in me once -that his sorrow was that the sculptor had not lived to reproduce -his fine head of hair; and I know that he believed that it was the -unfinished state of the crown of the figure that brought about its -rejection. His widow told me only yesterday that this was the greatest -trouble of his last hours. You see, the figure was a record of his -early manhood, but the pride that he had in looking at it must have been -chastened by the feeling that it did not do justice to his curls--his -one vanity was his curly head. He was nicknamed in Irish ‘The -curly-headed boy.’ It was pathetic to hear his widow repeat the phrase -over his body when I visited her in her trouble yesterday. ‘He was my -curly-headed boy--my curly-headed boy will never know the touch of my -comb again!’ she wailed in Irish.” - -“Poor old Denny!” said I. - -“That seems by one consent to be his most appropriate epitaph,” said the -doctor. - -After dinner that night I played a very pleasant rubber of whist with my -client, and the doctor and his wife. When the party separated I went to -the billiard-room with Barnett, and we played a hundred up. Lighting -a cigar then, I strolled out alone upon the terrace, the doctor having -gone to his room. The night was a brilliant one, and the landscape lay -bare and white beneath the moonlight, which flooded the far-off hills -and spread a garment of filigree over the foliage of the glen and of the -slope beyond. Beneath its brilliance the trout stream, whose voice came -fitfully through the brooding silence of the night, flashed here and -there among the trees. The square tower of the Castle shone like marble -in the distance. From one of the farms of the hillside the faint sound -of a dog’s bark reached my ears. - -I seated myself on one of the terrace chairs, languidly smoking my cigar -and breathing the strong perfume of the stocks of the garden. I -confess that my mind was dwelling upon the story of that queer piece -of sculpture before which I had stood in the afternoon. It was as sad -a story as that of the poet Keats, only the brutal criticism of the -sculptor’s patron was more savage than the ‘Quarterly Review’ which had -bludgeoned the fine poet to the death. But my sympathy was not given to -the artist so fully as to leave no pity to bestow upon his model, who -had lived on for thirty or forty years with his humble grievance. I -could appreciate the feelings of poor old Denny all the years that he -had laboured beneath the burden of being handed down in effigy to coming -generations shorn of his greatest glory. The one who was known to all -men as the curly-haired hoy was doomed to stand before the eyes of all -comers as the possessor of shapeless, matted locks that were not locks -at all! - -He was not made of the same fibre as the artist; he had not broken down -beneath the weight of that reflection; but I knew it must have been a -heaviness to him all his days. - -I remained seated in the moonlight for a long time, and just as I -thought that I should turn in, I noticed a figure crossing the little -grassy slope toward the garden. It was, I perceived, the figure of a -man, and he was wearing what I took at first to be an ordinary night -suit of light silk; but before he had gone a dozen steps I perceived -that his garment was a painter’s blouse. He moved silently over the -grass, and I could not help feeling, as I had often done before, how a -glance of moonlight on a figure may produce such an effect of mystery -as can never be gained in daylight. I assumed that the object which was -passing away among the flower-beds was one of the household staff on -duty--a watchman, it might be, or a gardener going to regulate the -heating apparatus in a greenhouse. And yet, looking at him from my seat, -he seemed as weird and unsubstantial as a whiff of mountain mist. - -I rose from my place, and was about to walk round to the entrance to -the house and get to bed, when I became aware of another figure moving -through the moonlight along the grassy terrace. I gave an exclamation of -surprise when I saw that this one was half nude and white--white as -the stone of the statue beyond the trees--there, it moved--_the statue -itself_---I saw it--the figure of the man with his hands held aloft--the -features were the same--the proportions of the body--only this one was -more perfect than the other, for he had a mass of curly locks clustering -over his head like the curls of the Herakles of the Vatican. - -And even while I stood there watching him, the figure passed away among -the trees. - -I waited in such a state of amazement as I had never experienced before. -I had the sensation of being newly awakened; but I knew that I had not -fallen asleep for a moment. I was not afraid; only, finding myself in a -situation to which I was unaccustomed, I did not know what I should do. -It took me some minutes to collect myself. - -Through the stillness I became aware of a curious dull tapping -sound--there it went, tap, tap, tap; then a slight pause, and again tap, -tap, tap, tap. - -A dog behind the house gave a prolonged howl, and along the path below -me a fox-terrier, which I had seen during the day, scurried, its tail -between its legs, and every limb trembling. - -“Tap, tap, tap”--a pause--“tap, tap, tap, tap.” - -My mind was made up. I went cautiously along the terrace in the -direction of the garden. I found myself walking stealthily on my toes, -as though I was anxious not to disturb someone who was desirous of -quiet; and as I went on, the sounds of the tapping became more distinct. -Almost before I knew it, I reached that part of the grassy terrace which -commanded a view of the garden; and in an instant I was standing still. -I could hear the beating of my own heart as I saw, under my very eyes, -not twenty yards away, three figures, equally white and shadowy. - -The nearest to me was of the half-naked man with the head of curls; the -one in the middle was in exactly the same posture--it was the figure of -the statue; and the third was the one which I had seen wearing the long -white blouse, and this was the only one of the three that moved. He was -standing, as it seemed, on the ledge of the pedestal, and a sculptor’s -chisel was in one hand and a mallet in the other. He was working at -the head of the statue, every now and again glancing at the head of the -model, pausing while he did so, and beginning to work again after the -lapse of a second or two. - -I stood there on the terrace watching this strange scene, and the -curious part of it was that it did not seem in the least degree curious -to me while it was being enacted. On the contrary, I had a distinct -sense of harmony--of artistic finish--the pleasurable sensation of -which one is conscious on the completion of the _leit motif_ of a -symphony,--that is how I can best express what my feelings were at the -time. During the hour that I remained there it never occurred to me that -I should draw any nearer to the shadowy group. As a matter of fact, I -believe that there was uppermost in my mind an apprehension that it was -necessary for me to keep very still, lest I should interfere with the -work. I have had precisely the same feeling when in the studio of a -painter while he was at work and I was watching him. But I could not -leave the place where I stood, so long as that scene was being enacted -in the silence, and the three figures were equally silent. The night -knew no sound except that caused by the chiselling of the stone. - -An hour must have passed--perhaps more than an hour--and then, still in -silence, the sculptor threw his chisel and his mallet to the ground. I -heard the little thud which each gave on the turf. Then he sprang to the -ground; but his feet made no sound in alighting. I stood on the terrace -and watched him and his model move away across the garden as silently -as they had come, and disappear among the trees at the entrance to the -glen. - -***** - -The next morning when I had breakfasted I sought my friend Dr Barnett, -and told him my experience of the night. He did not smile. But he -was strictly scientific. We were smoking together on one of the paths -bordered by laurels, and when I had told him all that I had to tell, he -put his hand on my arm, saying-- - -“My dear boy, the phenomena of ghosts are invariably interesting, -and, on the whole, not more perplexing than other natural phenomena. -Sometimes they are due to one cause, sometimes to another. Most -frequently they must be attributed to the projection of an image upon -the eye from within, not from without. Now, in your case--but we had -better stroll round to the scene of your illusion.” - -We went together across the lawn in the direction of the companion -cedars, and he continued his discourse. - -“All that you have told me interests me greatly, showing as it does how, -under certain conditions, the most admirably balanced brain may become -what I may call sensitised--susceptible as a photographic plate to an -image----” - -At this point his speech was arrested. We had passed between the cedars, -and the statue was facing us. The doctor was gazing up at it. - -“Good heavens!” he said in a whisper; “he has finished it!” - -I looked up and saw that the head of the figure was covered with curls. - -“He has finished it--he has finished it,” the doctor whispered again. - -“Yes,” I said, “he has finished it. I saw him do it.” - - - - -BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. - - -I. - -The houses which constitute the town of Picotee--in the Gambia region -a commendable liberality of spirit prevails as to the requisite elements -of a town--were glistening beneath the intolerable rays of the afternoon -sun. To the eyes of all aboard the mail steamer _Penguin_, which had -just run up a blue-peter in the anchorage, the town seemed of dazzling -whiteness. It was only the inhabitants of Picotee who knew that the -walls of the houses were not white, but of a sickly yellow tinge; -consequently, it was only the inhabitants who knew how inappropriate -it was to allude to their town as the “whited sepulchre”--a term of -reproach which was frequently levelled against it rather on account -of the appalling percentage of mortality among its inhabitants than -by reason of the spotlessness of the walls, though they did appear -spotless when viewed from the sea. In the saloon of the _Penguin_ the -thermometer registered 95°, and when the passengers complained to -the captain of the steamer respecting the temperature, holding him -personally responsible for every degree that it rose above 70°, he -pointed across the dazzling blue waters of the anchorage to where the -town was painfully glistening, and asked his complainants how they would -like to be there. - -It was universally believed that when the captain had put this inquiry, -the last word had been said regarding the temperature: he, at any rate, -seemed to fancy that he had relieved himself from all responsibility in -the matter. - -At Picotee things were going on pretty much as usual. But what is -progress at Picotee would be regarded as stagnation elsewhere. - -There was a fine suggestion of repose about the Kroomen who were dozing -in unpicturesque attitudes in the shade of the palms on the ridge -nearest to the beach; and even Mr Caractacus Brown, who, being one of -the merchants of the place,--he sold parrots to the sailors, and would -accept a contract for green monkeys from the more ambitious collectors -of the fauna of the West Coast,--was not supposed to give way to such -weaknesses as were exhibited by the Kroomen--even Mr Caractacus Brown -wiped his woolly head and admitted to his neighbour, Mr Coriolanus -White, that the day was warm. Having seen Coriolanus selling liquid -lard by the spoonful, he could scarcely do otherwise than admit that the -temperature was high. Devonshire cream was solid in comparison with -the lard sold at Picotee. But, in spite of the heat, a pepper-bird was -warbling among the bananas, and its song broke the monotony of the roar -of the great rollers that broke upon the beach--a roar that varies but -that never ends in the ears of the people of Picotee. - -Dr Claude Koomadhi, who occupied a villa built on the lovely green slope -above the town, opened the shutters of the room in which he sat, and -listened to the song of the pepper-bird. Upon his features, which seemed -as if they were carved out of black oak and delicately polished, a -sentimental expression appeared. His eyes showed a large proportion of -white as he sighed and remarked to his servant, who brought him a glass -of iced cocoanut milk, that the song of the pepper-bird reminded him of -home. - -“Of ‘ome, sah?” said the old woman. “Lor’ bress yah, sah! dere ain’t no -peppah-buds at Ashantee.” - -Dr Koomadhi’s eyes no longer wore a sentimental expression. They flashed -when the old woman had spoken, but she did not notice this circumstance. -She only laid down the tumbler on the table, hitched up her crimson -shawl, and roared with negress’ laughter. - -“You don’t understand, Sally. I said home--England,” remarked the -doctor. - -“Oh, beg pardung, sah; thought yah ‘looded to Ashantee,” said the old -woman as she rolled out of the room, still uttering that senseless -laugh. - -Dr Koomadhi did not seem to be greatly put out by that reminder of the -fact that Ashantee was his birthplace. He threw himself back in his cane -chair and took a sip from the tumbler. He then resumed his perusal of -the ‘Saturday Review’ brought by the _Penguin_ in the morning. - -He did not get through many pages. He shook his head gravely. He -could not approve of the tone of the political article. It suggested -compromise. It was not Conservative enough for Dr Koomadhi. He began -to fear that he must give up the ‘Saturday.’ It was clearly temporising -with the enemy. This would not do for Dr Koomadhi. - -He took another sip of cocoanut milk, and then began pacing the room. -He was clearly restless in his mind; but, perhaps, it would be going too -far to suggest that he was perturbed owing to the spirit of compromise -displayed in the political article which he had just read. No; though a -staunch Conservative, he was still susceptible of a passion beyond the -patriotic desire to assist in maintaining the integrity of the Empire. -This was the origin of his uneasiness. He had been awake all the -previous night thinking over his past life, and trying to think out -his future. The conclusion to which he had come was that as he had -successfully overthrown all the obstacles which had been in his path, to -success in the past, there was no reason why he might not overthrow all -that might threaten to bar his progress in the future. But, in spite of -having come to this conclusion, he was very uneasy. - -He did not become more settled when he had gone to a drawer in his -writing-desk and had taken out a cabinet portrait--the portrait of a -lady--and had gazed at it for several minutes. He laid it back with -something like a sigh, and then brought out of the same receptacle a -quantity of manuscript, every page of which consisted of a number of -lines, irregular as to their length, but each one beginning with a -capital letter. This is the least compromising way of referring to such -manuscripts. To say that they were poetry would, perhaps, be to place a -fictitious value upon them; but they certainly had one feature in common -with the noblest poems ever written in English: every line began with a -capital letter. - -Dr Koomadhi’s lips--they constituted not the least prominent of his -features--moved as he read to himself the lines which he had written -during the past three months,--since his return to Picotee with -authority to spend some thousands of pounds in carrying out certain -experiments, the result of which would, it was generally hoped, -transform the region of the Gambia into one of the healthiest of her -Majesty’s possessions. Then he sighed again and laid the manuscripts -over the photograph, closing and locking the drawer of the desk. - -He walked fitfully up and down the room for another hour. Then he opened -his shutters, and the first breath of the evening breeze from the sea -came upon his face. - -“I’ll do it,” he said resolutely. “Why should I not do it? Surely that -old ridiculous prejudice is worn out. Surely she, at least, will be -superior to such prejudice. Yes, she must--she must. I have succeeded -hitherto in everything that I have attempted, and shall I fail in this?” - -The roar of the rollers along the beach filled the room, at the open -window of which Dr Koomadhi remained standing for several minutes. - - -II. - -Dr Koomadhi belonged to a race who are intolerant of any middle course -so far as dress is concerned. They are either very much dressed or -very much undressed. But he had lived long enough in England to have -chastened whatever yearning he may have had for running into either -extreme. Only now and again--usually when in football costume--he had -felt a strange longing to forswear the more cumbersome tweeds of -daily life. This longing, combined with the circumstance of his being -extremely fond of football, might be accepted as evidence that the -traditions of the savages from whom he had sprung survived in his -nature, just as they do in the youth of Great Britain, only he had not -to go so far back as have the most of the youth of Great Britain, to -reach the fountain-head. - -The evening attire which he now resumed was wholly white,--from his pith -helmet down to his canvas shoes, he was in white, with the exception of -his tie, which was black. He looked at himself in a glass when at the -point of leaving his house, and he felt satisfied with his appearance; -only he should have dearly liked to exchange his black tie for one of -scarlet. He could not understand how it was that he had never passed -a draper’s window in London without staring with envious eyes at the -crimson scarves displayed for sale. No one could know what heroic -sacrifices he made in rejecting all such allurements. No one could know -what he suffered while crushing down that uncivilised longing for a -brilliant colour. - -Just before leaving the house he went to his desk and brought out of one -of the drawers a small ivory box. He unlocked it and stood for some -time with his face down to the thing that the box contained--a -curiously-speckled stone, somewhat resembling a human ear. While -keeping his head down to this thing his lips were moving. He was clearly -murmuring some phrases in a strange language into that curiously shaped -stone. - -Relocking the ivory box, he returned it to the drawer, which he also -locked. Then he left his house, and took a path leading to a well-built -villa standing in front of a banana-jungle, with a tall flag-pole -before its hall door--a flag-pole from which the union-jack fluttered, -indicating to all casual visitors that this was the official residence -of her Majesty’s Commissioner to the Gambia, Commander Hope, R.N. - -“Hallo, Koomadhi!” came a voice from the open window to the right of the -door. “Pardon me for five minutes. I’m engaged at my correspondence -to go to England by the _Penguin_ this evening. But don’t mind me. Go -through to the drawing-room and my daughter will give you a cup of tea.” - -“All right, sir,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Don’t hurry on my account. I was -merely calling to mention that I had forwarded my report early in the -day; but I’ll wait inside.” - -“All right,” came the voice from the window. “I’m at the last folios.” - -Dr Koomadhi was in the act of entering the porch when his pith helmet -was snatched off by some unseen hand, and a curious shriek sounded on -the balcony above the porch. - -“The ruffian!” said Koomadhi, with a laugh. “The ruffian! He’s at his -tricks again.” - -He took a few steps back and looked up to the balcony. There sat an -immense tame baboon, wearing the helmet and screeching with merriment. - -“I’ll have to give you another lesson, my gentleman,” said the doctor, -shaking his finger at the creature. “Hand me down that helmet at once.” - -The baboon made a grimace and then raised his right hand to the -salute--his favourite trick. - -Suddenly the doctor produced a sound with his lips, and in an instant -the monkey had dropped the helmet and had fled in alarm from the balcony -to the roof of the house, whence he gazed in every direction, while the -doctor went into the house with his helmet in his hand. He had merely -given the simian word of alarm, which the creature, understanding its -mother tongue, had promptly acted upon. - -“‘You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, but the -scent’--you know the rest, sir,” remarked Mr Letts, the Commissioner’s -Secretary, who had observed from his window the whole transaction. - -“What was that, Letts?” asked the Commissioner. - -“Koomadhi spoke to the baboon in its own tongue, sir, and it took the -hint of a man and a brother and cleared off.” - -“Yes, but where does the shattering of the vase come in?” asked the -Commissioner. - -“I mean to suggest that a nigger remains a nigger, and remains on -speaking terms with a baboon, even though he has a college degree and -wears tweeds,” said Mr Letts. - -“Oh,” said the Commissioner. - -He had heard the same opinion expressed by various members of his staff -ever since he had anything to do with the administration of affairs on -the West Coast. He had long ago ceased to take even the smallest amount -of interest in the question of the exact depth of a negro’s veneer of -civilisation. - - -III. - -But while Mr Letts was quoting Thomas Moore’s line--in a corrupt -form--to the Commissioner, Dr Koomadhi was accepting, with a certain -amount of dignity, the greeting which was extended to him by Miss Hope, -the Commissioner’s daughter, in the drawing-room. She had been trying -over some songs which had just arrived from England. Two of them were of -a high colour of sentimentalism, another belonged to that form of poetic -composition known as a coon song. It had a banjo obbligato; but the -pianoforte accompaniment of itself gave more than a suggestion of the -twanging of strings and the banging of a tambourine. Had Dr Koomadhi -arrived a few minutes sooner it would have been his privilege to hear -Gertrude Hope chant the chorus-- - - “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John, - - Jes’ winkie mid y o’ eye, - - Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier-- - - Say, how am dat for high?” - -But Gertrude had, after singing the melody, pushed the copy under a pile -of music, and had risen from the piano to receive her visitor, at the -same time ringing for tea. - -He apologised for interrupting her at the piano. - -“If I had only known that you were singing, I should certainly -have--well, not exactly, stayed away; no, I should have come sooner, and -remained a worshipper in the outer court.” - -“Oh, I wasn’t singing--not regularly singing,” said she, with a laugh. -“Trying over stupid songs about lovers’ partings is not singing, Dr -Koomadhi.” - -“Lovers’ partings?” said he. “They seem particularly well adapted to -lyrical treatment.” - -“The songs at any rate are heart-breaking,” said she. - -“They represent the most acute stage of the lovers’ feelings, then?” - said he. - -“I daresay. I suppose there are degrees of feelings even of lovers.” - -“I’m sure of it, Miss Hope.” - -He was seated in a wicker chair; she had thrown herself into another--a -seat that gave her the appearance of lying in a hammock. He scanned her -from her white forehead down to the dainty feet that crossed one another -on the sloping support of cane-work. She would have been looked on as a -very pretty girl in a London drawing-room; and even a girl who would be -regarded as commonplace there would pass as a marvel of loveliness on -the West Coast of Africa. - -“Yes,” continued Dr Koomadhi, “I’m sure there are degrees of feeling -even among lovers.” - -“You are a doctor, and so doubtless have had many opportunities of -diagnosing the disease in all its stages,” said she. - -“Yes, I am a doctor,” said he. “I am also a man. I have felt. I feel.” - -She gave another laugh. - -“A complete conjugation of the verb,” said she. “Past and present -tenses. How about the future?” - -There was only a little pause before he said-- - -“The future is in your hands, Miss Hope. I have come here to-day to tell -you that I have never loved any one in all my life but you, and to ask -you if you will marry me.” - -There was now a long pause--so long that he became hopeful of her -answer. Then he saw the blank look that was upon her face change--he saw -the flush that came over her white face when she had had time to realise -the import of his words. - -She started up, and at the same instant the baboon came in front of the -window and raised his right hand to the salute. - -“You are mad--mad!” she said, in a whisper that had something fierce -about it. Then she lay back in her chair with a laugh. “_I_ marry -you--_you_. I should as soon marry----” - -She had pointed to the baboon before she had checked herself. - -“You would as soon marry the baboon as me?” said he in a low and -laboured voice. - -“I did not say that, although--Dr Koomadhi, what you have told me has -given me a shock--such a shock as I have never had before. I am not -myself--if I said anything hurtful to you I know that you will attribute -it to the shock--I ask your pardon--sincerely--humbly. I never thought -it possible that you--you--oh, you must have been mad! You----” - -“Give me a cup of tea, my dearest, if you don’t want to see me perish -before your eyes.” The words came from outside a window behind Dr -Koomadhi, and in another second a man had entered from the verandah, and -had given a low whistle on perceiving that Miss Hope had a visitor. - -“Come along,” said Miss Hope, when she had drawn a deep breath--“Come -along and be introduced to Dr Koomadhi. You have often heard of Dr -Koomadhi, I’m sure, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, this is Major Minton.” - -“How do you do?” said the stranger, giving his hand to the doctor. “I’m -glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and how clever you are.” - -“You flatter me,” said Dr Koomadhi, shaking hands with the new-comer. -“I must now rush away, Miss Hope,” he added. “I only called to tell your -father that I had forwarded some reports by the _Penguin_.” - -“Jolly old tub, the _Penguin_--glad I’ve seen the last of her,” said -Major Minton. - -“Major Minton arrived by the _Penguin_ this morning,” said Gertrude. -“Must you really go away, Dr Koomadhi?” - -“Not even the prospect of a cup of your tea would make me swerve from -the path of duty, Miss Hope,” said the doctor, with a smile so chastened -as to be deprived of all its Ethiopian character. - -He shook hands gracefully with her and Major Minton, and passed out by -the verandah, the baboon standing to one side and solemnly saluting. The -Major was the only one who laughed, and his laugh was a roar. - - -IV. - -Dr Koomadhi found waiting for him at his house his old friend Mr Ross, -the surgeon of the _Penguin_. He had been unable to leave the steamer -earlier in the day, and he had only an hour to spend ashore. No, he -did not think that anything was the matter with a bottle of champagne, -provided that it was large enough and dry enough, and that it had been -plunged into ice, not ice plunged into it. - -These essentials being guaranteed by Dr Koomadhi, Mr Ross’s hour -passed--as he thought--pleasantly enough. The two men sat together on -cane chairs on the balcony facing the sea. It is at such a time, and -under such conditions, that existence on the Gambia becomes not merely -endurable, but absolutely delightful. Mr Ross made a remark to this -effect, and expressed the opinion that his friend was in luck. - -“In luck? Oh yes. I’m the luckiest fellow in the world,” responded -Koomadhi grimly. “I’ve everything that heart can wish for.” - -“Yes, you’re well paid, you don’t mind the climate, and you’re honoured -and respected by the whole community,” said Ross. - -“Of course--honoured and respected--that’s the strong point of the -situation,” said Koomadhi. - -“The only drawback seems to me to be the rather narrow limits of the -society. Still, the Commissioner is a decent enough sort of old boy, -and Letts has a good deal to recommend him. By the way, you’ll not be so -badly off in this matter during the next six months as you have been. We -brought out a chap named Minton--a chap that any one could get on with. -He’s just chucked the service and is going to marry Miss Hope.” - -“I have just met him at the Residency,” said Koomadhi, filling up with -a steady hand the glass of his guest. “And so he’s going to marry Miss -Hope, is he?” - -“Yes; he confided a lot in me--mostly on the bridge toward the hour of -midnight. The young woman has been engaged to him for a year past. They -met just before the Commissioner got his berth, but the daughter being a -good daughter, and with a larger sense of duty than is possessed by most -girls, swore--in her own way, of course--that nothing should tempt her -to desert her father for at least a year. Much to Minton’s disgust, as -you can understand, she came out here, telling him that if he still was -anxious to marry her, he might follow her at the end of a year. Well, as -he retained his fancy, he came out with us, and I believe you’ll be in -a position to add an official wedding to your other experiences, -Koomadhi.” - -“That’s something to look forward to,” said Koomadhi. “But how will that -incident improve society in this neighbourhood? I suppose Minton and his -wife will get off to England as soon as possible?” - -“Not they. Although they are to get married at once, they are to remain -here for six or seven months--until, in fact, the Commissioner gets his -leave, and then they all mean to go home together. Minton has a trifle -of six thousand a-year and a free house in Yorkshire, so Miss Hope is -in luck--so, for that matter, is Minton; she’s a fine young woman, I -believe. I only met her once.” - -“I’m not so certain about her constitution,” said Koomadhi. “Her lungs -are, I believe, all right, but her circulation is defective, and she -suffers from headaches just when she should be at her best.” - -“Oh, hang it all! a girl’s a girl for a’ that!” cried Ross. “Your -circulation’s defective, Koomadhi, if you’re capable only of judging a -girl by the stethoscope. You’re too much absorbed in your profession, -that’s what’s the matter with you.” - -“I daresay you are right,” Koomadhi admitted after a pause of a few -seconds. - -In the course of the next half-hour, several other topics in addition -to the matrimonial prospects of Major Minton and the constitutional -shortcomings of Miss Hope were discussed on the verandah, until, at -length, the sound of the steam-whistle of the _Penguin_ was borne -shore-wards by the breeze. - -“That’s a message to me,” said Ross, starting up. “Come down to the -shore and see the last of me for three months at any rate.” - -Dr Koomadhi put on his helmet, and saw his friend safely through the -surf on his way to where the steamer was swinging at her anchor. The -sun had set before he returned to his house to dinner; and before he had -risen from the table a message came to him that one of the officers of -the Houssas was anxious to see him, being threatened with an attack of -fever. The great stars were burning overhead before he returned from the -barrack of the Houssas, and was able to throw off his coat and lie back -in his chair in his own sitting-room. - -He had a good deal to think about before going to his bedroom, and he -seemed to find the darkness congenial with his thoughts. In fact, the -negro acknowledged a sort of brotherhood in the night, and he remained -for some hours in that fraternal darkness. It was just midnight when he -went, with only a small amount of groping, to his desk, and took out -of its drawer the ivory box containing the earshaped stone, into whose -orifice he had spoken some words before leaving for the Commissioner’s -house in the afternoon. He unlocked the box and removed the stone. He -left his villa, taking the stone with him, and strolled once more to the -house which he had visited a few hours before. - -Lights were in the windows of the Residency, and certain musical sounds -were coming from the room where he had been. With the twanging of -the banjo there came the sound of a light bass voice of no particular -timbre, chanting the words of the latest plantation melody-- - - “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John, - - Jes’ winkie mid yo’ eye, - - Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier-- - - Say, how am dat for high?” - -Dr Koomadhi listened while three stanzas of the doggerel were being sung -by Major Minton; then he raised the ear-shaped stone that was in the -hollow of his hand, and whispered some words into it as he had done in -the afternoon. In a second the song stopped, although the singer was in -the middle of a stanza. - -“Confound it all!” cried Major Minton--Koomadhi heard his voice -distinctly. “One of my strings is broken. I suppose it was the sudden -change of atmosphere that made it give way. It’s a good bit drier here -than aboard the _Penguin_.” - -“The concert is over for to-night,” came the voice of the Commissioner. -“It’s about time for all of us to be in our beds.” - -“That’s my notion too,” said Letts. “Those who object can have their -money returned at the doors.” - -“It was strange--that breaking of the string without warning,” Dr -Koomadhi heard Gertrude say. - -He smiled. - -It was only at midnight in the open air, and when he was alone, that he -allowed himself the luxury of an unbridled smile. He knew the weaknesses -of his race. - -He put the stone into the pocket of his coat and returned to his house. - - -V. - -The marriage of Major Minton to Miss Hope took place in another week. -Of course the ceremony was performed by the Lord Bishop of Bonny, who -was also Metropolitan of the Gambia and Senegal. The gunboat that was -at the anchorage displayed every available rag of bunting, and the -lieutenant who commanded her said he would gladly have fired a salute -in honour of the event, only for the fact that the Admiralty made him -accountable for every ounce of powder that he burned, and, in addition, -for the wear and tear on every gun. The guns didn’t bear much tampering -with, and there was nothing so bad for them as firing them: it wore them -out, the Admiralty stated, and the practice must be put a stop to. - -But if there was no official burning of powder to mark the happy event, -there was a great deal of it that was unofficial and wholly irregular. -Dr Koomadhi spent several hours of the afternoon amputating fingers of -Krooboys that had been mutilated through an imperfect acquaintance, on -the part of the native populace, with the properties of gunpowder when -ignited. An eye or two were reported to be missing, and in the cool of -the evening the Doctor had brought to him, by a conscientious townsman, -a human ear for which no owner could be found. - -The happy pair went to the Canary Islands for their honeymoon, and -returned radiant at the end of six weeks; and the Commissioner’s -_ménage_, which had suffered materially through the absence of the -Commissioner’s daughter, was restored in all its former perfection. -Every night varied strains of melody floated to the ears of such persons -as were in the neighbourhood of the Residency; and it was a fact that -Major Minton’s banjo never twanged without attracting an audience of -from ten to five hundred of the negro population of Picotee. The pathway -was every night paved with negroes, who listened, shoulder to shoulder, -and kneecap to kneecap--they sat upon their haunches--to the fascinating -songs. They felt that if the Commissioner had only introduced a tom-tom -obbligato to the tom-tom melodies, the artistic charm of the performance -would be complete. - -The native evangelist, who occasionally contrived to fill a schoolhouse -with young Christians by the aid of a harmonium,--a wheezy asthmatic -instrument, which, in spite of a long lifetime spent on the West -Coast, had never become fully acclimatised,--felt that his success was -seriously jeopardised by the Major’s secular melodies. When the flock -were privileged to hear such fascinating music unconditionally, he -knew that it was unreasonable to expect them to be regular in their -attendance at the schoolhouse, where the harmonium wheezed only after -certain religious services had been forced on them. - -He wondered if the Bishop might be approached on the subject of -introducing the banjo into the schoolhouse services. He believed -that with such auxiliaries as the banjo, and perhaps--but this was -optional--the bones, a large evangelistic work might be done in the -outlying districts of Picotee. - -Dr Koomadhi had always been a frequent visitor at the Residence, but for -some time after the marriage of the Commissioner’s daughter he was not -quite so often to be found in the drawing-room of an evening. Gradually, -however, he increased the number of his weekly visits. He was the only -person in the neighbourhood who could (occasionally) beat Major Minton -at billiards, and this fact helped, in a large measure, to overcome -the prejudice which Major Minton frankly admitted (to his wife) he -entertained against the native races of West Africa. Major Minton -was becoming a first-class billiard-player, as any active person who -understands the game is likely to become after a few months’ residence -at a West Coast settlement. - -“Dr Koomadhi is a gentleman and a Christian,” Mrs Minton remarked one -day when Mr Letts, the Secretary, had challenged discussion upon his -favourite topic--namely, the thinness of the veneer of civilisation upon -the most civilised savage. - -“He’s a negro-gentleman, I admit,” said Letts. - -“A man who plays so straight a game of billiards can’t be far wrong,” - remarked Major Minton. - -“I have reasons--the best of reasons--for knowing that Dr Koomadhi is a -forgiving Christian gentleman,” said Gertrude. “Yes, he shall always be -my friend.” - -She had not forgiven herself for that terrible half-spoken sentence, “I -would as soon marry----” - -She had not forgiven herself for having glanced at the baboon as she -checked the words that sprang from her almost involuntarily. - -But Dr Koomadhi was showing day by day that he had forgiven them. - -And thus it was she felt that he was worthy to be regarded by all men as -a gentleman and a Christian. - - -VI. - -A few days later Dr Koomadhi was visited by Major Minton. The Major -was anxious to have some shooting at big game, and he was greatly -disappointed at being unable to find in the neighbourhood of Picotee -any one who could put him on the right track to gratify his longing for -slaughter. The ivory-hunters did not find an outlet for their business -at Picotee, and the majority of the inhabitants were as unenterprising, -Major Minton said, as the chaw-bacons of an English village; nay, more -so, for the chawbacons were beginning to know the joy of a metropolitan -music hall, and that meant enterprise. He wondered if Koomadhi would -allow him to accompany him on his next excursion inland. - -Koomadhi said that no proposal could give him greater pleasure. He would -be going up again in a week or two, and he could promise Major Minton -some first-class sport. He could show him some queer things. - -Talking of queer things, had Major Minton ever seen a piece of the -famous African sound-stone? - -It was supposed that the famous statue of Memnon had been carved out of -that stone. - -Major Minton had considered all that had been written on the subject of -the talking statue utter rot, and he believed so still. Could any sane -man credit a story like that, he was anxious to know? - -“I suppose not,” said Koomadhi. - -“But anyhow, I have now and again come upon pieces of the sound-stone. -I’ll show you a couple of bits.” - -He produced the roughly cut stone ear, and then an equally rough stone -chipped into the form of a mouth--a negro’s mouth. - -“They are rum things, to be sure,” said Minton. “I don’t think that I -ever saw stones just the same. Is the material marble?” - -“I haven’t the least idea,” said Koomadhi. “But just put that stone to -your ear for a few moments.” - -Minton had the mouth-stone in his hand. Koomadhi retained the ear-stone -and put it to his lips the moment that the Major raised his hand. - -“No,” said the Major. “I hear nothing. That sound-stone myth isn’t good -enough for me. I’m not exactly a lunatic yet, and that’s why I’m going -to climb up to your roof to enjoy the sea-breeze. Take your marvellous -sound-stone, and I’ll show you what it is to be a gymnast.” - -He opened the shutters, got out upon the verandah, and began climbing -one of the supports of the verandah roof. He was a pretty fair athlete, -but when the thermometer registers 97° is not, perhaps, the most -favourable time for violent exercise. Still, he reached the roof with -his hands and threw one leg up; in another moment he was sitting on -the highest part of the roof, and was inviting Koomadhi to join him, -declaring that only a fool would remain indoors on such a day. - -Koomadhi smiled and shook his head. - -“You must have some refreshment after your exertions,” said he. “What -would you like--a brandy-and-soda, with a lump of ice clinking the sides -of the tumbler?” - -“That sounds inviting,” said Major Minton, scratching his chest with -a forefinger--it had apparently been chafed in his ascent of the roof. -“Yes; but if you chance to have a banana and a few nuts--by Jingo I -should like a nut or two. Has no dietist written a paper on the dietetic -value of the common or garden nut, Koomadhi?” - -“Come down and I’ll give you as many nuts as you can eat,” said -Koomadhi. - -“Yes, I’ll come down this way,” said the Major. He swung himself by -one arm from the side of the roof to the bough of a tree. There he hung -suspended by the other arm, and swinging slowly backward and forward. -Even then he scraped the breast of his shirt, uttering a number of -sounds that might have meant laughter. Then he caught a lower branch -with his loose arm and dropped to the ground. Again he scraped at his -chest and laughed. - -“How about those nuts?” he said. “I think I’ve earned them. How the -mischief is it that I neglected my gymnastics all these months? What a -fool I was! Walking along in the open day by day, when I might have been -enjoying the free life of the jungle!” - -“Come inside and try a bit of cocoanut,” said Koomadhi. - -“I’m your man,” said the Major. - -“My man--man?” laughed the Doctor. “Oh yes, you’ve earned the cocoanut.” - -The soft flesh of a green cocoanut lay on the table of the sitting-room, -and Major Minton caught it up and swallowed it without ceremony. The -Doctor watched him with a curious expression on his face. - -“That’s the most refreshing tiffin I’ve had for a long time,” said the -Major. “Now, I’ll have to get back to the Residency. Will you drop in -for a game of billiards?” - -“Perhaps I may,” said the Doctor. “Take that sound-stone again, and try -if you really cannot hear anything when you put it to your ear.” - -“My dear fellow, I’m not the sort of a chap to become the victim of a -delusion,” said the Major, picking up the stone and holding it to his -ear. “Not a sound do I hear. Hang it all, man, I’d get more sound out of -a common shell. _Au revoir_.” - -He had his eyes fixed upon the ink-bottle that stood on the desk -beside a blotter and a sheet of writing-paper. Dr Koomadhi noticed the -expression in his eyes, and turned to open the door. The very instant -that his back was turned, Major Minton ran to the ink-bottle, upset -it upon the blotter, and then rushed off by the open window, laughing -heartily. - -And yet there was no human being who so detested the playing of -practical jokes as Major Minton. - -Dr Koomadhi put away the stones, and called his servant to wipe up the -ink, which was dripping down to the floor. - -“Lorramussy!” cried the old woman. “How eber did yo’ make dat muss?” - -“I didn’t know that it was on the blotter until too late,” said he. And -yet Dr Koomadhi was a most truthful man--for a doctor. - - -VII. - -Hullo!” said Letts, “what have you been doing to yourself?” - -Major Minton had thrown himself into the Secretary’s cosiest chair on -his return from visiting Dr Koomadhi, and was wiping his forehead. - -“I’ve been doing more to myself than I should have done,” replied -Minton. “For heaven’s sake, ring for a brandy-and-soda!” - -“A brandy-and-soda? That’s an extreme measure,” said Letts. “But you -look as if you needed one.” He went to his own cupboard and produced the -brandy, and then rang the bell for the soda-water, which was of course -kept in the refrigerator. Then he looked curiously at the man in the -chair. “By the Lord Harry! you’ve been in a fight,” he cried, when -his examination had concluded. “You’re an ass to come between any -belligerents in this neighbourhood: you forget that Picotee Street -is not Regent Street. You got your collar torn off your coat for your -pains; and, O Lord, your trousers!” - -“I did not notice how much out of line I had fallen until now,” said -Minton, with a laugh. “By George, Letts, that tear in my knee does -suggest a free-and-easy tussle.” - -“But how on earth did it come about?” asked Letts. “Surely you should -know better than to go for a nigger as you would for a Christian! Why -the mischief didn’t you kick him on the shins, and then put your knee -into his face?” - -“Give me the tumbler.” - -The Secretary handed him the tumbler, containing a stiff “peg,” and he -drained it without giving any evidence of dissatisfaction. - -“Now, how did it come about?” inquired Letts. “I hope you haven’t -dragged us into the business. If you have, there’ll be a question asked -about it in the House of Commons by one of those busybodies who have no -other way of proving to their constituents that they’re in attendance. -‘Mr Jones asked the Secretary of State for the Colonies if he had any -information to give to the House regarding an alleged outrage by a white -man, closely associated with the family of her Majesty’s Commissioner -at Picotee, upon a native or natives of that colony.’ That’s how it -will read. Then there’ll be puppy leaders in those papers that deal -with ‘justices’ justice’: the boy who gets a month’s imprisonment for -stealing a turnip--you know that sort of thing.” - -“Keep your hair on,” said Minton; “there’ll be no show in the House -about this. There has been no row. I went round to Koomadhi’s, and when -we were talking together I suddenly fancied that the day was just one -for a gymnastic display. I don’t know whether it was that polite manner -of Koomadhi’s or something else set me off, but I felt an irresistible -impulse to bounce. Without waiting to take off my coat I went out on the -verandah and hauled myself up to the roof: I don’t know how I did it. -I might have managed it ten years ago, when I was in condition; but, -considering how far off colour I am just now, by George! I don’t know -how I managed it. Anyhow, I did manage it.” - -“At some trifling cost,” said Letts. “And what did you do on the roof -when you got there?” - -“Well, I swung myself down again. But I seemed to have a notion in -the meantime that that nice, well-groomed nigger would try to climb -up beside me, and I know that I had an impulse to catch him by the -tail--the tail of his coat, of course--and swing him through the -shutters.” - -“But he didn’t make such an ass of himself as to go through some -gymnastics, and the thermometer standing a degree or two under a -hundred. Well, you’ve got off well this time, Minton; but don’t do it -again, that’s all.” - -“I tell you it was an impulse--a curious----” - -“Oh, impulses like that don’t come to chaps who have their wits about -them.” - -“I suppose it was a bit of bounding, after all. But, somehow--well, you -wouldn’t just call me a bounder, would you, Letts?” - -“Why shouldn’t I call you a bounder, I’d like to know? A bounder is one -who bounds, isn’t he?” - -“Well, I suppose--but I give you my word, I felt at that moment that it -was the most natural thing I could have done--climbing up to the roof of -the verandah, and then----” - -“And then?” - -“Swinging down again, I suppose.” - -He was afraid to tell Letts of that practical joke which he had played -off on Koomadhi, when he found that the Doctor did not lend himself to -that subtle piece of jocularity which Minton said he had conceived when -sitting on the roof of the verandah. Letts had been pretty hard on him -for having gone so far as to climb up to the roof; but what would he -have said if he had been told about that ink-bottle incident? - -Minton thought it would, on the whole, be doing himself more ample -justice if he were to withhold from Letts all information regarding that -ink-bottle business. He said nothing about it, and when Letts mumbled -something when in the act of lighting a cigar--something about fellows, -who behave like idiots, going home and giving the whole West Coast a -bad name, whereas, properly treated, the climate was one of the most -salubrious, he remarked confidentially-- - -“I say, old chap, you needn’t mind jawing to the missus or the Governor -about this business; it’s not worth talking about, you know; but -they’re both given to exaggerate the importance of such things--Gertrude -especially. I’m a bit afraid of her still, I admit: we’ve only been -married about three months, you’ll remember.” - -“Great Duke! here’s a chap who fancies that as time goes on he’ll get -less afraid of his wife,” cried Letts. “Well, well, some chaps do get -hallucinations early in life.” - -“Don’t say a word about it, Letts. Where’s the good of making a poor -girl uneasy?” - -“Where, indeed? But why ‘poor girl’?” - -“Because she’s liable to be made uneasy at trifles. You’re not--only -riled. But I don’t blame you: you’ve been on this infernal coast for -three years.” - -“There’s nothing the matter with the coast: it’s only the idiots----” - -“Quite so: I seem somehow to feel that I’ve heard all that sort of thing -before. I’m one of the idiots.” - -“Far be it from me to contradict so able a diagnosis of----” - -He caught the cushion which Minton hurled at him, and laughed. Then he -became curiously thoughtful. - -“By the way,” he said, “wasn’t it a bit rum that Koomadhi didn’t try -to prevent your swinging out to that roof? He’s a medico, and so should -know how such unnatural exertion is apt to play the mischief with a chap -in such a temperature as this. Didn’t he abuse you in his polite way?” - -“Not he,” said Minton; “on the contrary, I believe I had an idea that I -heard him suggest... no, no; that’s a mistake, of course.” - -“What’s a mistake?” - -“That idea of mine--I don’t know how I came to have it.” - -“You were under the impression, somehow, that he suggested your climbing -to the roof? That was a rummy notion, wasn’t it?” - -“A bit too rummy for general use. Oh no: he only said--now, what the -mischief did he say? Oh, no matter.” - -“If he said ‘no matter’ when he saw that you were bent on gymnastics in -the middle of a day with the temperature hovering about a hundred, he -should be ashamed of himself.” - -“He didn’t say ‘no matter.’ I’ve just said it. Let me say it again. You -should be a cross-examiner at the Bailey and Middlesex Session, Letts. -Now, mind, not a word to the missus. Don’t let her cross-examine you: -evade her as I’m evading you. I’ll see you after dinner: maybe we’ll -have a billiard together--I’m too tired now.” - -He went off, leaving Letts trying to find out the place where he had -left off in a novel of George Eliot’s. George Eliot is still read on the -West Coast of Africa. - -But when Minton had left the room Letts did not trouble himself further -with the novel. He tossed it away and lay back in his Madeira chair with -a frown, suggesting perplexity, on his face. - -Some five minutes had passed, and yet the frown, so far from departing, -had but increased in intensity. - -“I should like very much to know what his game is,” he muttered. “It -wouldn’t at all be a bad idea to induce sunstroke by over-exertion on -a day like this. But why can’t he remember if the nigger tried on that -game with him? P’chut! what’s the good of bothering about it when the -game didn’t come off, whatever it was?” - -But in spite of his attempted dismissal of the whole matter from his -mind, he utterly failed to give to the confession of the youth -in ‘Middlemarch’ (it was to the effect that his father had been a -pawnbroker, and it was very properly made to the young woman to the -accompaniment of the peals of a terrific thunderstorm) the attention -which so striking an incident demanded. - - -VIII. - - -If it’s a command, sir, I’ll obey; if not, well----” - -“Oh, nonsense, Letts!” said the Commissioner. “There’s no command to a -dinner with my daughter, her husband, and another man.” - -“Ah, that other man,” said Letts. - -“Now, I hope I’ll hear nothing more about your absurd objection to -that other man,” said the Commissioner. “I tell you that it’s not only -ridiculous, that old-fashioned prejudice of yours, it’s prejudicial to -the Service--it is, upon my soul, Letts. You know as well as I do that -the great thing is to get in touch with the natives, to show them that, -as common subjects of the Sovereign, enjoying equal rights wherever -that flag waves, we are, we are--well, we must show them that we’ve no -prejudices. You’ll admit that we must do that, Letts.” - -(As Letts had not written out this particular speech for him, the -Commissioner was a trifle shaky, and found it to his advantage to -abandon the oratorical in favour of the colloquial style.) - -“I don’t feel called on to show that I’m not prejudiced against the -whole race, sir--the whole race as a race, and Dr Koomadhi as an -individual,” said Letts. “Therefore I hope that you and Mrs Minton will -excuse me from your dinner.” - -“Upon my soul, I’m surprised at you, Letts,” said Commander Hope. “I -didn’t expect to find in these days of enlightenment such old-fashioned -prejudices as regards race. Great heavens! sir, is the accident of a -man’s being a negro to be looked on as debarring him from--from--well, -from all that you would make out--the friendship of the superior race, -the----” - -“Ah, there you are, sir; the superior race. In matters of equality -there’s no superior.” - -“Oh, of course I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t some difference -between the two races. Don’t they say it was the effects of the curse, -Letts--the curse of Ham? If a race was subject to the disabilities of -an early curse duly recorded, you can’t quite expect them to recover -themselves all in a moment: it wouldn’t be reasonable--it wouldn’t be -Scriptural either. But I think that common charity should make us--well, -should make us do our best to mitigate their unfortunate position. That -appeal of yours to Scripture, Letts, was used as an argument in favour -of slavery. It’s unworthy of you.” - -“I agree with you, sir; and I do so the more readily as I don’t -recollect ever having made use of such an authority as Scripture to -bear out my contention that the polish of a nigger is no deeper than the -polish on a mahogany table,--a thin and transparent film of lacquer. -You see I’ve had the advantage of living in Ashantee for six months, -and when there I got pretty well grounded on the negro as a man and a -brother. A man--well, perhaps; a brother, yes, own brother to the devil -himself.” - -“Nonsense, Letts! Can’t you keep Scripture out of the argument?” - -“I tell you, sir, I saw things in the Ashantee country that made me feel -certain that the archfiend made that region his headquarters many years -ago, and that he has devoted himself ever since to the training of the -inhabitants. They are his chosen people. If you had seen the unspeakable -things that I saw during my six months in Ashantee, you would hold to my -belief that the people have been taught by Satan himself, and that they -have gone one better than their instructor. No, sir, I’ll not dine with -Koomadhi.” - -Commander Hope shook his head. - -“You’re very pig-headed, Letts,” he remarked; “but we won’t quarrel. -I’ll see if I can make Gertrude understand how it is you refuse her -invitation.” - -“I hope to heaven that she’ll never get a glimpse of the real negro, -sir--the negro with his lacquer scratched off.” - -The Commissioner laughed. - -“I’ll not tell her that, Letts,” he said. - -Letts did not laugh. - -It was really Gertrude who had suggested inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner -at the Residency. He had frequently partaken of the refreshment of tea -in her drawing-room, but she knew that tea counts for nothing in the -social scale even at Picotee: it conferred no more distinction upon one -than a presentation at the White House does upon a citizen of the United -States, or a citizen’s wife or sister. He had never been asked to dine -at the Commissioner’s table, and that she knew to be a distinction, and -one which he would be certain to value. - -But when she suggested to her father that there would be a certain -gracefulness in the act of inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner, she found her -suggestion treated with that form of contumely known as the snub. Her -father had looked at her sternly and walked away, saying-- - -“Impossible! What! a nig------Oh, my dear, you don’t understand these -things. Impossible--impossible!” - -Gertrude Minton, being a woman, may not have understood some things, but -she thoroughly understood how her father (and all other men) should be -treated upon occasions. She took her snubbing meekly, as every clever -woman takes a snubbing, when administered by a father, or a husband, or -a brother; and of course, later on, she carried her point--as any clever -woman will; for a properly sustained scheme of meekness, if persisted -in, will accomplish anything, by making the man who snubs thoroughly -ashamed of himself, and the man who is thoroughly ashamed of himself -will be glad to come to terms, no matter how disadvantageous to himself, -in order to avert a continuance of that reproachful meekness. - -It was the Commissioner himself who, a few days later, went to his -daughter and told her that if she had her heart set upon inviting Dr -Koomadhi to dinner he would not interfere. It had at first seemed to him -a monstrous proposal, he admitted; but on thinking over it calmly, and -with the recollection of the circumstances (1) that the present day was -one of innovations; (2) that the negroes were treated on terms of the -most perfect equality by the people of the United States of America,--he -had come to the conclusion that it was necessary even for a British -naval officer to march with the times; consequently he was prepared to -do anything that his daughter suggested. He added, however, that up to -the date at which he was speaking he had got on very well without once -asking a nig----that is, a negro gentleman, to dine at his table. - -“I knew you would consent, papa,” said Gertrude, throwing off her mask -of meekness in a moment, much to the satisfaction of her father. “I knew -you would consent: it would be quite unlike you not to consent. You are -so broad-minded--so generous--so reasonable in your views on all native -questions. I feel that I--that we--owe some amends--that is, we should -do our best to give him to understand that we do not regard a mere -accident of colour as disqualifying him from--from----” - -“Quite so,” said her father. “We’ll ask Letts: he won’t come, though.” - -“Why should he not come?” she asked. - -“Letts is full of prejudice, my dear. He has more than once made -disparaging remarks regarding Koomadhi. You see, he lived for some -months in the Ashantee country, and saw the human sacrifices and other -barbarities.” - -“If you speak to him with due authority, he will be compelled to come,” - said Gertrude warmly. “You are the head here, are you not?” - -He looked at her and assented, though he knew perfectly well that it was -not he who was the head of the Residency. Would he ask a nigger to dine -at his table if he was at the head of it? he asked himself. - -“Well, then, just tell Letts that you expect him to dine here on -Wednesday next, and he is bound to come. He is only secretary here.” - -“My dear Gertrude, you know as well as I do what it is to be secretary -here,” said the Commissioner. “Letts can do what he pleases. I shall -certainly not coerce him in any way: I know it would be no use trying.” - -“But you must try,” cried Gertrude. She had, undoubtedly, quite got rid -of her meekness. “You must try; and you must succeed too.” - -Well, the Commissioner had tried, and the result of his attempt has just -been recorded. - -He told his daughter of the firm attitude that Letts had assumed--it was -just the attitude which he himself would like to assume if he had the -courage; but of course he did not suggest so much to Gertrude. - -“The foolish fellow! I shall have to go to him myself,” said she. - -And she went to him. - - -IX. - -She had at one time fancied that Letts was fond of her, and she had -thought that her liking for him was no mere fancy. A young woman with -good looks and a pleasant manner and a young man with a career before -him are very apt to have fancies in respect to each other on the West -Coast of Africa, where good looks and pleasant manners are not to be met -with daily. Of course when Gertrude had gone home for some months, and -had met Major Minton, she became aware of the fact that her liking for -Letts was the merest fancy; and perhaps when she returned with the story -of her having promised (under certain conditions) to marry Major Minton, -Letts had also come to the conclusion that his feeling towards Miss Hope -was also a fancy. This is, however, not quite so certain. At any rate, -Letts and she had always been very good friends. - -For half-an-hour she talked to him quite pleasantly at first, then quite -earnestly--didactically and sarcastically--on the subject of his foolish -prejudice. She called it foolish when she was pleasant, and she called -it contemptible when she ceased to be pleasant, on a matter which she, -for her part, thought had been long ago passed out of the region of -controversy. Surely a man of Mr Letts’ intelligence and observation -could not be serious in objecting to dine with Dr Koomadhi simply -because he chanced to be a negro. - -But Mr Letts assured her that he was quite serious in the matter. He -didn’t pretend, he said, to be superior in point of intelligence or -power of observation to men who made no objection to meet on terms -of perfect equality the whole Ethiopian race; but he had had certain -experiences, he said, and so long as he retained a recollection of these -experiences he would decline to sit at the same table with Dr Koomadhi -or any of his race. Then it was that Mrs Minton ceased to be altogether -pleasant as to the phrases which she employed in order to induce Mr -Letts to change his mind. - -“You are not the only one with experiences,” she said. “I have had -experience not merely of negroes generally, but of Dr Koomadhi in -particular, and, as I told you some time ago, I have reason to believe -him to be a generous, Christian gentleman. That is why I wish to do all -that is in my power to make him understand that I regard his possession -of the characteristics of a gentleman and a Christian as more than -placing him on a level with us. I feel that I am inferior to Dr Koomadhi -in those qualities which our religion teaches us to regard as noblest.” - -“And I hope with all my soul that you will never have a different -experience of him,” said Letts. - -“I know that I shall have no different experience of him,” said she, -with confidence in her pose and in her tone. - -He made no reply to this. And then she went on to ask him some -interesting questions regarding the general design of the Maker of the -Universe, and His intention in respect of the negro; and though Letts -answered all to the best of his ability, he was not persuaded to accept -Mrs Minton’s invitation to dinner. - -She was naturally very angry, and even went so far as to assure Mr Letts -that his refusal to accept the invitation which she offered him might be -prejudicial to his being offered any future invitations to dine at her -table--an assurance which he received without emotion. - -She told her father of her failure, and though he shook his head with -due seriousness, yet he refrained from saying “I told you so.” But when -her husband heard that Letts would not be persuaded, he treated the -incident with a really remarkable degree of levity, declaring that if he -himself were independent, he would see Koomadhi and all the nigger race -sent to a region of congenial blackness before he would sit down to -dinner with the best of them. He thought Letts, however, something of -an ass for not swallowing his prejudices in a neighbourhood where there -were so few decent billiard-players. For himself, he said he would have -no objection to dine with bandits and cut-throats if they consented to -join in a good pool afterwards. - -When Dr Koomadhi received his invitation to dine at the Residency--it -was in the handwriting of Mrs Minton--he smiled. His smiles worked at -low pressure in the daytime; he felt that he could not be too careful in -this respect; he might, if taken suddenly, be led on to smile naturally -in the presence of a man with a kodak, and where would he be then? - -He smiled. He went to the drawer where he kept the curious stones, and -looked at them for some time, but without touching them. Then he went to -the drawer in which he kept the verses that he had written expressive -of the effect of Miss Hope’s eyes upon his soul. By a poetic licence he -assumed that he had a soul, and he liked to write about it: it gave him -an opportunity of making it the last word in a line following one that -ended with the word “control.” He read some of the pages, and honestly -believed that they were covered with poetry of the highest character. -He felt convinced that there was not another man in the whole Ashantee -country who could write as good poetry; and perhaps he was not wrong in -his estimate of his own powers, and the powers of his Ashantee brethren. - -As he closed the door with a bang his face would have seemed to any -one who might have chanced to see it one mass of ivory. This effect, -startling though it was, was due merely to an incidental change of -expression. He had ceased to smile; his teeth were tightly closed, and -his lips had receded from them as a tidal wave recedes from the strand -of a coral island, disclosing an unsuspected reef. His lips hid in their -billowy depths the remainder of his face, and only that fearful double -ridge of locked teeth would have been visible to any one, had any one -been present. - -The words that Dr Koomadhi managed to utter without unlocking his teeth -were undoubtedly suggestive of very strong feeling; but no literary -interest attaches to their repetition. - -He seated himself at his desk--after an interval--and wrote a letter -which was rather over than under the demands made by politeness upon -a man who has been asked to dinner in a rather formal way. He said it -would give him the greatest pleasure to accept the most kind invitation -with which he had been honoured by the Commissioner and Mrs Minton; and -then he added a word or two, which an ordinary gentleman would possibly -have thought superfluous, regarding the pride which he felt at being the -recipient of such a distinction. - -It could not be said, however, that there was anything in his mode -of conducting himself at the dinner-table that suggested any want of -familiarity on his part with the habits of good society. He did not eat -with his knife, though he might have done so without imperilling in any -degree the safety of his mouth, nor did he make any mistake regarding -his ice-pudding or his jelly. He also drank his champagne out of the -right glass, and he did not take it for granted that the water in his -finger-bowl was for any but external use. - -As he lay back in his chair, with his serviette across his knees and a -cigarette between his fingers, discussing with the Commissioner, -with that mild forbearance which one assumes towards one’s host, the -political situation of the hour, when Mrs Minton had left the room, he -looked the picture of a model English gentleman--a silhouette picture. -He hoped that the Conservatives would not go to the country without -a programme. What were the leaders thinking of that they hadn’t -familiarised the country with the policy they meant to pursue should -they be returned to power? Home Rule for Ireland! Was there ever so -ridiculous a demand seriously made to the country? Why, the Irish were, -he assured his host, very little better than savages: he should know--he -had been in Ireland for close upon a fortnight. He had some amusing -Irish stories. He imitated the brogue of the peasantry. He didn’t say -it was unmusical; but Home Rule!... the idea was too ridiculous to be -entertained by any one who knew the people. - -His political views were sound beyond a doubt. They were precisely the -views of the Commissioner and his son-in-law, and the green chartreuse -was velvety as it should be. - -For this evening only Major Minton sang to his wife’s accompaniment -a sentimental song which dwelt upon the misery of meeting daily with -smiles a certain person, while his, the singer’s, heart was breaking. He -sang it with well-simulated feeling. One would never have thought that -there was a banjo in the house. - -Then Mrs Minton sang a lovely Scotch song about a burn; but it turned -out that the burn was water and not fire, and the Commissioner dozed in -a corner. - -At last Major Minton suggested a game of billiards, and the suggestion -was acted on without delay. - -After playing a game with Dr Koomadhi, while her husband looked on -and criticised the strokes from the standpoint of a lenient if -discriminating observer, Mrs Minton said “goodnight”; she was tired, she -said, and she knew that her husband and Dr Koomadhi meant to play all -night, so she thought she might as well go soon as late. - -Of course Dr Koomadhi entreated her not to leave them. They would, he -assured her, do anything to retain her; they would even play a four -game--abhorred of billiard-players--if she would stay. Her husband did -not join in the entreaties of their guest. He played tricky cannons -until she had left the room. - - -X. - - -Shall I break?” Minton asked. “I’ll play with spot for a change.” - -Before he had completed his second break of twenty-eight the -Commissioner had fallen asleep with his cigar between his fingers. When -they had commenced he had been critical. But he broke down under the -monotony of the second moderate break. - -For about a quarter of an hour the game went on, and all the variations -from “Hard lines!” to “Dammitall!” were indulged in by the players. -Minton had scored eighty against Koomadhi’s seventy-one, and was about -to play a hazard requiring great judgment, when his opponent came behind -him, saying-- - -“I don’t see how it can be done: a cannon is the easier game.” - -“Well, I’ll try the hazard anyway, and try to leave the red over the -pocket.” - -“You’ll need to do it very gently,” said his opponent, almost leaning -over him as he took his aim at the red ball. - -For quite half a minute Minton hung over his cue, and in that space of -time Koomadhi had taken out of his pocket the curious stone shaped like -a broad ear, and had put it to his own mouth for a second or two while -he stood behind the player, returning it quickly to his pocket before -the cue had struck the ball. - -“What a stroke!” cried Minton. “It would disgrace our friend Jacco.” - -“I said the cannon was the easier game,” remarked Koomadhi, chalking his -cue. “Hallo! what are you going to do?” - -“Who the mischief could play billiards a night like this in such a suit -of armour as this?” laughed Minton. He was in the act of pulling his -shirt over his head, and he spoke from within its folds. In another -second he was stripped to the waist. “Now, my friend,” he chuckled, -“we’ll see who’ll win this game. This is the proper rig for any one who -means to play billiards as billiards should be played.” - -“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” said Koomadhi. “Come; you had -much better put on your shirt. The Commissioner may object.” - -“Let him object,” laughed the half-naked man; “he’s an old fogey anyway. -Like most naval men, he has no heart in anything beyond the shape of a -button and the exact spot where it should be worn. How was it we had no -nuts for dinner, I should like to know?” - -Koomadhi had made a cannon. He walked half-way round the table to get -the chalk, and in a second Major Minton had picked up the red ball and -slipped it into his pocket. - -When Koomadhi turned to play the screw back, which he meant to do -carefully, only the white balls were on the table, and Minton denied all -knowledge of the whereabouts of the red. - -Koomadhi laughed, and put his cue into the stand. - -“Oh, I say, a joke’s a joke!” chuckled Minton, producing the ball from, -his pocket. “You won’t play any more? Oh, yes; we’ll have another game, -only for a change we’ll play it with our feet. Now, why the mischief -people don’t play it with their feet I can’t understand. It stands to -reason that the stroke must be far surer. I’ll show you what I mean. -Oh, confound those things!--I’ll have them off in a moment.” - -“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said the Doctor firmly, as Major Minton -kicked off his shoes and hastened to get rid of the only garments that -he was wearing. “For God’s sake, don’t make such a fool of yourself!” - -He had caught his hands, preventing his carrying out his singular design -of illustrating the prehensile character of the muscles of the human -foot. - -“Now, then, put on your shirt and finish your soda-water. I must be -off.” - -Major Minton grinned, and, turning suddenly, caught Dr Koomadhi by the -tail of his dress-coat--he had just put it on--and with a quick jerk -upset him on the floor. - -“God bless my soul!” cried the Commissioner, waking up. - -Dr Koomadhi was brushing the dust off his waistcoat; Major Minton was -swinging halfway up one of the ropes that controlled the ventilator of -the roof. - -“What in the name of all that’s ridiculous is this?” said the -Commissioner. “By the Lord! I seem to be still dreaming--a nightmare, by -George, sir!” - -“I really must ask your pardon, sir,” said Koomadhi; “I had no idea that -the thing would go on so far as it has. Major Minton and I were having a -rather funny trial of strength. He was on one rope, I was on the other. -I let go my hold. Come down, man--come down--the game is over.” - -“And a most peculiar game it seems to have been,” said the Commissioner. -“Great heavens! it can’t be possible that he took off his shirt!” - -“It was very foolish, sir,” said Koomadhi. “I think I’ll say -good-night.” - -The Commissioner paid no attention to him; all his attention was given -to his son-in-law, who was swinging negligently with one hand on the -ventilator rope. When he at last dropped to the floor, Minton rubbed his -eyes and looked around him in a dazed way. - -“My God!” he muttered. “How do I come to be like this--this? Where’s my -shirt?” - -“You should be ashamed of yourself, sir,” said the Commissioner sternly. -“What have you been drinking in your soda-water?” - -“Nothing,” said Minton, putting on his shirt. “I drank nothing but -soda-water. What possessed me to make such an ass of myself I can’t -tell. I beg your pardon, Koomadhi. I assure you I didn’t mean to--why, -it all appears like a dream to me.” - -“Oh, a dream! Good night, Dr Koomadhi,” said the Commissioner. “I’m -sorry that anything should happen----” - -“Don’t say another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried Koomadhi. “I fear -that I was, after all, the most to blame. I should have known where this -sort of horse-play was likely to land us. Good night, sir; I really feel -that an apology should come from me. Good night, Minton. No, no; don’t -say a word. I feel that I have disgraced myself for ever.” - -Minton, now clothed and in his right mind, saw him off, and then -returned to the presence of his father-in-law. He knew that the -Commissioner was desirous of having a word or two with him, and he was -not the man to run away from such an interview. In fact, he himself was -anxious to have the first word; and he had it. - -“Look here, sir,” he said; “I want to say that I know I made an infernal -fool of myself. Why I did it I can’t tell; I touched nothing but -soda-water all night.” - -“Then there is the less excuse for your behaviour,” said the -Commissioner drily. “I don’t want to say anything more about this -unhappy business. Only, I will point out to you that Koomadhi could -easily make things very disagreeable for us if he were so minded. You -threw him on the floor. Heavens above!” - -“I suppose I did throw him; but why?--why?--why?--that’s what I want to -know.” - -“Perhaps an explanation may come to you in the course of a day or two. -You had better go to bed now.” - -“Yes; I’ll go to bed. Only--of course there’s no reason why you should -let the matter go farther.” - -“I certainly, for my own sake and yours, will keep it as secret as -possible. I only hope that Koomadhi----” - -“Oh, Koomadhi is all right. But I don’t see that Gertrude or Letts -should hear anything of it.” - -“They don’t hear anything of it from me, I promise you. Will you ring -for the lamps to be turned out?” - -Dick Minton pulled the bell. His father-inlaw went to his bed without a -word. - -But an hour had passed before Dick went to his room. He lit a cigar and -strolled away from the Residency to the brink of the sea; and there, -on the low scrub, looking out to the enormous rollers that broke on the -shallow beach two miles from where he stood, spreading their white foam -all around, he tried to think how it was he had been led to behave more -foolishly than he had ever behaved since the days of his youth. - -He was not successful in his attempts in this direction. - -And Dr Koomadhi also remained thinking his thoughts for fully half -an hour after reaching that pleasant verandah of his, which got every -breath that came inland from the sea. - -“I can do it easily enough--yes, in his presence; but what good is that -to me?” he muttered. “No good whatever--just the opposite. I must have -the Khabela--ah, the Khabela! That works miles apart.” - -Two days later he paid his visit to the Residency and drank tea with Mrs -Minton. He told her that he found it necessary to go up country for ten -days or so. He knew of a nice miasma tract, and he hoped to gain in a -few days as much information regarding its operations on the human frame -as he could obtain in as many years in the comparative salubriousness of -the coast. - -Her husband did not put in an appearance while Koomadhi was in the -drawing-room. His wife reproached him for that. - -He took her reproach meekly. - - -XI. - -Moonlight was flooding the forest beyond the native village of -Moumbossa on the Upper Gambia, but where Dr Koomadhi was walking no -moonbeam penetrated. The branches formed an arch above him as dense -with interwoven boughs and thick leaves as though the arch was a railway -tunnel. Only in the far distance a gleam of light could be seen. - -At times the deep silence of the night was broken by the many sounds -of the tropical jungle. Every sound was familiar to Dr Koomadhi, and he -laughed joyously as one laughs on recognising the voice of a friend. -The wild shriek of a monkey pounced upon by some other creature, the -horrible laugh of a hyena, the yell of a lory, and then a deep silence. -He felt at home in the midst of that forest, though when he spoke -of home within the hearing of civilised people, he meant it to be -understood that he referred to England. - -When he emerged from the brake he found himself gazing at a solitary -beehive hut in the centre of a great cleared space, A quarter of a mile -away the moonlight showed him the village of Moumbossa, with its lines -of palms and plantains. - -He walked up to the hut without removing his rifle from his shoulder, -and stood for some moments at the entrance. Then he heard a voice saying -to him in the tongue of the Ashantees-- - -“Enter, my son, and let thy mother see if thy face is changed.” - -“I cannot enter, mother,” he replied in the same language. “But I have -come far and in peril to talk with you. We must talk together in the -moonlight.” - -He retained among his other memories a vivid recollection of the -interior of a native hut. He could not bring himself to face the ordeal -of entering the one before him. - -“I will soon be beside you,” came the voice; and in a few moments there -crawled out from the entering-place a half-naked old negress, of great -stature, and with only the smallest perceptible stoop. She walked round -Dr Koomadhi, and then looked into his face with a laugh. - -“Yes,” she said, “it is indeed you, my son, and I see that you need my -services.” - -“You are right, mother,” said he. “I wondered if you still retained -your old powers. That is why I stood for some minutes outside the hut. -I said, ‘If my mother has still her messengers in the air, and in the -earth, they will tell her that her son has come to her once more. - -“You should not have doubted,” she said. “Do you fancy that such powers -as have come to me by the possession of the Sacred Khabela can decay by -reason of age or the weight of days?” - -“If that had been my belief, should I have come to you this night?” he -asked. “I have need of all your powers. I have need of all the powers of -the Khabela.” - -“You shall have all that I can command: are you not my son?” said the -old woman. “But have you found the Sacred Ear to fail you?” - -“Never, mother,” said Dr Koomadhi. “You told me what it could do, and it -has never failed me within its limits. But I must have the more powerful -charm of the Sacred Mouth. My need is extreme.” - -“It must be extreme, and I will not deny it to you,” said his mother. -“You know what it can do. No man or woman can withstand it. If any -offspring of woman should hold that Sacred Mouth to his ear, or her ear, -as the case may be, the words which you whisper into the Sacred Ear -will seem the truth, whatever those words may be. You know that. But the -magic of the Khabela is far greater. It will work at a distance. But if -it is lost you know what the consequences will be. You know the decree -of the great Fanshatee, the monkey-god?” - -“I know it. The stone Khabela shall not be lost. I accept the -responsibility. I must have command over it until the return of the -moon.” - -“And thou shalt have control of it, whether for good or evil. It told -me that thou wert nigh to-night, so that thou must have the Ear charm in -thy possession even now.” - -“It is here, mother, in this pocket. I have shown it to no mortal whose -colour is not as our colour, whose hair is not as our hair.” - -“The white men laugh at all magic such as ours, I have heard.” - -“Yes, they laugh at it. But some of them practise a form of it -themselves. I have seen one practise it in a great room in England. -Without the aid of a mystic stone he told sober men that they were -drunk, and they acted as drunk men; he told rough fellows that they were -priests, and they preached sermons as long and as stupid as any that we -have heard missionaries preach.” - -“And yet they say that our magic is a thing accursed.” - -“Yes; that is the way with the white men. When they have said their word -‘damn’ on any matter, they believe that the last word has been said upon -it, and all that other men may say they laugh at.” - -“They are fools, my son; and thou art a fool to dwell among them.” - -“They are wise men up to a certain point. They are only fools on the -subject of names. They say that magic is accursed; but they say that -hypnotism is science, and science is the only thing in which they -believe.” He had some trouble translating the word hypnotism into the -native speech. “Enough about them. Let me have the mystery, and then let -me have a cake that has been baked in the earth with the leaves of the -betel.” - -“Thou shalt have both, ray son, before the morning light. Enter my hut, -and I will dream that thou art a child again.” - -But that was just where Dr Koomadhi drew the line. He would not crawl -into the hut even to make his venerable mother fancy that his youth was -renewed like the eagles. - -He returned to Picotee the next day, and as he walked through the forest -each side of the bush track was lined with monkeys. They came from far -and near and put their faces down to the ground, their fore-hands at the -back of their heads. - -He talked to them in simian. - -“Yes,” he said. “Ye know that I am the holder of the Khabela, intrusted -to me by my brother Fanshatee; but if I lose it your attitude will not -be the same.” - - -XII. - -Two days had passed, after his return to Picotee, before Dr Koomadhi -found time to call at the Residency. He found Major Minton lying on the -cane settee in a condition of perspiration and exhaustion. - -“I’m sure Dr Koomadhi will bear me out in what I say,” said Mrs Minton, -as the Doctor entered the room. “I’ve been lecturing my husband upon the -danger of taking such violent exercise as he has been indulging in,” she -continued. “Just look at the state that he is in, Doctor. The idea of -any sane man on a day like this entering into a climbing contest with a -monkey!” - -“Great heavens! Is that what he has been about--and the thermometer -nearer a hundred than ninety?” cried the Doctor. - -“I admit that I was an ass,” muttered the Major. “But somehow I felt -that I should show Jacco that I could lick him on his own ground,--not -exactly his ground--we were never on the ground.” - -“And when I went out I found them swinging on the topmost bough of -one of the trees,” said Mrs Minton. “Upon my word, my father will feel -scandalised. Such a thing never occurred at the Residency before.” - -“Apart from the social aspect of the incident, I am bound to say that it -was most indiscreet,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Nothing precipitates sunstroke -like over-exertion in a high temperature. Major, this must not occur -again.” - -“All right: don’t make a fuss, or you’ll soon be as hot as I am,” said -the Major, rising with difficulty and crossing the room--he was bent -almost double--to his wife’s tea-table. - -“Hallo,” said the Doctor, “what have you been doing to yourself?” - -“It is not what I have been doing but what I’ve left undone that you -notice,” laughed the Major. “The fact is that I couldn’t be bothered -shaving for the last few mornings. That’s what you notice.” - -That was precisely what the Doctor did notice. He noticed the tossed -hair of the Major’s head and such bristles of a beard and whiskers as -had completely altered the appearance of his face. He also noticed that -when Mrs Minton turned away for a moment her husband deftly abstracted -two lumps of sugar from the bowl and began eating them surreptitiously. - -“No nuts,” he heard him mutter contemptuously some time afterwards. - -“Nuts?” said Mrs Minton. “You’ll ruin your digestion if you eat any more -nuts, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, will you join your voice with mine in protest -against this foolish boy’s fancy for nuts? You speak with the recognised -authority of a medical man. I can only speak as a wife, and I am not so -foolish as to fancy that that constitutes any claim to attention. If you -continue rubbing your chest in that absurd way, Dick, you’ll certainly -make a raw.” - -Dr Koomadhi did not fail to observe that the Major was rubbing his chest -with his bent-up fingers. - -“I’m quite surprised at your imprudence,” said he, shaking his head. -“You told me some time ago that though you had been for seven years in -India, you never had a touch of fever, and you attributed this to the -attention you paid to your diet. Now you know as well as I do that if a -man requires to be careful in India, there is double reason for him to -be careful on the West Coast of Africa. How can you so disregard the -most elementary laws of health?” - -Major Minton laughed. - -“There’s nothing like exercise,” he said, “and the best of all exercise -is climbing. Why, my dear Koomadhi, haven’t the greatest intellects -of the age taken to climbing? Wasn’t Tyndall a splendid mountaineer? I -don’t profess to be superior to Tyndall. Now, as I can’t get mountains -to climb in this neighbourhood I take naturally to the trees. I think -sometimes I could pass the rest of my life pleasantly enough here. -Man wants but little here below. Give me a branch to swing on, a green -cocoa-nut, and a friend who won’t resent a practical joke--I want -nothing more. By the way, it’s odd that I never saw until lately--in -fact, until two days ago--what good fun there is in a practical joke.” - -“His perception of what he calls good fun deprived me of my brushes and -comb this morning,” said Mrs Minton. “I must confess I fail to see the -humour in hiding one’s brushes and comb.” - -“It was the most innocent lark in the world, and you had no reason to -be so put out about it,” said her husband, leaning over the back of her -chair. Dr Koomadhi saw that he was tying the sash of her loose gown to -the wickerwork of the table at which she was sitting, so that she could -not rise without overturning the tray with the cups. - -“My dear Major,” said the Doctor, “a jest is a jest, but your wife’s -china----” - -“Oh, you have given me away; but I’ll be equal to you, never fear,” said -the Major, shambling off as his wife prepared to loose the knot of her -sash from the table. - -She did not speak a word, but her face was flushed, and it was plain -that she was greatly annoyed. The flush upon her face deepened when her -husband went out to the verandah and uttered a curious guttural cry. - -“How has he learned that?” asked Dr Koomadhi. - -“Learned what?” asked Mrs Minton. - -“That cry.” - -“Oh, it’s some of his foolishness.” - -“I daresay; but----” - -“Ah, I thought I could bring you here, my friend,” cried the Major, as -Jacco the baboon swung off his usual place over the porch into his arms. - -Dr Koomadhi watched the creature run its fingers through the Major’s -disordered hair. He heard the guttural sound made by the baboon, and he -heard it responded to by the Major. - -He found that Major Minton was on a level with himself in his -acquaintance with the simian language. - -He rose and took leave of Mrs Minton, and then, with a word of warning -in regard to his imprudent exercises, of the Major, left the Residency. - -It was not until he had reached his own house that he discovered that -upon the back of his spotless linen coat there had been executed in -ink the grinning face of a clown. He recollected that he had seen Major -Minton toying with a quill pen behind him as he sat drinking tea. - - -XIII. - -A few days later Dr Koomadhi was visited--unofficially--by Commander -Hope. The poor Commissioner was as grave as if an impetuous French naval -officer had just been reported to have insulted the British flag on some -part of the coast protected (nominally) by that variegated bunting. -He was anxious to consult the Doctor regarding the condition of Major -Minton. - -“Indeed?” said the Doctor. “What do you suppose is the matter with him, -sir?” - -The Commissioner tapped his forehead significantly. - -“A slight touch of sunstroke, I fancy,” he replied. “He has been -behaving strangely--giving us a great deal of uneasiness, Koomadhi. Oh -yes, it’s clearly a touch of sunstroke.” - -“That’s bad--but not sufficiently bad to be very grave about, sir,” said -the Doctor. “You know how these attacks pass away, leaving scarcely -a trace behind, if properly treated. You have, of course, applied the -ice?” - -“We’ve applied nothing,” said the Commissioner. “He’s beyond our -control, Koomadhi. He left the Residency last evening and has not turned -up since.” - -“Great heavens!” - -“It’s a fact. Oh, he must be stark, staring mad”--the Commissioner was -walking up and down the Doctor’s room in a state of most unofficial -perturbation. “I found it necessary to speak to him pretty plainly a -couple’ of days ago. It was bad enough for him to climb up the mast and -nail the flag to the pole so that it could not be hauled down at sunset, -but when it conies to dropping the keys of the despatch-boxes into the -water-tank, the thing ceases to be a joke. I gave him a good slating, -and he sulked. He had an idea, his wife told me, that he understood the -simian language, and he was for ever practising his knowledge upon our -tame baboon. What on earth does that mean, if not sunstroke--tell me -that, Koomadhi?” - -“It looks very like sunstroke, indeed,” said the Doctor. “But where can -he have disappeared to?” - -“That’s the question that makes me feel uneasy,” said the Commissioner. -“I don’t like to make a fuss just yet, but--I’ll tell you what it is, -Koomadhi,”--he lowered his voice to a whisper,--“the man has a delusion -that he is an ape--it’s impossible to keep it a secret any longer. God -help us all! God help my poor girl--my poor girl!” - -The Commissioner broke down completely, and wept with his face bowed -down to his hands. He was very unofficial--tears are not official. - -“Come, sir, you must not give way like this,” said the Doctor. -“This coast is the very devil for men like Minton, who will not take -reasonable precautions. But there’s no reason to be alarmed just yet. -The _Penguin_ will be here in a few days, and the instant the steamer -drops her anchor we’ll ship him aboard. He’ll be all right, take my word -for it, when he sails a few degrees northward.” - -“But where is he now?” - -“He’s probably loafing around the outskirts of the jungle; but he’ll be -safe enough, and he’ll return, most likely, within the next few hours.” - -“You are of that opinion?” - -“Assuredly. Above all things, there must be no talk about this -business,--it might ruin him socially; and your daughter----” - -“Poor girl! poor girl! I agree with you, Koomadhi,--it must be kept a -secret; no human being must know about this shocking business.” - -“If he does not return before to-night, send a message to me, sir.” - -“I’ll not fail. Poor girl! Oh, Koomadhi, her heart will be broken--her -heart will be broken!” - -The Commissioner went away, looking at least ten years older than when -he had last been seen by Dr Koomadhi. - -The Doctor watched him stumbling down the pathway: then he laughed and -opened a bottle of champagne, which he drank at a gulp--it was only when -he was alone that he allowed himself the luxury of drinking champagne in -gulps. - -Shortly before midnight he paid a visit to the barracks of the Houssas, -and found that the officer who was on the sick list was very much -better. Returning by the side of the jungle, he heard the sound of steps -and a laugh behind him. It might have been the laugh of a man, but the -steps were not those of a man. - -He looked round. - -A shambling creature was following him--a creature with a hairy face and -matted locks--a creature whose eyes gleamed wildly in the moonlight. - -“How the mischief can you walk so fast along a path like this?” came the -voice of Major Minton from the hairy jaws of the Thing. - -“I’m not walking so fast, after all,” said the Doctor. He had not given -the least start on coming face to face with the Thing. - -“I don’t care much about walking on roads; but I’ll back myself to cross -a forest without leaving the trees,” said the Thing. “That would beat -you, Koomadhi. Oh, by the way----” Here he emitted some guttural sounds. - -The simian language was recognised by the Doctor, and replied to with a -smile, and for some time the two exchanged remarks. The Doctor was the -first to break down. - -“I don’t understand that expression,” said he, when the other had -repeated some sounds. - -“Why, you fool, that means, ‘Is there anything to drink handy?’” said -the voice of Major Minton. “Why, I know more of the language than you. -We’ve been talking nothing else for the past day or two.” - -“Where have you been?” - -“In the jungle. Where else would you have me be?” - -“Where, indeed? You’d better stay with me to-night. I’ll give you -something to drink.” - -“That will suit me nicely. I’m a bit thirsty, and----” Here he lapsed -into the simian jabber. - -He curled himself up in a corner of the sofa, and took the tumbler that -Dr Koomadhi offered to him, drinking off the contents pretty much after -the style of the Doctor when alone. He then began talking about the -sense of freedom incidental to a life spent in the jungle, and every -now and again his words became what was long ago known as gibberish; but -nearly every utterance was intelligible to the Doctor. - -After some time had passed, the Doctor took the carved stones out of the -desk drawer, and, handing one to his companion, said-- - -“By the way, I wonder if you are still deaf to the sound of this thing. -Try it again.” - -“What’s the good? I’m not such a fool as to fancy that any sound can -come from a stone.” - -“Doesn’t Shakespeare say something about ‘sermons in stones’?” - -“Oh, Shakespeare? He could hear things and see things that no one else -could. Well, give me the stone.” - -He put the roughly carved lips to his ear, while the Doctor raised the -other to his own mouth. - -“You can hear no murmur?” said the Doctor. - -“Nothing whatever. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll go asleep.” - -“I can give you a bed.” - -“A bed? What rot! No, thank you, I’ll be comfortable enough here.” - -He curled himself up and went asleep before the Doctor’s eyes. - -When the Doctor entered his sitting-room the next morning the apartment -was empty. - - -XIV. - -I was a fool for not detaining him by force,” said Dr Koomadhi, in -telling the Commissioner, a few hours later, that his son-in-law had -paid a visit to his (the Doctor’s) house. “But there really is nothing -to be alarmed about. He has a whim, but he’ll soon tire of it.” - -“I hope to heavens he’ll return by to-morrow evening,” said the -Commander. “The _Penguin_ will be here in the morning, and we must get -him aboard by some means. What a pity you didn’t lock him in.” - -“To tell you the truth, I was afraid to do so--if he had made a row in -the morning on feeling himself a prisoner the thing would be over the -town before noon. Oh, you may be certain that he’ll turn up again either -to-day or tomorrow.” - -That night one of the officers of the Houssas gave Dr Koomadhi a -circumstantial account of a strange chimpanzee which one of the men had -seen on the outskirts of the jungle at daybreak. If the thing wasn’t a -chimpanzee it certainly was a gorilla, the officer said, and he meant to -have a shot at it. Would the Doctor join him in the hunt? he inquired. - -The Doctor said he would be delighted to do so, but not before the next -evening, he had so much on hand. - -The _Penguin’s_ gun was heard early in the morning, and Dr Koomadhi had -the privilege of reading his ‘Saturday Review’ at breakfast. - -He went to the Residency before noon. The Commissioner was not there. -He had gone aboard the _Penguin_, Mr Letts, the Secretary, said, without -looking up from his paper. - -“I wonder if you know anything about Minton, Mr Letts,” whispered -Koomadhi. - -“I wonder if you know anything about him, Dr Koomadhi,” said Mr Letts. - -“He has not been near me since the night before last,” said the Doctor. -“Has he been here?” - -Before the Secretary could reply a servant knocked at the office door -conveying Mrs Minton’s compliments to Dr Koomadhi, and to inquire if -he would be good enough to step into the breakfast-room until the -Commissioner returned from the mail steamer. - -Dr Koomadhi said he would be pleased to do so, and he left the office -and followed the servant into the breakfast-room--an apartment which -occupied one end of the Residency, and had windows opening upon the -verandah, and affording a view of that portion of the jungle which was -nearest Picotee. - -He scarcely recognised Gertrude Minton. The deadly pale, worn woman who -greeted him silently, had nothing in common with the brilliant daughter -of the Commissioner who, a few months before, had been as exquisite as a -lily in the midst of a jungle. - -“What are we to do--what are we to do?” she whispered. “You have seen -him since we saw him. What did he say? Will he return in time to be put -aboard the steamer? Oh, for God’s sake, give me a word of hope--one word -to keep me from going mad too!” - -“Mrs Minton,” said Dr Koomadhi, “you have asked me a great many -questions. May I remind you that I never asked but one question of you?” - -“One question? What do you mean?” - -“I asked you if you thought you could marry me. What was your answer?” - -“Why do you come here to remind me of that? If you are thinking of that -fault of mine--it was cruel, I know, but I did not mean it--if you are -thinking of that rather than of the best way to help us, you had much -better have stayed away.” - -“You said you would as soon marry a baboon as marry me.” - -“I checked myself.” - -“When you had practically said it.” - -“Well, what then?” - -“Nothing; you did not marry me, and the alternative was your own -choice.” - -“The alternative?” - -“Yes; you married a baboon. You know it. Is there any doubt on your -mind? Come to this window.” - -He had suddenly crossed the room to a window facing the jungle. She -staggered to his side. He threw open the shutter and pointed out. - -What Mrs Minton saw was a huge ape running on all fours across the -cleared space just outside the jungle. The creature ran on for some -distance, then stopped and turned round gibbering. Then from the jungle -there came another ape, only in a more upright posture. With a yell he -caught the hand of the first, and the creature stood upright. Then, hand -in hand, in a horribly grotesque dance, they advanced together until -they were within a hundred yards of the Residency. - -“You see--you see,” laughed Dr Koomadhi. “You may still be able to -recognise some of his features in spite of the transformation. You have -had your choice. A baboon is your husband, and your child----” - -The shriek that the woman gave before falling to the floor frightened -even Dr Koomadhi. - -In a second the room door was opened. Mr Letts appeared. He rushed at Dr -Koomadhi, and had his hands on his throat before the Doctor could raise -Mrs Minton. He forced the negro backward into the porch, and flung -him out almost upon the Commissioner and Mr Ross, the surgeon of the -_Penguin_, who were in the act of entering. - -“For heaven’s sake, Letts!” cried the Commissioner. - -“You infernal nigger!” shouted Letts, as Dr Koomadhi picked himself up. -“You infernal nigger! if ever you show your face here again, I’ll break -every bone in your body!” - -“What the blazes is the matter?” asked. Ross. - -“I believe that that devil has killed Mrs Minton,” said the Secretary. -“If he has, by God! I’ll kill him.” - - -XV. - -Dr Koomadhi went to his house in dignified silence. He put a couple of -glasses of brandy into a bottle of champagne and gulped down the whole. -Then he wrote a short note to the officer of the Houssas, mentioning -that he would be happy to help him to shoot the great ape at daybreak. - -He sent off the letter, and before he closed his desk he thought he -would restore the carved stones to their receptacle. He had put them -into his pocket before starting for the Residency; but now when he felt -for them in his pocket he failed to find them. He was overcome with the -fear that he had lost them. It suddenly occurred to him that they had -been thrown out of his pocket by the violence of the man who had flung -him into the road. If so, they would be lying on the pathway, and they -would be safe enough there until dark, when he could go and search for -them. - -At moonrise he went out and walked down the road to the “Residency, but -when just at the porch he was confronted by Ross, who was leaving the -house. - -“Hallo!” cried the surgeon. “I was just about to stroll up to you.” - -“And I was determined not to miss you,” said Koomadhi. “How is Mrs -Minton? It will be brain fever, I’m afraid.” - -“It looks very like it,” said Ross. “She is delirious. How did the -attack come? That fool of a Secretary will give no explanation of his -conduct to you. The Commissioner says he will either apologise or leave -the station.” - -“The Secretary is a fool,” said Koomadhi. “Great heavens! to think that -there are still some men like that--steeped to the lips in prejudice -against the race to which I am proud to belong! We’ll not talk of him; -but I’ll certainly demand an apology. The poor woman--she is little more -than a girl, Ross! The breaking strain was reached when she was in the -act of telling me about her husband.” - -“Sunstroke, I suppose?” - -“Undoubtedly. He has been behaving queerly for some time. Walk back with -me and have something to drink.” - -“I can only stay for an hour,” said Ross. “Mrs Bryson, the wife of the -telegraphist, is nursing Mrs Minton; but it won’t do for me to be absent -for long.” - -He remained chatting with Koomadhi for about an hour, and then left for -the Residency alone. - -Dr Koomadhi determined to wait until midnight, when he might be pretty -certain that his search for the stones would not be interrupted. - -The door of the Residency was opened for Mr Ross by Letts. - -“Step this way, Ross,” said he, in a low voice. - -Ross went into the Secretary’s room. Sitting on a cane chair with a -cigar in his mouth and a tall glass at his elbow was a man from whom -came a strong perfume of shaving-soap. The man had plainly been recently -shaved. His face was very smooth. - -“Hallo, Ross, old chap!” said this man. - -“My God, it’s Minton!” cried the surgeon. - -“No one else,” said Minton. “What is all this about my poor wife? Don’t -tell me that it’s serious.” - -“It’s serious enough,” said Ross. “But, unless a change for the worse -comes before morning, there is no reason for alarm.” - -“Thank God!” said Minton. “What a fool I was to set about investigating -that monkey language! I fancied that I had mastered a word or two, and I -ventured into the jungle and got lost. I returned here an hour ago in a -woful state of dilapidation. I’m getting better every minute. For God’s -sake let me know how my poor wife is now!” - -“I’ll get your report, Ross, to save your leaving the room,” said Letts. - -The Secretary took the surgeon into an empty apartment. - -“He returned three-quarters of an hour ago,” he said, in a low voice. “I -never got such a shock as when I saw him--luckily I was at the door. He -was practically naked; and with his hair tangled over his head, and his -face one mass of bristles, he was to all intents and purposes a baboon. -That nigger is at the bottom of it all. I followed him when he visited -Mrs Minton this morning, and I even brought myself to listen outside -the door of the breakfast-room, where they had an interview. I overheard -enough to convince me that the ruffian had made Minton the victim of -some of his hellish magic. I’ve been long enough on the West Coast to -know what some of the niggers can do in this way. I have questioned -Minton adroitly, and he admitted to me that Koomadhi had put a certain -stone carved like a human ear into his hand, and had induced him to -place it at his own ear. That was the famous Sacred Ear stone that the -Ashantees speak of in whispers.” - -“We’ll talk more of this to-morrow,” said Ross. “I don’t believe much in -negro magic; but--my God! what is the meaning of that?” - -A window was open in the room, and through it there came the sound of -a shot, followed by appalling yells: then came another shot, and such a -wild chorus of shrieking as far surpassed in volume the first series. - - -XVI. - -Letts ran to a cupboard and whipped out a revolver. He rushed outside -without a word. Ross followed him: he felt that wherever a revolver was -going he should go also. - -The two men ran in the moonlight toward Koomadhi’s house, for the yells -were still coming from that direction. When they got within sight of the -house Letts cried out in amazement. By the light of the full moon the -strangest sight that he had ever seen was before his eyes. Koomadhi’s -house was invisible; but where it should have been there was an enormous -pyramid of jabbering apes. They were so thick upon the roof and the -verandah as to conceal every portion of the building, and hundreds were -on the pathway around the place. The noise they made was appalling. - -Letts and the surgeon crouched behind a cane-brake and watched that -strange scene; but they had not been long in concealment before the -creatures began trooping off to the jungle. Baboons, chimpanzees, and -gorillas, more horrible than had ever been depicted, were rushing from -the house yelling and gibbering with grotesque gestures beneath the -light of the moon. - -Before the last of the monstrous procession had disappeared--while the -shrieks of the wild parrots were still filling the air--the two men left -their place of concealment and hurried toward the house. They had to -struggle through an odour of monkeys that would have overpowered most -men. A glance was sufficient to show them that the shutters of the room -in which Koomadhi slept had been torn away. Letts sprang through -the open window, and Boss heard his cry of horror before he followed -him--before he saw the ghastly sight that the moonlight revealed. The -body of Dr Koomadhi lay torn and mangled upon the floor, his empty -revolver still warm in his hand. Around him lay the carcases of four -enormous apes, with bullet-holes in their breasts. - -“Ross,” said Letts after a long pause, “there is a stronger power still -than the devil even on the West Coast of Africa.” - -***** - -“Women, I have often heard, have strange notions at times,” said Major -Minton, leaning over the deck-chair under the awning of the _Penguin_, -where his wife was sitting, “but that fancy which you say you had before -your attack beats the record. Still, I was greatly to blame. I’ll never -forgive myself. I had no business interesting myself in that simian -jabber. If at any time I feel a craving in such a direction I’ll get an -order for the Strangers’ Gallery of the House of Commons when a debate -on an Irish question is going on. Poor Koomadhi! Letts declared that, -as he lay among the dead apes, it was difficult to say whether he was an -ape or a man.” - - - - -THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. - -I wouldn’t make a fuss about it if I were you,” said Charlie Craven, -pursuing that search from pocket to pocket which men, having no -particular reputation for tidiness to maintain, are accustomed to -institute when they have filled a pipe and are anxious to light it. - -“A fuss about it?” cried his sister Madge. “A fuss--good gracious! What -is there to make a fuss about in all that I have told you? A dream--I -ask you candidly if you think that I am the sort of girl to make a fuss -over a dream?” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” said Charlie. He had succeeded in finding in one of -his pockets a match-box--an empty match-box. - -“Well, you should know,” said Madge severely. - -“There now, you are; making a fuss over something a deal flimsier than -your dream,” laughed her brother. “I wonder if that palace of your dream -was no better supplied than this house with matches: if it wasn’t, I -shouldn’t care to live in it for any length of time.” - -“It’s so like a man to keep on bothering himself and every one about him -for a match, while all the time a fire is roaring on the hearth behind -him, and his pockets are full of bills--the usual Christmas bills, the -least of which would light all the pipes he smokes in a day, and that’s -saying a good deal.” - -“How clever you are! I never thought of the fire. Well, as I was -remarking, I wouldn’t bother telling my dreams to any one if I were you. -Dreams--well, dreams are all rot, you know.” - -“I’m not quite so sure of that as you seem to be, O wisest of brothers. -The wisest of people in the world--next to you, of course--have thought -that there was something in dreams, haven’t they?” - -“They were wrong. My aunt! the rot that I have dreamt from time to -time!” - -“Oh, that settles the question.” - -“It does, so far as I am concerned. Look here, Madge; don’t come to me -again with the story of your dreams, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. -Dreams, I say, are all----Of course, you saw that particular house and -that particular staircase in some picture, and they stuck somewhere at -the back of your brain. It’s a rummy thing the brain, you know--a jolly -rum thing!” - -“It is. I am becoming more impressed every minute with the truth of that -discovery of yours.” - -“Oh, if you are becoming sarcastic, I have nothing more to say. But -please to remember that sarcasm is no argument. I tell you, my dear -girl, you have seen a picture of that house at some period of your -life--I don’t say recently, mind you--and my theory is that the brain is -like a sensitized plate: it records an impression once and for all, and -stores it away, and you never know exactly when it means to bring it out -again before your eyes. Oh, believe me, it plays a lot of tricks upon -even the most commonplace people.” - -“Among whom I suppose I must count myself? Well, I daresay you are -right.” - -“I know that I am right. Dreams! Did you ever hear the story of the old -woman who won a big prize in a lottery, the ticket being No. 26? Had she -chosen that number on chance or in accordance with some system? she was -asked, and she replied that she had dreamt it all out. Dreamt it all -out? What did she mean by that? they inquired. ‘Well, a week ago I -dreamt that I won the prize, and that the ticket I took was No. 9,’ said -she. ‘The next night I dreamt exactly the same, and the ticket was No. -9. The third night the same thing happened, so, of course, I chose No. -26.’ ‘No. 26? Why not No. 9 as you dreamt it?’ the people asked. ‘Oh, -you fools!’ said she; ‘didn’t I tell you that I dreamt it three times? -the number was 9, and doesn’t every one know that three times 9 are 26?’ -Now that’s the stuff that dreams are made of, as Shakespeare remarks, so -don’t you bother about this particular vision of yours; and if you take -my advice you’ll say nothing to Uncle Philip or the lot of them about -it. They would only laugh at you.” - -“Why on earth should I go about proclaiming my dream to all our -relations?” cried the girl. “Dear Charlie, I’m not suffering just yet -from softening of the brain. Besides, I can recall many instances of -disaster following people who bored others with the story of their -dreams. There was the notable case of Joseph and his brethren, and later -in history there was the case of the Duke of Clarence. You remember how -swiftly retribution followed his story of his dream? Now, of course, -my dream was only a little insignificant thing compared to Joseph’s -and Clarence’s, still something might happen if I bored people with -it--something proportionate--the plum-pudding might come to the table -in a state of squash, or the custards might be smoked. Oh no, I’ll be -forewarned, and talk only of facts. I suppose a dream cannot, by even -the most indulgent of people, be called a fact.” - -“I’m off to the stables,” said her brother, after a little pause. - -Then he went off to the stables. He was an excellent fellow and the -best of brothers, although he was more at home in the stables than when -engaged in a discussion on a subject involving some exercise of the -imagination. There is not much room in a stable for a play of the -imagination, especially where the corn accounts are kept on a system. - -When he had left the breakfast-room on this bright Christmas morning -his sister paused for a few moments in her morning duty of collecting -a breakfast for the birds which were loitering about the Italian -balustrade in front of the window, reminding her, in their own way, that -they expected an exceptionally liberal repast on this Christmas morning: -she paused and began to think once more upon this strange dream of hers, -which she had been rehearsing to her brother. - -After all, it was not so strange a dream, she reflected. The only queer -thing about it was that it had come to her on every Christmas Eve for -five consecutive years--since she was seventeen--and that its details -did not differ in the least from one year to another. Perhaps it was -also different from the majority of dreams in its vividness, and in the -fact that, on awaking from it, she felt as exhausted as if she had just -returned from a long journey. Even now it required almost an effort on -her part to walk round the old oak table sweeping the crumbs on to a -plate to throw to the birds; and when she had discharged this duty she -seated herself with a sigh of relief in one of the arm-chairs that stood -by the side of the great wood fire. - -She closed her eyes and once again recalled her dream. She had no -difficulty in doing so. She had fancied herself in the act of driving up -to a fine old house, standing in the middle of a well-timbered park -of oak and chestnut. The lawn extended across the full front of the -mansion, and in the centre she noticed a beautiful old fountain, -composed of a great marble basin with a splendid group of figures in the -centre--Neptune with his dolphins and a Naiad or two. She passed into -the house through a great hall hung with trophies of war and of the -chase. In front of her was the enormous head of a moose, and at one side -there was a great grey skull of some animal such as she had never seen -before,--a fearful thing with huge tusks--quite the monster of a dream. - -Then she seemed to go from room to room, as if she had been a member -of the family living in the place, but--and this she felt to be a true -dream-touch--the moment she entered a room every one who was there fled -from her; but apparently this did not cause her any surprise, any -more than did the strange costume of the figures who fled at her -approach--costumes of the sixteenth century, mingled with those of the -seventeenth and eighteenth. Thinking of the figures hurrying from every -room suggested to her the family portraits of three centuries in motion. -After visiting several fine rooms she found herself walking up a broad -oaken staircase of shallow steps, until she came to a large lobby, -where the staircase divided to right and left. There she found a curious -settee of some dark wood, the long centre panel of which was carved with -many figures. She saw all this by the aid of the moonlight which flowed -in through the panes of coloured glass in a high window, painted with -many coats of arms. - -She remembered having rested in this seat for some time, feeling very -lonely, and then some one had come to her, sitting by her side and -taking her hand, saying-- - -“I have been waiting for you all these years. I am so glad that you are -here at last.” - -She remembered that the sound of the voice and the touch of the hand -had banished her loneliness, and made her feel happier than she had -ever felt in all her life before. Even now she felt supremely happy, -recalling this incident of her dream, though she recollected that she -had not yet seen the face of the man who had come to her to banish her -loneliness. She wished that her dream had been less whimsical in this -one particular. She felt that she could have spared some of the other -details that came before her so vividly--the skull of that strange -animal that hung in the hall, for instance--if in their place she had -been allowed to see what manner of man it was who had sat with her. - -Still, the recollection of him gave her pleasure even when the dream had -first come to her and he had come in the dream, and this pleasure had -been increasing year by year, until she knew that she had actually gone -asleep on the previous night, full of joy in the hope of hearing the -sound of that voice and feeling the touch of that hand as she had done -in the past. - -And that was the end of her dream, unless the feeling of -happiness--happiness mingled with a certain sadness--of which she was -conscious while she recalled its details should be accounted part of -the dream. Her pleasure was the same as one experiences in recalling the -incidents of a visit to a dear friend; her sadness was the same as one -experiences on thinking that a long time must elapse before one can see -that friend again. - -Madge actually found herself reflecting that a year must pass before she -could once more find herself wandering through the strange mansion of -her dream--find herself once more seated on that carved seat in the -lobby beneath the painted window. - -She kept on thinking, and wondering as she thought, over the strange -features of this experience of hers. She knew that she was what people -would call a commonplace, practical girl--a girl without fads or fancies -of any sort. Since her mother’s death, three years before, she had -managed all the household affairs of Craven Court for her brother, who -had inherited the property before she had left the schoolroom. Every one -was bound to acknowledge that her management of the household had been -admirable, though only her brother knew exactly how admirable it was. - -“There are no frills about Madge; she is the best woman of business in -the county, and we have none of the bothers of other people with our -servants,” he had frequently said. - -And yet here was this embodiment of all that is practical in life, -dreaming upon a dream upon this bright and frosty Christmas morning, and -actually feeling sad at the thought that a whole year must elapse before -the same vision should return to her. - -The chiming of the church bells startled her out of her reverie. - -“Pshaw!” she cried, jumping up from her chair; “I am quite as great a -goose as Charlie believes me to be--quite! or I should not have told -him that that dream had come to me again. I should have had the sense to -know that he would have the sense to know that dreams are, one and all, -the utterest folly!” - -She knew that she was trying to convince herself that there was nothing -more in this particular dream than in the many casual dreams that came -to her as well as to other people; but before she had reached the door -of the dining-room she knew that she had failed in her attempt. The -curious fatigue of which she was conscious, quickly told her that this -oft-recurring vision was not as others were. - -She went to church with her brother, and in the afternoon their uncle, -Colonel Craven, and his wife duly arrived at the Court to spend their -annual week at the family mansion, and Madge took her brother’s advice -and refrained from saying a word to either of them on the subject of her -dream. Indeed, she had so much to think of and so much to do during -the week, she had no time to give to anything so immaterial as a dream, -however interesting it might be to herself. - -On the last morning of the stay of Colonel and Mrs Craven at Craven -Court, the former received a letter which he tossed across the -breakfast-table to Charlie. - -“Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “We were talking about wild-duck-shooting no -later than last night, and here’s a letter from Jack Tremaine telling me -that he is taking over his cousin’s place for six months and promising -me some good sport if I go to him for a week in January. You will see -that he suggests that you should be of the party: he asks if you are -here. See what he says about the ducks.” - -“Who is his cousin?” inquired Charlie, “and where is his place?” - -“His cousin is a chap named Clifford, and his place is in -Dorsetshire--on the coast--Barmouth Manor it is called, and I know that -it’s famous for its duck-shooting. Tremaine will no doubt write to you.” - -“Where has the cousin gone, that the place is available for Jack -Tremaine?” asked Charlie. - -“Turn over the page and you’ll see what he says about the Cliffords,” - replied Colonel Craven. - -Charlie found on the last leaf half a dozen lines on the point in -question. Jack Tremaine said that Mrs Clifford was not satisfied as to -the health of her son, and was going abroad with him during the first -week in January. - -“I should like to have a go at the ducks,” said Charlie Craven, handing -back the letter. “I suppose there is a duck-punt or two at the place?” - -“You may be sure of that,” said his uncle. “Young Clifford is a good -sportsman, I believe, but I have never met him. I’ll write to Tremaine -to-day telling him that you are at home. I’m sure he means to invite -you.” - -All doubt on this point was removed by the arrival two days later of -an invitation from Mr Tremaine to Charlie Craven for a fortnight’s -duck-shooting at Barmouth Manor, and he enclosed a letter from his wife -to Madge expressing the hope that she would be able to accompany her -brother. - -Madge was delighted at the prospect of the visit, for she and Mrs -Tremaine were close friends. - -The frost which had set in a few days before Christmas had not gone -when she and her brother were due at Barmouth Manor, so that there was a -likelihood of her having some skating on the lake. Mrs Tremaine had, -in her invitation, laid some stress upon the possibility of a week’s -skating on the lake which, she said, was within the Manor Park. - -A carriage met them at Barmouth Station, for the Manor was quite five -miles from the picturesque little town; and it was late in the afternoon -before they passed through the spacious entrance gates to the Manor -Park. There was, however, quite enough light to enable Madge to see -every detail of the place, and it was observing some of the details that -caused her to make a rather startling exclamation of surprise. - -“Hallo!” said her brother, “what has startled you?” - -There was a little pause before she had recovered herself sufficiently -to be able to make an excuse that would sound plausible. She pointed to -a group of deer looking over the barrier of their enclosure. - -“One of the stags,” she said; “it seemed for a moment as if it were -about to jump the rail.” - -“What matter if it did? They are as tame as cats at this time of the -year,” said Charlie. - -“Of course, I should have remembered,” she said. “I wonder in what -direction is the pond. Does the sunset look promising?” - -“There may be no thaw before the end of the month,” said he. - -That was the end of their conversation, and she flattered herself that -he had no notion how excited she was as the carriage reached that part -of the drive which was beside the lawn, and the red level rays of the -sun streaming through the naked trees stained the marble basin of an -Italian fountain, the central group of which was in every detail the -same as the figures in the fountain of her dream. In another minute the -front of the house was disclosed, and she saw that it was the house -of her dream. She would have been greatly disappointed had it been -otherwise. - -She entered the great hall, and could scarcely reply to the cordial -greeting of her aunt and Mrs Tremaine, for she found herself stared at -by the sleepy eyes that looked out from the head of a moose just as they -had stared at her in her sleep. She turned to the wall on her right. -Yes, there was the curious skull with the mighty tusks. - -“Oh yes, we had a delightful journey,” she managed to say in reply -to Mrs Tremaine’s inquiry. “Thank you; I should like a cup of tea -immensely. Do you have it in the hall or in the tapestry room beyond?” - -“What; you have been here before? I had no idea of that,” said Mrs -Tremaine. - -For more than a moment Madge was confused. - -Luckily for her, however, the lamps had not been lighted in the hall, -and the sudden flush that came over her face was unobserved by her -friends. - -She gave a laugh. - -“What a good shot I made!” she cried. “Isn’t this just the sort of house -to have an old-panelled dining-room and a tapestry chamber beside it? I -think we should have tea here. What sort of prehistoric creature is that -on the wall?” - -“I believe it is a skull that was found when they were digging the -foundations of one of the lodges,” said Mrs Tremaine. - -“I seem to have read some description of this very place,” said Charlie, -standing in front of the great skull. - -Madge wondered if he would remember enough of her account of the house -of her dreams to enable him to recognise the details before him. - -“It is fully described in Hall’s History, and in every guide-book of the -district. The animal that that skull belonged to lived some thousands of -years before the Flood, I understand.” - -“What is the exact date b.c. carved on it?” laughed Charlie. “Yes, I -daresay I came upon a paragraph or an illustration of the place. No -house is safe from the depredations of the magazines nowadays.” - -Tea was served in the hall to give Madge’s maid time to unpack; and then -the girl was shown to her room. She ran up the broad, shallow staircase -to the lobby; she had made up her mind to sit, if only for a moment, -on the carved settee; but a surprise awaited her,--no carved settee was -there. The painted window was there, but no settee was beneath it. - -She was so surprised that she stood for some moments gazing at the -vacant place. - -“That lobby looks quite bare without the settee, Miss Craven,” said -the housekeeper, who was beside her. “It’s a fine bit of carving--all -ebony.” - -“Was there a settee here?” asked Madge innocently. - -“It was only taken away to-day to be in a better light for Mrs Tremaine -to photograph it,” said the housekeeper. “Mrs Tremaine has done most -of the rare pieces in the house. This is your room, Miss Craven. It’s -called the Dauphin’s chamber, for it was here he slept fifty years ago -when he was in Dorsetshire.” - -Madge entered the room, remarking that it was beautifully furnished and -that it seemed extremely comfortable. When the door was closed she threw -herself into a chair and had a good think. - -What could it all mean? she asked herself. Why should this house become -so associated with her life? Was she going to die here? Was something -going to happen to her? Was she to meet here the man who had upon five -different occasions come to her side, telling her that he had been -waiting for her? - -For ten days she remained in the house, looking forward day by day to -some occurrence that would cause her to realise what her dream meant; -but she returned with her brother to Craven Court in disappointment. -Nothing particular happened all the time, and she came to the conclusion -that her dream was as meaningless as her brother had said it was. - -Madge Craven and her brother were staying with the Tremaines at their -own place during the pheasant shooting the following October, and one -morning their hostess mentioned that her husband’s cousin, Mrs Clifford, -had returned to England from South America and was expected to join -their party that day. - -She arrived before the shooters had come back from their day’s sport, -and she and Mrs Tremaine had a long chat in front of the fire before -tea. Mrs Clifford was a handsome old lady of the _grande dame_ type; -and being a close observer and an admirable describer of all that she -observed, she was able to entertain Mrs Tremaine with an account of the -adventures of her son and herself in South America. - -“I hope Rawdon’s health is more satisfactory now than it was,” said Mrs -Tremaine when her guest had declared that there was no more to be told. - -“I can only hope for the best,” said Mrs Clifford, becoming grave. -“Rawdon is gone across the mountains to Chili, and will not be at home -until the middle of January.” - -“He must be pretty robust to be able to undertake such a journey,” said -Mrs Tremaine. - -“He is not wanting in strength,” said Mrs Clifford. “Only--poor boy!” - -“‘Poor boy!’ ‘Why poor boy’?” asked the other. - -There was a pause before the elder lady said-- - -“It is rather difficult to explain. By the way, did any of your party at -the Manor House see the ghost?” - -“Heavens! I did not know that your family was blessed with a ghost,” - laughed Mrs Tremaine. “No, I can assure you, we were not so lucky. What -sort of a ghost is it? A ghastly figure with rattling chains? Have you -seen it?” - -“Yes, I have seen it,” said Mrs Clifford in a low voice. - -“How interesting! Do tell me what it is like!” cried the other. - -“Like? What is it like?” Mrs Clifford rose slowly from her chair, and -walked to another chair. She only remained seated for a moment, however: -with a sigh she began pacing the room slowly. - -“I fear I have touched upon a forbidden topic,” said Mrs Tremaine. “I -had no idea that you were serious.” - -“Serious--serious,” said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room, -and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had -uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window, -her hands grasping the back of a chair. - -She was by her side in a moment. - -“Pray, what is the matter?” she said. - -“You are weak--overcome by-------Let me ring for brandy.” - -Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm. - -“Who is that--that--on the terrace?” she said in a fearful whisper. - -“Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven,” replied Mrs Tremaine. - -Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the -peacocks. - -“She was with you when you were at the Manor House,” said Mrs Clifford. -“She was there, and yet you did not see the ‘ghost’?” - -“What on earth do you mean?” said Mrs Tremaine. - -“I mean this: that girl out there is the ghost that appears at the Manor -House every Christmas Eve, and it is because my poor boy, as well as I -myself, saw it, that his mind has become unhinged.” - -“Heavens! You mean to say----” - -“The poor boy has fallen, in love with a shadow--a phantom! It comes -every Christmas Eve and walks from room to room. It comes up the -stairs--I tell you that I have seen it--and sits on the old carved -settee, and then suddenly vanishes into the air whence it came.... And -that ghost is as surely that girl as I am I.” - -“This is terrible--quite uncanny! Are you quite sure?” - -“Sure--sure!” - -“It is awful to think upon. But--but--listen to me--I have an idea. If -Madge is the ghost, why not ask her down again to your place, and give -Rawdon a thing of flesh and blood to transfer his affections to?” - -“What do you say?” - -“Madge is the best girl in the world. Every eligible man in her county, -and quite as many ineligible, have wanted to marry her. You will find -out how nice she is.” - -Mrs Clifford sank into the chair. - -“Oh that it were possible!” she whispered. “He is everything to me, my -dearest boy, and until this fancy--------Oh, if it were only possible!” - -And at this point Madge entered the room, and was duly presented to Mrs -Clifford. - -***** - -If Madge was at first under the impression that the manner of Mrs -Clifford in regard to her was somewhat formal and constrained, before a -week had passed she had good reason to change her opinion on this point. -The fact was that Mrs Clifford had formed an attachment for her which -she could sincerely return; and that was why the girl was delighted to -accept her invitation to spend Christmas in Dorsetshire. It suited her -brother’s arrangements for her to do so, for he was anxious to join a -big-game expedition which was starting for India early in December. - -Mrs Clifford said she was delighted to be able to have Madge all to -herself for at least a fortnight. - -“My son cannot possibly be home until the middle of January,” said -she, “and then we shall probably have a large party at the Manor. But -meantime you and I shall be together.” - -“I do not think that we shall quarrel,” said Madge. - -“Alas! alas!” said Mrs Clifford to Mrs Tremaine, after one of the many -whispered colloquies which they had together during the week. “Alas! -Rawdon cannot be home for Christmas. It was I who took the greatest -pains to arrange matters to prevent his spending another Christmas Eve -at home until he should have completely recovered from the effects of -his strange attachment, and yet now I would give worlds to be able to -have him with us on Christmas Eve.” - -“Could you not send a cable?” suggested Mrs Tremaine. - -“I might send a dozen without being able to find him. Besides, it would -be impossible for me to tell him what has occurred.” - -“I suppose you could hardly cable him ‘Come home at once. Ghost found,” - laughed Mrs Tremaine. “Never mind. He should be all the better pleased -when the Ghost of Christmas Eve becomes a creature of flesh and blood by -the middle of January.” - -***** - -It was Christmas Eve at the Manor House. Madge’s maid had just left -her for the night, but the girl showed no inclination to go to bed. She -remained sitting by her fire thinking how strange it was that she should -be on this Christmas Eve in the flesh at the house which she had visited -in her dreams. And while she sat thinking over this, she found herself -overcome by that strange longing which she had had just a year ago, to -be again by the side of the man who had come to her side in her dream. - -She clasped her hands, saying in a whisper--“Come to me. Come to me -again and tell me that you have been waiting for me.” - -She began to undress with feverish haste, when suddenly her hands -dropped by her sides, for the terrible thought occurred to her-- - -“What if my dream will not come to me this year because I happen to be -in the midst of the real scene where it took place?” - -The thought that it might be as capricious as other dreams oppressed -her. She now felt sorry that she had agreed to visit the place. She -should have remained at Craven Court, where her dream had always been -faithful to her. - -A sudden idea occurred to her: she would leave her room and sit in -reality on the carved settee under the painted window, and then, going -to bed immediately after, she might sink unconsciously into the kind -embrace of her dream. - -She opened her door very gently and went along the silent corridor until -she reached the head of the staircase, and saw the moonlight streaming -through the coloured glass to the lobby beneath. She stole down, and in -another instant she was in the seat, the moonlight streaming over her -and throwing the coloured pattern of the glass upon her white dress. -She closed her eyes, feeling that perhaps she might fall asleep and find -herself in the midst of her dream. - -Suddenly she opened her eyes. She fancied that she heard the sound of a -footstep in the hall below. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Some -one was in the hall--some one was coming up the stairs. She sprang -to her feet, and was about to rush up to her room, when she heard a -voice--the voice that she had heard so often in that dream of hers, -saying-- - -“Ah, do not go now. You cannot go now that I have come to you--now that -I have been waiting for you for five years.” - -She could not move from where she was standing. She saw a tall man with -a bronzed face coming up the stairs. She somehow had never seen his face -in her dream, but she recognised it from the photograph which his mother -had shown her: she knew that the man was Rawdon Clifford. - -He stood before her on the lobby. - -“They thought to separate us,” he said. “They thought that my love -for you was a form of madness. But I tell you, as I told them, I would -rather stand by your side for a few minutes once a-year than be for ever -by the side of another--a more real creature. That is why I have come -over land and sea to be here in time for your visit this Christmas Eve. -I promised my mother to stay away; but I could not--I could not keep my -promise, and I came to England a fortnight sooner than I expected, and -entered the house only this moment--like a burglar. But I am rewarded.” - -“I do not understand. I am Mrs Clifford’s guest. Madge Craven is my -name,” said Madge. - -The man sprang back and raised his hands in surprise. - -“Great heavens! She is flesh and blood--at last--at last!” he cried. - -He put out his hand slowly--doubtfully. Madge put out hers to it. A cry -of delight came from him as he felt her warm hand, and he made it still -warmer by his kisses. She could not stop him. She made no attempt to do -so. - -“Tell me that I was not mad--that I am not mad now,” he said in a loving -whisper. - -“Oh no--only--is it not strange?--For five years I have this dream--this -very dream--and yet I never was in this house until last January,” said -Madge. - -“You have been with me every Christmas Eve for five years, and you will -remain here for ever,” said he. “Do not tell me that we have not met -before--do not tell me that you have not loved me as I have loved you -all these years. What did that dream of yours mean?” - -“I think I know now--now,” whispered the girl. - -***** - -Mrs Tremaine considers, herself the only survivor of the people who -professed to exorcise the ghosts in whom our grandfathers were foolish -enough to believe. - - - - -THE BLOOD ORANGES - -Ah, my friend,” said the Marchesa, “you Englishmen are like to our -mountain which we see smoking over there.” She threw herself into -the attitude of the ‘_prima donna assoluta_ in an impassioned moment -preceding the singing of the romanza, as she pointed across the blue Bay -of Naples to where Vesuvius was sending forth a delicate hazy fume. - -“I don’t know anything about Englishmen,” said Sir Percival morosely; -“but I know that when you are near me my heart is a volcano--my -soul----” - -The lady’s laugh interrupted him--one cannot make use of similes with a -poetical flavour about them when a violet-eyed lady is leaning back her -head in laughter, even though the action displays a beautiful throat and -the curves of a superb neck. The Marchesa del Grippo displayed a -marvellous throat and neck, and was fully aware of this fact. Her laugh -rang out like a soprano dwelling with delight on a high note and -producing it _tremolo_. - -“Ah,” she cried, “you are at pains to prove to me that I am right in the -way I judge you Englishmen: to-day you are volcanic, to-morrow we find -not the blaze and the thunder but only--_ecco!_ a puff of smoke.” - -Once again she pointed--but this time carelessly--in the direction of -the mountain. - -The man frowned. - -“For heaven’s sake do not say ‘You Englishmen’ when I am by!” he cried. -“I have nothing in common with Englishmen.” - -“I have never met an Englishman who did not try to impress upon me that -he was not as other Englishmen,” said the Marchesa. “The last one to say -so to me was your wicked young Lord Byron. The Guicciola presented him -to me at Genoa. Heavens! the old Count is more like an Englishman than -Lord Byron! He can keep his eyes fast shut when it suits him. Enough; I -said ‘You Englishmen,’ and he became red with anger. Droll! I had to ask -forgiveness for having accused his lordship of being English. Oh, you -are a nation of patriots.” - -“You do not mean to keep up the acquaintance of Lord Byron, I would fain -hope,” said Sir Percival with another frown. - -Again the lady laughed. - -“After that do not tell me that you are not an Englishman,” she -said. “It is so very English to frown when the name of Lord Byron is -mentioned--to give a young woman with a husband a solemn warning to -beware of that wicked young noble, while all the time the one that -utters the warning is doing his best to earn the reputation of the -disreputable Byron. The English detest Byron; but if you want to flatter -an Englishman to the farthest point, all you have to do is to tell him -that you believe him to be a second Lord Byron. Never mind: I like the -Lord Byron, and I like--yes, a little--another of his countrymen, though -he is, I fear, very wicked.” - -“Wicked?--wicked?” cried Sir Percival--he was plainly flattered. “What -is it to be wicked?” - -“Ah, do not ask me to give it a definition: I might say that it was to -be you--you yourself.” - -“If it is wicked to love--madly--blindly--then indeed I admit that----” - -“That you are _aut Diabolus, aut Byron?_ I know not which of the two the -English regard as the worse. Well, suppose I do not admit your right to -tell me of your love: I suppose I dare not dispute your right to love, -but I can dispute your right to tell me of it--that is, if it exists.” - -“If it exists? Heavens! my beloved creature, would I have followed you -here from England if I did not love you to distraction?” - -“It needs such extraordinary self-sacrifice on the part of an Englishman -to leave England for Italy! I think you were glad to make some -excuse--even so feeble a one as that of being in love with an Italian -woman--to make a journey to Naples. But I forgot; you were in Italy once -before, were you not?” - -“Yes; I was in some parts,--the north--Tuscany--Florence--never -here--no, never here.” - -“Never here? ah, yes; now I remember well. You said you had never been -to Sorrento. I wonder did I hold out any inducement to you to come to -Sorrento?--you must have been studying a map of our bay, for you knew by -name every landmark, every island, when I tried to be your cicerone just -now.” - -The glance that he cast at her after giving a little start had something -of suspicion in it. - -“Everyone knows the landmarks of the lovely Bay of Naples,” said he; -“but I--ah, my beloved, did you not tell me all its beauties when we -first met in London six months ago? Had you no idea that every word -which fell from your lips--even the words in which you described the -scenery around your home--should be burnt into my memory for evermore? -Ah, sweet one, will you never listen to me? Does my devotion count for -nothing with you?” - -“My husband,” she whispered with a tremulous downward glance--the glance -of love’s surrender--he knew it well: he was a man of considerable -experience of woman in all her phases. He knew that he had not been -fooled by the Marchesa. - -“Did not you tell me that you detested him?” he cried. “If a husband -treats a wife cruelly, as he has treated you, he has wilfully forfeited -all claim to her devotion. There are some acts so atrocious that it is -impossible to find an adequate punishment for them.” - -“You think that even if the punishment were a crime in the eyes of the -world it would be sanctified by heaven if it were meted out to a monster -of cruelty?” The Marchesa was looking at him through half-closed eyes. -He saw that her hands were clenched tightly, and he did not fail to -notice how tumultuously her bosom was heaving. He was exultant. He had -conquered. That opportune word which he had thrown in regarding her -husband’s cruelty had overcome her last scruple. - -She was his. - -“My beloved--my beloved,” he whispered, “cruelty to such a woman as you -makes sacred the mission of avenging it. You will leave him--with me you -will never know aught save happiness.” - -She gave a little laugh, and then put her hand in his, not doubtfully, -but with an expression of the amplest trustfulness. - -“My last scruple is gone,” said she in the same low tone that he had -employed. “What you have said has made my mind easy.” - -“You will come to me?” - -“Till one of us dies.” - -She spoke the words with the fire flashing from her eyes as she gazed -into his face. The force of that gaze of hers gave him a little shock. -It was only a momentary sensation, however; in a second he recollected -that he was talking to an Italian, not an Englishwoman. - -“Till one of us dies--till one of us dies,” he whispered, poorly -imitating her intensity. “Ah, I knew that it would come, my darling. -Would I have travelled from England if I had not been certain of -you--certain of my own love for you, I mean? And you will come with -me--you will leave him? It is his punishment--his righteous punishment.” - -“I shall leave him with you, I swear to you,” cried the Marchesa. - -For a moment he failed to catch her exact meaning. He did not want -the Marchese to be left with him; but of course he perceived the next -instant that she meant to say that she would leave her husband and go -with him, her lover; and there was no tremor in his voice as he said-- - -“You will never repent it! Ah, what happiness will be ours, my soul! -Shall it be tomorrow? I can hire a vessel to take us to Malta,--there we -shall be safe.” - -“Nay, it is too sudden,” said she. “My husband could not fail to have -his suspicions aroused. Nay, we shall have to await our opportunity. If -he asks you to pay us a visit you must come. He will be going to Rome in -a day or two, and I shall contrive to be left behind.” - -“Ah, that will be our chance,” he cried. “Fate is on our side, my dear -one.” - -“Yes, Fate is on our side,” she said in a low tone that could not -possibly reach the ear of the tall and straight man who approached them -as they stood at the balustrade of the Villa Galeotto overlooking the -lovely Bay of Naples. - -“It is such a great pleasure to me to meet you once again, Sir Percival -Cleave,” said the Marchese, with a smile. “I hope that the Marchesa has -offered you the hospitality of our humble home?” - -“The Marchesa has been so very kind as suggest that I should visit your -castle for an hour or two before I leave this lovely neighbourhood,” - said Sir Percival. - -“Nay, surely she made you name the day,” said the Marchese, turning -to his wife. “Is it possible, my dear, that you failed to be more -specific?” he asked with great gravity. - -The lady gave a shrug in response, and her husband became still more -grave. - -“The hospitality which I received in England can never be forgotten -by me, though my mission was an unpleasant one,” said he. “The King -of Naples--but we will avoid politics, as people must if they mean -to remain good friends. Enough; you will honour us by paying us a -visit--but when? What day will suit your convenience?” - -“I am only remaining in this neighbourhood for a day or two,” said -Sir Percival. “I have, alas! some important business that will take me -northward; but--well, I have no engagement to-morrow, if that day would -suit your Excellency.” - -“It will suit me better than any other day,” replied the Marchese. “I -have myself to go to Rome almost at once. I shall never cease to be -thankful to Fate for having so delayed my departure as to enable me to -have the pleasure of meeting Sir Percival Cleave. You will come in -the afternoon and eat a simple dinner at our table. You are already -acquainted with the road to the Castle?” - -“Oh yes--that is, no; I do not know the road, but I do not suppose I -shall have any difficulty in finding it out.” - -“What!” the Marchese had turned once more to his wife and had assumed -the tone of a reproof. “What! you did not make Sir Percival aware of the -direction to the Castle?” - -“Sir Percival has been studying a map of the Bay,” said she. “Though he -has never before been here he shows a remarkable acquaintance with the -neighbourhood.” - -“It is not right to take so much for granted,” said the Marchese. “Allow -me to repair the negligence of the Marchesa, Sir Percival.” - -He then pointed out to the Englishman the direction to take in order to -reach the road leading to the cliffs a mile beyond Sorrento, where -the Castello del Grippo stood in the centre of its olive-groves. -Sir Percival thanked him, and said that having received such plain -directions he would not now carry out his intention of driving to the -castle; he would ride there instead. - -Before the Marchese and his wife took their departure, the latter -had managed to whisper in the ear of Sir Percival as she returned the -pressure of his hand-- - -“Without fail.” - -“Till one of us dies,” he replied. - -How strange it all was! he thought that night as he stood at the door of -the inn where he was staying at Sorrento, and listened to the singing -of the fishermen putting out to sea. How strange it all was! The seven -years that had passed since he had last heard the hymn of the fishermen -in that Bay seemed no more than so many days. He had had his adventures -since he had been so foolish as to fancy himself in love with -Paolina--poor Paolina! A good many faces had interposed between the -face of the Italian girl of 1815 and the face of the Italian Marchesa -in 1822. But what a whimsical fate it was that had made him fall in -love with the Marchesa del Grippo more deeply than he had ever permitted -himself to fall in regard to other women! He had never known what it was -to love before, though she was the woman whom he should have avoided, -even if there were no other woman to love in the wide world. - -Ah, it was fate--the Marchesa had said so that afternoon at the Villa -Galeotto. She had loved him from the first--he was ready to swear to -that. He remembered now certain indications of her passion which he -had noticed the first evening they had met, but which had escaped his -memory. It was at Lady Blessington’s in Kensington, and the Marchesa -had expressed the pleasure it gave her to meet with an Englishman who -spoke such excellent Italian. He had been very cautious at that time in -replying to her questions as to the length of time he had been in Italy -and the places that he had visited. It was not beyond the bounds -of possibility that, after the lapse of seven years, any one might -recognise him as the lover of Paolina, so it was just as well, he -thought, to be careful. He had not mentioned a word about Sorrento, and -not until the Marchesa had stood by his side in the garden of the Villa -Galeotto had he lapsed in his feigning a complete ignorance of the -locality. It was the force of his passion for that lovely woman which -had overwhelmed him, causing him to forget himself and to refer by name -to various landmarks. - -But what did it matter now? The woman had responded to him, and in a -day or two would be by his side for--well, for as long as he pleased. A -short distance away Lord Byron was affording the Italians a new reading -of the cold-blooded Englishman; but Sir Percival Cleave would take very -good care that he was not made such a fool of by the Marchesa as Lord -Byron was by the Contessa Guicciola. Byron was practically a pauper, -whereas he, Sir Percival Cleave, was rich. He could therefore (the logic -was his) prevent himself from ever being made a fool of by any woman, -Marchesa or Contessa though she might be. - -But he loved her--of that he was certain. He had asked her if he would -have faced the discomforts of a journey from England to Italy had he not -been in love with her; and now as he stood listening to the fishermen’s -hymns sung in the boats that were drifting out of the Bay, he asked -himself the same question. Oh yes, he loved her! and her husband was -cruel to her--she had told him so in England, and she had been greatly -comforted by his assurance--given in answer to her inquiry--that the -crime of being cruel to her was so great as to condone any act of -hers--say, running away with another man. - -She was superstitious; she had some scruples. The priests, no doubt, -were in the pay of her husband, and they had probably exaggerated the -crime of a wife’s leaving a husband,--it would be so like a greasy -Italian priest to lay emphasis upon this one particular act; but he, an -English gentleman to the core, and properly sensible of the blessings of -a Protestant king and constitution, had succeeded in counteracting the -insidious teaching of the priests. She had listened to him. She -had readily accepted that great truth: a woman’s retaliation to her -husband’s cruelty is sanctified in the eyes of heaven. That was his -point: the eyes of heaven. It was immaterial in what light such an act -of retaliation as he suggested to her would appear in the eyes of the -people of the world. - -Before he slept he had brought himself to believe that he was actually -the lady’s honourable champion, boldly coming forward to rescue her from -an intolerable oppressor. - -The Castello del Grippo was built on the summit of the headland that -sloped away from the sea at one side, but was very precipitous on -the other. For three hundred years the family of Del Grippo had been -accustomed to display a light in the tower nightly for the guidance of -the fishing-boats, for the Castle could be seen from the north as well -as the south. For more than a mile on the shoreward side of the Castle -the olive-trees grew mixed with lemons and oranges; and as Sir -Percival rode along the somewhat rough avenue on his way to accept -the hospitality of the man whose wife he had the previous day been -instructing on some interesting points in regard to her duty, he was -entranced with the perfumes of the fruits and flowers. The air was heavy -with odours of the citrons, and the gold of the luscious fruit gleamed -among the glossy leaves. Though he had never been on the avenue before, -the gleam of the fruit and the exquisite scents brought back to him the -sweet memory of Paolina. It was not at this side of the great garden -that he had been accustomed to meet her, but on the other side--that -nearest the cliff, a mile away. - -It was a sweet sad memory, and it was so poignant that it even caused -him to sigh and murmur-- - -“Ah, la povera Paolina! la povera Paolina!” - -And having thereby satisfied himself that his heart was as soft as the -heart of a little child, he urged his horse forward. - -He soon reached the Castle, and it seemed gloomy enough, outlined -against the wonderful blue sky. He had seen numbers of the peasants -working among the olives, but close to the Castle none were in sight. -It was not until he had dismounted and pulled the handle of the old iron -bell that a servant appeared. In a few moments the Marchese himself came -out of a room at one side of the hall and welcomed his guest, giving -instructions to another servant to stable the horse. - -“You have not met the Marchesa?” he inquired of Sir Percival. “She left -the Castle half-an-hour ago, trusting to meet you. Pray enter and we -shall have some refreshment.” - -But Sir Percival declined to enter in the absence of the Marchesa. He -felt that to do so would be very gross--to say the least of it. The -idea of sitting down with the Marchese while the lady--his lady--was -wandering disconsolately around the grounds in search of him was very -repugnant to him. - -“As you will,” said the Marchese with a shrug when he remarked that he -would like to go in search of the Marchesa. “As you will. She is not -likely to get lost. Oh yes; we shall go in search of her, and that -will serve me as an excuse for showing you some of the spots to which -interest attaches within our grounds.” - -He picked up a hat and stick and left the Castle with his visitor. - -“We shall first go to the grove where the historic duel was fought -between my ancestor and the two nephews of Pope Adrian,” said the -Marchese. “You have heard of that affair, no doubt.” - -“Shall we be likely to find the Marchesa there?” asked Sir Percival. - -“As likely as not we shall meet her as we go there,” replied the -Marchese. - -He led the way through an avenue of ilex, and they soon came upon a -cleared space at the foot of a terrace of rocks. The Marchese explained -the position occupied by the combatants in the famous duel that had so -consolidated the position of the family of Del Grippo. But all the time -the details of the incident were being explained to him Sir Percival was -casting his eyes around for the appearance of the lady. What did he care -about Pope Adrian or his nephews so long as his lady--he had come to -think of her as his lady--was roaming the grounds in search of him? - -Then his host brought him to where the body of his grandfather had been -found by the side of the three men whom he had killed before receiving -the fatal blow from behind, dealt by that poltroon, Prince Roberto, who -had hired four of his bravos to attack the old man. At another part of -the grounds were the ruins of the ancient summer-house, where a certain -member of this distinguished family had strangled his wife, whom he had -suspected of infidelity, though, as the Marchese explained, the lady had -saved him more than once from assassination and was perfectly guiltless. - -An hour had been passed viewing these very interesting localities, about -which the air of the middle ages still lingered, and still the Marchesa -was absent. - -“Should we not return to the Castle? the Marchesa may be waiting for -us,” suggested Sir Percival. - -“A thousand pardons,” cried the Marchese. “I fear I have fatigued you. -You are thirsty.” - -“Well, yes; I am somewhat thirsty,” laughed the visitor. - -“How discourteous I have been! We shall have the refreshment of an -orange before returning. There is a famous grove a short way toward the -cliff.” - -He strode onward, and then, suddenly turning down a narrow path made -among the olives, Sir Percival gave a start, for he found himself by the -side of the Marchese, at the one part of those grounds with which he was -well acquainted. They stood among the orange-trees at the summit of the -cliff which he had nightly climbed to meet Paolina. - -“Here are our choicest fruits,” said the Marchese, plucking an orange -and handing it to his visitor. “Break it open and you will see how -exquisite the fruit is.” - -Sir Percival broke the orange, but the moment he did so it fell from his -fingers and he gave a cry of horror, for out of the fruit had come a red -stream staining his hands. - -The Marchese laughed loud and long. - -“Your hands are embrued with blood,” he said. “Oh, a stranger might -fancy for a moment that Sir Percival Cleave was a murderer. Ah! pray -pardon my folly. That is only the refreshing juice of the orange. And -yet you fancied that it was blood! Come, my friend, take courage; here -is another. Eat it; you will find it delicious. I have heard that there -are in the world such strange monsters as are refreshed by drinking -blood--we have ourselves vampires in this neighbourhood. But you and I, -sir, we prefer only the heart’s blood of a simple orange. You will eat -one.” - -“I could not touch one,” said Sir Percival. “Nay; to do me the favour? -What! an Englishman and superstitious?” - -Sir Percival took another orange and made a pretence of eating it. His -hands trembled so, however, they were soon dripping with the crimson -juice. - -“You are caught red-handed in the act,” said the Marchese, “red-handed-- -but the man who came here long ago was not so captured.” - -“Another medieval story?” said Sir Percival. “Had your Excellency not -better reserve it for the evening?” - -“This story is not a medieval one; and it can only be told on the spot,” - said the Marchese. “You have never been here before or you would not -need to be told that this orange-grove was until seven years ago an -ordinary one. It was not until blood was spilt here seven years ago that -the fruit became crimson when bruised, and blood--your hands are dyed -with it----flowed from it as you have seen--it is on your lips--you have -drunk of her blood--Paolina’s.” - -“For Gods sake let us leave this place!” said Sir Percival hoarsely. “I -have heard enough stories of bloodshed.” - -“Nay; this one is so piteous, you shall hear it and weep, sir--ah! -tears of blood might be drawn from the most hard-hearted at the story of -Paolina. She was a sweet girl. She lived with her sister, who is now the -Marchesa----” - -“Good God!” - -“What amazes you, sir? Is it remarkable that my wife should have had a -sister?’ - -“No, no; of course not; I was only surprised to find those horrid marks -still on my hands. Pray let us return to the Castle and permit me to -remove the stains.” - -“Poor Paolina!--she lived at the Castle with our aunt seven years ago. -She was a flower of girlhood. I thought myself in love with her; but -when my brother Ugo--he was the elder--confided in me that he loved her, -I left the Castle. He loved her, and it seemed that she returned his -affection. They were betrothed, and one could not doubt that their -happiness was assured. But one evil day she met a man--a scoundrel; I -regret to say that he was an Englishman--do not move, sir, you shall -hear me out. This villain spoke to her of love. He tempted her. She was -accustomed to meet him every evening on this very spot--we learned -that he sailed from Sorrento and climbed the cliff. My brother began to -suspect. He followed her here one evening, and she confessed everything -to him. He was a passionate man, and he strangled her here--here--and -then flung himself headlong from the cliff.” - -“A gruesome story, Marchese. Now, shall we return?” - -“Villain!--assassin!--look at your hands--they are wet with her -blood--your lips--they have drunk her blood, but ‘tis their last -draught--for----” - -Sir Percival sprang at the man and caught him by the throat, but in an -instant his hands relaxed. He had only strength to glance round. He saw -the woman who had stabbed him, before he fell forward. - -“That one was for her--for her--my beloved sister. This one is for our -dear brother--the man whom you wronged. This----” - -She stabbed him again. His blood mixed with the crimson stains on the -earth. - -“Look at it--bear witness that I have kept my oath,” cried the Marchesa. -“Did not I swear that his blood should be drunk by the same earth that -drank hers?” - -“Beloved one, you are an angel--an avenging angel!” cried the Marchese, -embracing his wife. - -The next day Sir Percival Cleave’s horse was found dead at the foot of -one of the cliffs; but the body of the “unfortunate baronet”--so he was -termed by the newspapers (English)--was never recovered. - - - - -THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. - -When Arthur Jephson wrote to me to join his Christmas party at -Northavon Priory, I was set wondering where I had heard the name of -this particular establishment. I felt certain that I had heard the name -before, but I could not recollect for the moment whether I had come -upon it in a newspaper report of a breach of promise of marriage or in a -Blue-Book bearing upon Inland Fisheries: I rather inclined to the belief -that it was in a Blue-Book of some sort. I had been devoting myself some -years previously to an exhaustive study of this form of literature; -for being very young, I had had a notion that a Blue-Book education -was essential to any one with parliamentary aspirations. Yes, I had, -I repeat, been very young at that time, and I had not found out that a -Blue-Book is the _oubliette_ of inconvenient facts. - -It was not until I had promised Arthur to be with him on Christmas Eve -that I recollected where I had read something about Northavon Priory, -and in a moment I understood how it was I had acquired the notion that -the name had appeared in an official document. I had read a good deal -about this Priory in a curious manuscript which I had unearthed at -Sir Dennis le Warden’s place in Norfolk, known as Marsh Towers. -The document, which, with many others, I found stowed away in a -wall-cupboard in the great library, purported to be a draft of the -evidence taken before one of the Commissions appointed by King Henry -VIII. to inquire into the abuses alleged to be associated with certain -religious houses throughout England. An ancestor of Sir Dennis’s had, it -appeared, been a member of one of these Commissions, and he had taken a -note of the evidence which he had in the course of his duties handed to -the King. - -The parchments had, I learned, been preserved in an iron coffer with -double padlocks, but the keys had been lost at some remote period, and -then the coffer had been covered over with lumber in a room in the east -tower overlooking the moat, until an outbreak of fire had resulted in an -overturning of the rubbish and a discovery of the coffer. A blacksmith -had been employed to pick the locks, which he did with a sledge-hammer; -but it was generally admitted that his energy had been wasted when the -contents of the box were made known. Sir Dennis cared about nothing -except the improvement of the breed of horses through the agency of race -meetings, so the manuscripts of his painstaking ancestor were bundled -into one of the presses in the library, some, however, being reserved by -the intelligent housekeeper in the still-room to make jam-pot covers--a -purpose for which, as she explained to me at considerable length, they -were extremely well adapted. - -I had no great difficulty in deciphering those that came under my hand, -for I had had considerable experience of the tricks of early English -writers; and as I read I became greatly interested in all the original -“trustie and well-beelou’d Sir Denice le Warden” had written. The -frankness of the evidence which he had collected on certain points took -away my breath, although I had been long accustomed to the directness -with which some of the fifteenth-century people expressed themselves. - -Northavon Priory was among the religious houses whose practices had -formed the subject of the inquiry, and it was the summary of Sir -Denice’s notes regarding the Black Masses alleged to have been -celebrated within its walls that proved so absorbing to me. The -bald account of the nature of these orgies would of itself have been -sufficient, if substantiated, to bring about the dissolution of all the -order in England. The Black Mass was a pagan revel, the details of which -were unspeakable, though their nature was more than hinted at by the -King’s Commissioner. Anything so monstrously blasphemous could not be -imagined by the mind of man, for with the pagan orgie there was mixed -up the most solemn rite of the Mass. It was celebrated on the night of -Christmas Eve, and at the hour of midnight the celebration culminated -in an invocation to the devil, written so as to parody an office of the -Church, and, according to the accounts of some witnesses, in a human -sacrifice. Upon this latter point, however, Sir Denice admitted there -was a diversity of opinion. - -One of the witnesses examined was a man who had entered the Priory -grounds from the river during a fearful tempest, on one Christmas Eve, -and had, he said, witnessed the revel through a window to which he had -climbed. He declared that at the hour of midnight the candles had -been extinguished, but that a moment afterwards an awful red light had -floated through the room, followed by the shrieks of a human being at -the point of strangulation, and then by horrible yells of laughter. -Another man who was examined had been a wood-cutter in the service of -the Priory, and he had upon one occasion witnessed the celebration of -a Black Mass; but he averred that no life was sacrificed, though he -admitted that in the strange red light, which had flashed through the -room, he had seen what appeared to be two men struggling on the floor. -In the general particulars of the orgie there was, however, no diversity -of opinion, and had the old Sir Denice le Warden been anything of a -comparative mythologist, he could scarcely fail to have been greatly -interested in being brought face to face with so striking an example -of the survival of an ancient superstition within the walls of a holy -building. - -During a rainy week I amused myself among the parchments dealing with -Northavon Priory, and although what I read impressed me greatly at the -time, yet three years of pretty hard work in various parts of the -world had so dulled my memory of any incident so unimportant as the -deciphering of a mouldy document that, as I have already stated, it was -not until I had posted my letter to Arthur Jephson agreeing to spend a -day or two with his party, that I succeeded in recalling something of -what I had read regarding Northavon Priory. - -I had taken it for granted that the Priory had been demolished when -Henry had superintended the dissolution of the religious establishments -throughout the country: I did not think it likely that one with such a -record as was embodied in the notes would be allowed to remain with a -single stone on another. A moment’s additional reflection admitted of my -perceiving how extremely unlikely it was that, even if Northavon Priory -had been spared by the King, it would still be available for visitors -during the latter years of the nineteenth century. I had seen many -red-brick “abbeys” and “priories” in various parts of the country, not -more than ten years old, inhabited mostly by gentlemen who had made -fortunes in iron, or perhaps lard, which constitutes, I understand, an -excellent foundation for a fortune. There might be, for all I knew, a -score of Northavon Priories in England. Arthur Jephson’s father had -made his money by the judicious advertising of a certain oriental rug -manufactured in the Midlands, and I thought it very likely that he had -built a mansion for himself which he had called Northavon Priory. - -A letter which I received from Arthur set my mind at rest. He explained -to me very fully that Northavon Priory was a hotel built within the -walls of an ancient religious house. - -He had spent a delightful month fishing in the river during the -summer,--I had been fishing in the Amazon at that time,--and had -sojourned at the hotel, which he had found to be a marvel of comfort in -spite of its picturesqueness. This was why, he said, he had thought -how jolly it would be to entertain a party of his friends at the place -during the Christmas week. - -That explanation was quite good enough for me. I had a week or two to -myself in England before going to India, and so soon as I recalled what -I had read regarding North-avon Priory, I felt glad that my liking for -Jephson had induced me to accept his invitation. - -It was not until we were travelling together to the station nearest to -the Priory that he mentioned to me, quite incidentally, that during the -summer he had been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a young -woman who resided in a spacious mansion within easy distance of the -Priory Hotel, and who was, so far as he was capable of judging,--and he -considered that in such matters his judgment was worth something,--the -most charming girl in England. - -“I see,” I remarked before his preliminary panegyric had quite come to -a legitimate conclusion--“I see all now: you haven’t the courage--to -be more exact, the impudence--to come down alone to the hotel--she has -probably a brother who is a bit of an athlete--but you think that Tom -Singleton and I will form a good enough excuse for an act on your part -which parents and guardians can construe in one way only.” - -“Well, perhaps----Hang it all, man, you needn’t attribute to me any -motives but those of the purest hospitality,” laughed my companion. -“Isn’t the prospect of a genuine old English Christmas--the Yule log, -and that sort of thing--good enough for you without going any further?” - -“It’s quite good enough for me,” I replied. “I only regret that it is -not good enough for you. You expect to see her every day?” - -“Every day? Don’t be a fool, Jim. If I see her more than four times in -the course of the week--I think I should manage to see her four times--I -will consider myself exceptionally lucky.” - -“And if you see her less than four times you will reckon yourself -uncommonly unlucky?” - -“O, I think I have arranged for four times all right: I’ll have to trust -to luck for the rest.” - -“What! you mean to say that the business has gone as far as that?” - -“As what?” - -“As making arrangements for meetings with her?” - -My friend laughed complacently. - -“Well, you see, old chap, I couldn’t very well give you this treat -without letting her know that I should be in the neighbourhood,” said -he. - -“Oh, indeed. I don’t see, however, what the----” - -“Great heavens! You mean to say that you don’t see----Oh, you will have -your joke.” - -“I hope I will have one eventually; I can’t say that I perceive much -chance of one at present, however. You’ll not give us much of your -interesting society during the week of our treat, as you call it.” - -“I’ll give you as much of it as I can spare--more than you’ll be likely -to relish, perhaps. A week’s a long time, Jim.” - -“‘Time travels at divers paces with divers persons,’ my friend. I -suppose she’s as lovely as any of the others of past years?” - -“As lovely! Jim, she’s just the----” - -“Don’t trouble yourself over the description. I have a vivid -recollection of the phrases you employed in regard to the others. There -was Lily, and Gwen, and Bee, and--yes, by George! there was a fourth; -her name was Nelly, or----” - -“All flashes in the pan, my friend. I didn’t know my own mind in those -old days; but now, thank heaven!--Oh, you’ll agree with me when you see -her. This is the real thing and no mistake.” - -He was good enough to give me a genuine lover’s description of the young -woman, whose name was, he said, Sylvia St Leger; but it did not differ -materially from the descriptions which had come from him in past days, -of certainly four other girls for whom he had, he imagined, entertained -a devotion strong as death itself. Alas! his devotion had not survived a -single year in any case. - -When we arrived at the hotel, after a drive of eight miles from -the railway station, we found Tom Singleton waiting for us rather -impatiently, and in a quarter of an hour we were facing an excellent -dinner. We were the only guests at the hotel, for though it was -picturesquely situated on the high bank of the river, and was doubtless -a delightful place for a sojourn in summer, yet in winter it possessed -few attractions to casual visitors. - -After dinner I strolled over the house, and found, to my surprise, that -the old walls of the Priory were practically intact. The kitchen was -also unchanged, but the great refectory was now divided into four rooms. -The apartments upstairs had plainly been divided in the same way by -brick partitions; but the outer walls, pierced with narrow windows, were -those of the original Priory. - -In the morning I made further explorations, only outside the building, -and came upon the ruins of the old Priory tower; and then I perceived -that only a small portion of the original building had been utilised -for the hotel. The landlord, who accompanied me, was certainly no -antiquarian. He told me that he had been “let in” so far as the hotel -was concerned. He had been given to understand that the receipts for the -summer months were sufficiently great to compensate for the absence -of visitors during the winter; but his experience of one year had not -confirmed this statement, made by the people from whom he had bought the -place, and he had come to the conclusion that, as he had been taken in -in the transaction, it was his duty to try to take in some one else in -the same way. - -“I only hope that I may succeed, sir,” he said, “but I’m doubtful about -it. People are getting more suspicious every day.” - -“You weren’t suspicious, at any rate,” said I. - -“That I weren’t--more’s the pity, sir,” said he. “But it’ll take me all -my time to get the place off my hands, I know. Ah, yes; it’s hard to get -people to take your word for anything nowadays.” - -For the next two days Tom Singleton and I were left a good deal -together, the fact being that our friend Arthur parted from us after -lunch and only returned in time for dinner, declaring upon each occasion -that he had just passed the pleasantest day of his life. On Christmas -Eve he came to us in high spirits, bearing with him an invitation from -a lady who had attained distinction through being the mother of Miss St -Leger, for us to spend Christmas Day at her house--it had already been -pointed out to us by Arthur: it was a fine Georgian country house, named -The Grange. - -“I’ve accepted for you both,” said Arthur. “Mrs St Leger is a most -charming woman, and her daughter--I don’t know if I mentioned that she -had a daughter--well, if I omitted, I am now in a position to assure -you that her daughter--her name is Sylvia--is possibly the most -beautiful----But there’s no use trying to describe her; you’ll see her -for yourselves to-morrow, and judge if I’ve exaggerated in the least -when I say that the world does not contain a more exquisite creature.” - -“Yes, one hour with her will be quite sufficient to enable us to -pronounce an opinion on that point,” laughed Tom. - -We remained smoking in front of the log fire that blazed in the great -hearth, until about eleven o’clock, and then went to our rooms upstairs, -after some horse-play in the hall. - -My room was a small one at the beginning of the corridor, Arthur -Jephson’s was alongside it, and at the very end of the corridor was Tom -Singleton’s. All had at one time been one apartment. - -Having walked a good deal during the day, I was very tired, and had -scarcely got into bed before I fell asleep. - -When I awoke it was with a start and a consciousness that something -was burning. A curious red light streamed into the room from outside. I -sprang from my bed in a moment and ran to the window. But before I had -reached it the room was in darkness once more, and there came a yell of -laughter, apparently from the next room. - -For a moment I was paralysed. But the next instant I had recovered my -presence of mind. I believed that Arthur and Tom had been playing some -of their tricks upon me. They had burnt a red light outside my window, -and were roaring with laughter as they heard me spring out of bed. - -That was the explanation of what I had seen and heard which first -suggested itself to me; and I was about to return to bed when my door -was knocked at and then opened. - -“What on earth have you been up to?” came the voice of Arthur Jephson. -“Have you set the bed-curtains on fire? If you have, that’s nothing to -laugh at.” - -“Get out of this room with your larking,” said I. “It’s a very poor joke -that of yours, Arthur. Go back to your bed.” - -He struck a light--he had a match-box in his hand--and went to my candle -without a word. In a moment the room was faintly illuminated. - -“Do you mean to say that you hadn’t a light here just now--a red light?” - he cried. - -“I had no light: a red light floated through the room, but it seemed to -come from outside,” said I. - -“And who was it laughed in that wild way?” - -“I took it for granted that it was you and Tom who were about your usual -larks.” - -“Larks! No, I was about no larks, I can promise you. Good Lord! man, -that laugh was something beyond a lark.” He seated himself on my bed. -“Do you fancy it may have been some of the servants going about the -stables with a carriage-lamp?” he continued. “There may have been a late -arrival at the hotel, you know.” - -“That’s not at all unlikely,” said I. “Yes, it may have been that, and -the laughter may have been between the grooms.” - -“I don’t hear any sound of bustle through the house or outside,” said -he. - -“The stables are not at this angle of the building,” said I. “We must -merely have seen the light and heard that laughter as the carriage -passed our angle. Anyhow, we’ll only catch cold if we lounge about in -our pyjamas like this. You’d best get back to bed and let me do the -same.” - -“I don’t feel much inclined to sleep, but I’ll not prevent your having -your night’s rest,” said he, rising. “I wonder is it near morning?” - -I held the candle before the dial of my watch that hung above my bed. - -“It’s exactly five minutes past twelve,” said I. “We’ve slept barely an -hour.” - -“Then the sooner I clear out the better it will be for both of us,” said -he. - -He went away slowly, and I heard him strike a match in his own room. He -evidently meant to light his candle. - -Some hours had passed before I fell into an uneasy sleep, and once more -I was awakened by Arthur Jephson, who stood by my bedside. The morning -light was in the room. - -“For God’s sake, come into Tom’s room!” he whispered. “He’s dead!--Tom -is dead!” - -I tried to realise his words. Some moments had elapsed before I -succeeded in doing so. I sprang from my bed and ran down the corridor -to the room occupied by Tom Singleton. The landlord and a couple of -servants were already there. They had burst in the door. - -It was but too true: our poor friend lay on his bed with his body bent -and his arms twisted as though he had been struggling desperately with -some one at his last moment. His face, too, was horribly contorted, and -his eyes were wide open. - -“A doctor,” I managed to say. - -“He’s already sent for, sir,” said the landlord. - -In a few moments the doctor arrived. - -“Cardiac attack,” said he. “Was he alone in the room? No, he can’t have -been alone.” - -“He was quite alone,” said Arthur. “I knocked at the door a quarter of -an hour ago, but getting no answer, I tried to force the lock. It was -too strong for me; but the landlord and the man-servant who was bringing -us our hot water burst in the door at my request.” - -“And the window--was it fastened?” asked the doctor. - -“It was secure, sir,” said the landlord. - -“Ah, a sudden cardiac attack,” said the doctor. - -There was, of course, an inquest, but as no evidence of foul play was -forthcoming, the doctor’s phrase “cardiac attack” satisfied the jury, -and a verdict of “Death from natural causes” was returned. - -Before I went back to town I examined the room in which our poor friend -had died. On the side of one of the window-shutters there were four -curious burnt marks. They gave one the impression that the shutter had -at one time been grasped by a man wearing a red-hot gauntlet. - -I started for India before the end of the year and remained there for -eight months. Then I thought I would pay a visit to a sister of mine in -Queensland. On my return at the end of the year I meant to stop at Cairo -for a few weeks. On entering Shepheard’s Hotel I found myself face to -face with Arthur Jephson and his wife--he called her Sylvia. They had -been married in August, but their honeymoon seemed still to be in its -first quarter. It was after Mrs Jephson had retired, and when Arthur was -sitting with me enjoying the cool of the night by the aid of a pretty -strong cigar or two, that we ventured to allude to the tragic occurrence -which marked our last time of meeting. - -“I wish to beg of you not to make any allusion to that awful business -in the hearing of my wife,” said Arthur. “In fact I must ask you not to -allude to that fearful room in the Priory in any way.” - -“I will be careful not to do so,” said I. “You have your own reasons, I -suppose, for giving me this warning.” - -“I have the best of reasons, Jim. She too had her experience of that -room, and it was as terrible as ours.” - -“Good heavens! I heard nothing of that. She did not sleep in that room?” - -“Thank God, she didn’t. I arrived in time to save her.” - -I need scarcely say that my interest was now fully aroused. - -“Tell me what happened--if you dare tell it,” I said. - -“You were abroad, and so you wouldn’t be likely to hear of the fire at -The Grange,” said my friend, after a pause. - -“I heard nothing of it.” - -“It took place only two days before last Christmas. I had been in the -south of France, where I had spent a month or two with my mother,--she -cannot stand a winter at home,--and I had promised Sylvia to return to -The Grange for Christmas. When I got to Northavon I found her and her -mother and their servants at the Priory Hotel. The fire had taken place -the previous night, and they found the hotel very handy when they hadn’t -a roof of their own over their heads. Well, we dined together, and were -as jolly as was possible under the circumstances until bedtime. I had -actually said ‘Good night’ to Sylvia before I recollected what had taken -place the previous Christmas Eve in the same house. I rushed upstairs, -and found Sylvia in the act of entering the room--that fatal room. When -I implored of her to choose some other apartment, she only laughed at -first, and assured me that she wasn’t superstitious; but when she saw -that I was serious--I was deadly serious, as you can believe, Jim----” - -“I can--I can.” - -“Well, she agreed to sleep in her mother’s room, and I went away -relieved. So soon as I returned to the fire in the dining-room I began -to think of poor Tom Singleton. I felt curiously excited, and I knew -that it would be useless for me to go to bed,--in fact, I made up my -mind not to leave the dining-room for some hours, at any rate, and when -the landlord came to turn out the lights I told him he might trust me -to do that duty for him. He left me alone in the room about half-past -eleven o’clock. When the sound of his feet upon the oaken stairs died -away I felt as fearful as a child in the dark. I lit another cigar and -walked about the room for some time. I went to the window that opened -upon the old Priory ground, and, seeing that the night was a fine one, -I opened the door and strolled out, hoping that the cool air would do me -good. I had not gone many yards across the little patch of green before -I turned and looked up at the house--at the last window, the window of -that room. A fire had been lighted in the room early in the evening, -and its glow shone through the white blind. Suddenly that faint glow -increased to a terrific glare,--a red glare, Jim,--and then there -came before my eyes for a moment the shadow of two figures upon the -blind,--one the figure of a woman, the other--God knows what it was. I -rushed back to the room, but before I had reached the door I heard the -horrible laughter once again. It seemed to come from that room and -to pass on through the air into the distance across the river. I ran -upstairs with a light, and found Sylvia and her mother standing together -with wraps around them at the door of the room. ‘Thank God, you are -safe!’ I managed to cry. ‘I feared that you had returned to the room.’ -‘You heard it--that awful laughter?’ she whispered. ‘You heard it, and -you saw something--what was it?’ I gently forced her and her mother -back to their room, for the servants and the landlord’s family were now -crowding into the corridor. They, too, had heard enough to alarm them.” - -“You went to the room?” - -“The scene of that dreadful morning was repeated. The door was locked on -the inside. We broke it in and found a girl lying dead on the floor, her -face contorted just as poor Singleton’s was. She was Sylvia’s maid, -and it was thought that, on hearing that her mistress was not going to -occupy the room, she had gone into it herself on account of the fire -which had been lighted there.” - -“And the doctor said----?” - -“Cardiac attack--the same as before--singular coincidence! I need -scarcely say that we never slept again under that accursed roof. Poor -Sylvia! She was overwhelmed at the thought of how narrow her escape had -been.” - -“Did you notice anything remarkable about the room--about the shutters -of the window?” I asked. - -He looked at me curiously for a moment. Then he bent forward and said-- - -“On the edge of the shutter there were some curious marks where the wood -had been charred.” - -“As if a hand with a red-hot gauntlet had been laid upon it?” - -“There were the marks of two such hands,” said my friend slowly. - -We remained for an hour in the garden; then we threw away the ends of -our cigars and went into the hotel without another word. - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg’s The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - -***** This file should be named 51963-0.txt or 51963-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/6/51963/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51963-0.zip b/old/51963-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 94e1c6d..0000000 --- a/old/51963-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51963-8.txt b/old/51963-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index da8a62b..0000000 --- a/old/51963-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6153 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Other World - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51963] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE OTHER WORLD - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -Author of 'The Jessamy Bride,' 'Nell Gwyn, Comedian,' 'The Original -Woman,' 'Castle Omeragii,' Etc. Etc. - -London: Eveleigh Nash - -MCMIV - - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - -"_This Other World is indeed not so far distant from our own that is -ruled by the sunne and moon. Therein the Prince of the Power of the Air -hath his dominion, whose servants are the Witch and the Warlock,... the -Night hagge,... and those that some, for want of a better name, term -Ghosts, Ghouls (breeders of sadde dreams),... also the Hob Goblin -(himself a foul fiend, albeit full of pranks),... Lyars all, but -dangerous to trajfick with and very treacherous to Mankind. They lure to -Perdition soone or late._" - - - - -A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. - -The majority of the passengers aboard the steam yacht _Bluebottle_ said -that it was anybody's game. In the smoking-room--when neither Somers nor -Norgate was present of course--the betting varied daily according to the -events of the day. At first the odds were slightly in favour of Teddy -Somers--yes, she undoubtedly gave signs of enjoying the companionship -of Mr Somers. She had been seen by trustworthy witnesses standing -behind him while he sketched with a rapid pencil the group of Portuguese -boatmen surrounding the solitary Scotchman, who had got the better of -them all in a bargain, within the first hour of the arrival of the yacht -in Funchal Bay. Afterwards she had been noticed carefully gumming the -drawing upon a cardboard mount. Would a girl take all that trouble about -a man unless she had a sincere regard for him? was the question which a -sapient one put to a section of his fellow passengers, accompanying an -offer of three to one on Somers. - -But after a pause, which somehow seemed to suggest an aggregation of -thought--the pauses of a conscientious smoker are frequently fraught -with suggestions--a youth who had been accused of writing poetry, but -whose excellent cigars did much to allay that suspicion, remarked--"What -you say about the drawing suggests that the girl takes an interest in -him, and that would be fatal to her falling in love with him." There -was another long pause, during which the smokers looked at one another, -carefully refraining from glancing at the speaker, until the man who had -offered the odds said-- - -"Do you mean to tell us that a girl's being interested in a chap isn't -the first step to her falling in love with him?" - -"I have no hesitation in saying so much--I could say a good deal more on -the same subject," replied the propounder of the theory. - -Then it was that a number of the men glanced quickly toward him,--there -was something of an appeal for mercy in the glance of most of them: it -seemed as if they were not particularly anxious to hear a good deal more -on the same subject. - -It is scarcely necessary to say, however, that the circumstance of their -not wanting to hear a good deal more did not prevent the poet (alleged) -from telling them a good deal more. It took him twenty-five minutes -to formulate his theory, which was to the effect that it is -impossible--impossible was the word he employed: there is no spirit of -compromise on the part of a theorist, especially when he is young, -and more especially when he has been suspected of writing -poetry--_impossible_ for a woman to love a man who has at first merely -interested her. - -"Love is a passion, whereas interest is--well, interest is merely -interest," said he, with that air of finality which a youthful theorist -assumes when he is particularly absurd--and knows it. "Yes, when a woman -hates a man thoroughly, and for the best of reasons,--though for -that matter she may hate him thoroughly without having any reason for -it,--she is nearer to loving him thoroughly than she is to loving a -man who merely interests her, however deep may be the interest which he -arouses." - -"I'll give three to one in sovereigns on Somers," said the man who had -originally offered the same odds. He was clearly not amenable to the -dictates of reason, the theorist said: he certainly was not amenable to -the dictates of a theory, which, however, is not exactly the same thing. - -"It's anybody's game, just now," remarked another of the sapient ones. - -"Anybody's except the man's in whom she has become interested," said the -theorist. - -"My dear young man," said the professional cynic--he had scarcely -recovered from a severe attack of _mal de mer_--"My dear young man, -you're not a very much greater ass than most boys of your age; but you -will really not strike people as being much below the average if you -only refrain from formulating any theory respecting any woman. The only -thing that it is safe to say about a woman--any woman--every woman--is -that no human being knows what she will do next." - -"Yes, but we were not talking about what a woman will do next, but what -she will do first," said the poet, who was not easily crushed. "Now I -say that she----" - -"Oh, do dry up!" shouted a smoking man in a corner, who had just -rung for a whisky-and-soda. "I've heard more nonsense within the past -half-hour than I ever heard during an entire year of my life. There is -no sense in arguing, but there is some sense in betting. If you -believe in your theory, back it with a sovereign to show that you're in -earnest." - -But the young man's theory did not run into coin; though in other -directions three to one on Teddy Somers was officially reported as -offered and taken. - -Two days afterwards the layer of the odds tried to hedge. The fact was -that the girl had shown such a marked inclination for the society of -Jack Norgate in preference to that of Teddy Somers, it seemed as if -the former would, to make use of an apt phrase, romp in. But before the -steam yacht _Bluebottle_ had crossed the equator the odds were even, -as a passenger named Molloy--he was reputed to be of Irish -descent--remarked. - -It was a pleasant company that had left Gravesend on September 10th, for -the six months' cruise to cheat the winter (see advertisements) in -the steam yacht _Bluebottle_, 3500 tons, Captain Grosvenor, R.N.R., -in command. The passengers numbered sixty, and included singularly few -disagreeable persons, in spite of the fact that the voyage was one that -only people with money and leisure could afford. The vessel was well -found, and her commander and officers were the pick of the Company's -fleet, and possessed innumerable resources in the way of deck games. The -report found ready credence in the service that Captain Grosvenor had -gained his position through being the originator of deck-golf. -However this may be, he certainly recognised in the amplest way the -responsibilities of the position of trust which he occupied, and he -never allowed any duty to interfere with his daily exposition of the -splendid possibilities of deck-golf. He had started a golf tournament -before the yacht had left the Channel, and he hove to for three days -in the Bay of Biscay, when the heavy sea that was running threatened to -interfere with the playing off of the tie between Colonel Mydleton and -Sir Edwin Everard. - -The cruise promised to be all that the advertisements had predicted it -would be. But before Madeira was reached comments were made upon the -extraordinary scarcity of young girls among the passengers. Among a -certain section of the passengers the comments on this point had a -highly congratulatory tone, but among another section the matter was -touched upon with a considerable amount of grumbling. Old voyagers, -who were accompanied by vigilant wives (their own), foresaw a tranquil -voyage, undisturbed by those complications which their experience told -them invariably arise when attractive young women are to be found in -graceful attitudes on deck chairs. On the other hand, however, there -were several men aboard who had just sufficient experience of going down -to the sea in steam yachts to cause them to look askance, during their -first day aboard, over the deck chairs, which were occupied mainly by -fathers and matrons. Yes, there was, undoubtedly, a scarcity of girls. - -The fact is that such a pleasure cruise as that which had been mapped -out for the _Bluebottle_ differs essentially from the ordinary Indian or -Australian voyage. On the two last-named, girls are to be found by -the score going out or returning. It is not a matter of pleasure with -them--though most of them contrive to get a good deal of pleasure out of -it--but a matter of necessity. The majority of people who set out on -a cruise in a steam yacht do so only because time hangs heavy on their -hands, and they do not take their daughters with them, for the simple -reason that their daughters decline to expatriate themselves for six or -eight months at the most critical period of their lives. - -Only six young women were among the passengers, of the _Bluebottle_; of -these only three were quite good-looking, and of these three the only -really beautiful one was Viola Compton. It did not take the experienced -voyagers long to perceive that Miss Compton would have an extremely good -time aboard the yacht. With all their experience they knew no better -than to suppose that a girl is having a good time when she has half a -dozen men at her feet, and a reserve force of twenty others ready -to prostrate themselves before her at a moment's notice--when she is -sneered at by her less pretty sisters, who tell one another that she -gives herself insufferable airs--when she is frowned at by the wives of -uncertain husbands, who call her (among themselves) a forward minx, -and when she cannot snub the most odious of the men who disarrange her -cushions for her, and prevent her from reading her novels by insisting -on chatting to her on all the inanities which a long voyage fosters in -men who on shore are alluded to as "genial." If to be in such a position -is to be having a good time, Viola had certainly the best time on record -even before the yacht had crossed the Line. She had about a score of men -around her who never allowed her to have a moment to herself; she was -bored by Colonel Mydleton's story of Lord Roberts' mistakes when in -India, the crowning one being--according to Colonel Mydleton--the march -to Kandahar, which he assured her was one of the greatest fiascos of -the century; she was rendered uncomfortable for a whole afternoon -of exquisite sunshine by the proximity of the poet, who insisted on -repeating to her a volume of lyrics that only awaited a publisher; she -was awakened from a delightful doze after tiffin by the commonplace -jests of the young man who fondly believed himself to be a humourist; -she was sneered at by the other girls and frowned upon by the matrons, -and she was made the subject of bets in the smoking-room,--in short, she -was having, most people agreed, an uncommonly good time aboard. - -The captain knew better, however: he had kept his eyes open during a -lifetime of voyages on passenger steamers, and he could see a good deal -with his eyes without the aid of a binocular telescope. - -There could be no doubt that Miss Compton treated both Teddy Somers and -Jack Norgate with a favour which she could not see her way to extend -to the other passengers. It was only natural that she should do so, the -captain saw at once, though he was too experienced to say so even to his -chief engineer, who was a Scotchman. Norgate and Somers were both nice -chaps, and had won distinction for themselves in the world. The former -was a mighty hunter, and had slain lions in the region of the Zambesi -and bears in the Rockies: the latter was well known as an artist; he -was something of a musician as well, and he had once had a play produced -which had taken a very respectable position amongst the failures of -the season. Both men were very well off,--the one could afford to be a -hunter, and the other could even afford to be an artist. They were both -clearly devoted to Viola; but this fact did not seem to interfere with -the friendship which existed between them. Neither of the two tried -to cut out the other so far as the girl was concerned. When Somers was -sitting by her side, Norgate kept apart from them, and when Norgate -chanced to find himself with her, his friend--although the tropical -moonlight was flooding the heaven--continued his smoking on the bridge -with the captain. - -The captain was lost in admiration of both men; he reserved some for -the girl, however: he acknowledged that she was behaving very well -indeed--that is, of course, for the only really pretty girl aboard a -ship. The captain was a strong believer in the advantages of a healthy -competition between young women: the tyranny of the monopolist had -frequently come within his range of vision. Yes, he saw that Miss -Compton was behaving discreetly. She did not seek to play off one man -against the other, nor did she make the attempt to play off a third man -against both. For his own part, he utterly failed in his attempt to find -out in what direction her affections tended. He saw that the girl liked -both men, but he did not know which of them she loved--assuming that she -actually did love one of them. He wondered if the girl herself knew. He -was strongly inclined to believe that she did not. - -But that was just where he made a mistake. She did know, and she -communicated her knowledge to Teddy Somers one night when they stood -together watching the marvellous phosphorescence of the South Atlantic -within ten days' sail of the Cape. A concert was going on in the great -saloon, so that there was an appropriate musical background, so to -speak, for their conversation. Teddy had said something to her that -forced from her an involuntary cry--or was it a sigh? - -Then there was a pause--with appropriate music: it came from a banjo in -the saloon. - -"Is that your answer?" he inquired, laying one of his hands upon hers as -it lay on the brass plating of the bulwarks. - -"My answer?" she said. "I'm so sorry--so very sorry, Mr Somers." - -"Sorry? Why should you be sorry?" he said softly. "I tell you that I -love you with all----" - -"Ah, do not say it again--for pity's sake do not say it again," she -cried, almost piteously. "You must never speak to me of love; I have -promised to love only Jack--Mr Norgate." - -"What--you have promised?--you have----" - -"It only happened after tiffin to-day. I thought perhaps he might have -told you--I thought perhaps you noticed that he and I--oh yes, you -certainly behaved as if you took it for granted that... ah, I am so -sorry that you misunderstood.... I think that I must have loved him from -the first." - -There was another long pause. He looked down into the gleaming water -that rushed along the side of the ship. Then she laid one of her hands -on his, saying-- - -"Believe me, Mr Somers, I am sorry--oh, so sorry!" - -He took her hand tenderly, looking into her face as he said-- - -"My dear child, you have no reason to be sorry: I know Jack Norgate -well, and I know that a better fellow does not live: you will be happy -with him, I am sure. And as for me--well, I suppose I was a bit of a -fool to think that you----" - -"Do not say that," she cried. "I am not worthy of you--I am not worthy -of him. Oh, who am I that I should break up such a friendship as yours -and his? I begin to wish that I had never come aboard this steamer." - -"Do not flatter yourself that you have come between us, my dear," -he said, with a little laugh. "Oh no; 'shall I, wasting with -despair?'--well, I think not. Men don't waste with despair except on -the lyric stage. My dear girl, he has won you fairly, and I congratulate -him; and you--yes, I congratulate you. He is a white man, as they say -on the Great Pacific slope. Listen to that banjo! Confound it! I wonder -shall I ever be able to listen to the banjo again.... Shall we join the -revellers in the saloon?" - -They went into the saloon together, and took seats on a vacant sofa. -Some people eyed them suspiciously and said that Miss Compton was having -an exceedingly good time aboard the yacht. - -Later on, Somers congratulated his friend very sincerely, and his friend -accepted his congratulations in a very tolerant spirit. - -"Oh yes," he said. "I suppose it's what every chap must come to sooner -or later. Viola is far better than I deserve--than any chap deserves." - -"It's a very poor sort of girl that isn't better than the best chap -deserves, and although I think you are the best chap in the world, I -should be sorry to think that Miss Compton has not made a wise choice. -May you be happy together!" - -"Thank you, old chap. I must confess to you frankly that some days ago I -thought that you----" - -"That I?" - -"Well, that you had a certain tendresse for her yourself." - -"I! Oh, your judgment must have been warped by a lover's jealousy. 'The -thief doth think each bush an officer'--the lover fancies that every -man's taste must be the same as his own. May you both be happy!" - -It seemed that his prayer was granted so far at least as the next day -was concerned, for certainly no two people could appear happier than the -lovers, as they sat together under the awning, watching half a dozen of -their fellow-passengers perspiring over their golf. - -Mrs Compton--she was an invalid taking the cruise for her health's -sake--was compelled to remain in her berth all day, but Jack Norgate -visited her with her daughter after tiffin and doubtless obtained the -maternal blessing, for when he came on deck alone in the afternoon his -face was beaming as Moses' face beamed on one occasion. There was a -slight tornado about dinner-time and the vessel rolled about so as to -necessitate the use of the "fiddles" on the table. It continued blowing -and raining until darkness set in, so that the smoking-room was crowded, -and three bridge-parties assembled in the chief saloon as well as a -poker-party and a chess-party. Four bells had just been made, when one -of the stewards startled all the saloon by crying out of the pantries-- - -"Coming, sir!" - -A moment afterwards he hurried into the saloon, putting on his jacket, -and looked round as if waiting to receive an order. The passengers -glanced at him and laughed. - -"What's the matter?" asked the doctor. - -"Didn't some one call me, sir?" the man inquired. - -"Not that we heard," replied the doctor. - -"I thought I heard some one sing out, sir," said the steward, looking -round. - -"It must have been some one on deck," suggested Colonel Mydleton. "Shall -I cut the cards for you, doctor?" - -The steward went on deck. He was met by Mr Somers, who, in reply to the -man's inquiry, said-- - -"Call you? No, I didn't call you." - -"The infant Samuel," said one of the poker players, and the others at -the table laughed. - -"It's raining cats and dogs, or whatever the equivalent to cats and -dogs is in these parallels," said Somers. "I got wet watching the -_Bluebottle_ show a clean pair of heels to a tramp. She's in our wake -just now. I think I'll turn into my berth." - -He went to the bar and called for a brandy-and-soda, and then sang out -"Good night," as he hurried to his cabin. - -The next morning Miss Compton appeared at the breakfast table, and -so did Somers, but Norgate had clearly overslept himself, for he was -absent. The captain inquired for him. - -"He must be on deck, sir," said one of the stewards, "for he was not in -his cabin when I went with his chocolate an hour ago." - -"Oh, he'll turn up before we have finished breakfast," said Somers, -attacking his devilled kidneys. - -But his prediction was not realised. A pantry boy was sent on deck in -search of Mr Norgate, but Mr Norgate was not to be found. A steward -hurried to his cabin, but returned in a few minutes, saying that his -bunk had not been slept in. The captain rose from the table with a -well-simulated laugh. A search was organised. It failed to find him. The -awful truth had to be faced: Mr Norgate was not aboard. Viola Compton -was hysterical. Teddy Somers was silent; no one had ever seen him so -deathly pale before. - -Theories were forthcoming to account for Norgate's suicide--people -took it for granted, of course, that he had committed suicide. Only one -person suggested the possibility of his having fallen overboard, and of -his cry being that which the steward had heard, for a part of the pantry -was open on the starboard side. But against this it was urged that Mr -Somers must have been on deck at the time the steward had heard, or had -fancied he heard, that cry, and Mr Somers said he had heard nothing. - -For a week the gloom hung over the whole party; but by the time the Cape -was reached, Miss Compton was able to appear at the table once more. She -looked heartbroken; but every one said she was bearing up wonderfully. -Only the poet had the bad taste to offer her his sympathy through the -medium of a sonnet. - -***** - -On leaving the Cape the bereaved girl seemed to find a certain plaintive -consolation in the society of Mr Somers. He sat beside her in his deck -chair, and they talked together about poor Jack Norgate; but after a -week or two, steaming from Bombay to Ceylon, and thence through the -Straits to Sydney, they began to talk about other subjects, and before -long the girl began visibly to brighten. The passengers said she was a -woman. - -And she proved that they were right, for when one lovely night Teddy -Somers suggested very delicately to her that his affection for her was -the same as it had always been, there was more than a little reproach in -her voice as she cried-- - -"Oh, stop--stop--for Heaven's sake! My love is dead--buried with him. I -cannot hear any one talk to me of love." - -He pressed her hand and left her without another word. - -She remained in her deck chair far removed from the rest of the -passengers for a long time, thinking her thoughts, whatever they may -have been. The moon was almost at the full, so that it was high in the -sky before the quartermaster made six bells, and those of the passengers -who had not already gone to their berths arose from their chairs, -murmuring that they had no notion it was within an hour of midnight. A -few of them, passing the solitary figure of the girl on her chair, -said "Good night" to her in a cheery way, and then shook their heads -suggestively together with such an exchange of sentiments as "Poor -girl!--Poor girl!" - -"Very sad!" - -"Melancholy affair!" but it is doubtful if their hearts were so -overcharged with sympathy as to interfere to any marked degree with -their slumbers. - -The girl remained upon the deserted deck and watched the quartermasters -collecting and storing away all the passengers' chairs which lay -scattered about, just as their owners had vacated them. When they -had finished their job no one of the ship's company remained on the -quarterdeck. The sound of the little swish made by a leaping flying-fish -had a suggestion of something mysterious about it as it reached her -ears: it seemed like the faint whisper of a secret of the sea--it seemed -as if some voice outside the ship was saying "Hist!" to her, to attract -her attention before making a revelation to her. - -But she knew what the sound was, and she did not move from her chair. - -"Alas--alas!" she murmured, "you can tell me nothing. Ah! there is -nothing for me to be told. I know all that will be known until the sea -gives up its dead. He loved me, and the sea snatched him from me." - -The tears with which her heart was filled began to overflow. She wept -softly for a long time, and when at last she gave a sigh and wiped the -mist from her eyes she found that the moon, previously so brilliant, had -become dim. Its outline was blurred, so that, although the atmosphere -was full of moonlight, it was impossible to say what was the centre of -the illumination. It seemed to Viola as if a thin diaphanous silk -curtain had fallen between the moon and the sea. Every object which an -hour before had cast a black shadow athwart the deck--the spars of the -mainmast, the quarterboat hanging in its davits--was clearly seen as -ever, only without the strong contrasts of light and shade. The sea out -to the horizon was of a luminous grey, which bore but a shadowy -resemblance to the dark-blue carpet traversed by the glittering golden -pathway to the moon, over which Viola had pensively gazed in the early -night before Somers had come to her side. - -She now stood at the bulwarks looking across that shadowy expanse, -marvelling at the change which had come about within so short a space of -time. - -"My life--it is my life," she sighed. "A short time ago it was made -luminous by love; but now--ah! now----" - -She turned away with another sigh and walked back to her deck chair. She -was in the act of picking up her cushions from the seat when, glancing -astern, she was amazed on becoming aware of the fact that she was not -alone at that part of the ship. She saw two figures standing together -on the raised poop that covered the steam-steering apparatus at the -farthest curve of the stern. - -She was amazed. She asked herself how it was possible that she had -failed to see them when she had looked astern a few minutes before. -The figures were of course shadowy in the strange mistily luminous -atmosphere, but they were sufficiently conspicuous in the place where -they stood to make her confident that, had they been there five minutes -before, she would have seen them. - -She stood there wondering, the cushion which she had picked up hanging -from her hand, who the men were that had come so mysteriously before -her eyes an hour after the last of the passengers had, as she thought, -descended to their berths. - -She could not recognise either of them. They were separated from her by -half the length of the stern. - -Suddenly she gave a little gasp. The cushion which she had held dropped -from her hand, for one of the figures made a movement, turning his back -to the low poop rail over which he had been leaning, and that moment was -enough, even in the pale light, to allow of her recognising the features -of Jack Norgate. - -She gave a little cry of mingled wonder and joy, but before she had -taken even a step toward that tableau, she had shrieked out; for in the -second that separated her exclamations, the figure whom she saw in front -of the one she knew had sprung upon him, causing him to overbalance -himself on the low rail against which he was leaning, and to disappear -over the side. - -She shrieked and sprang forward; at that moment the second figure -seemed to fade away and to vanish into nothingness before her eyes. She -staggered diagonally across the deck astern, but before she had taken -more than a dozen blind steps her foot caught in the lashing of the -tarpaulin which was spread over a pile of deck chairs, and she fell -forward. One of the officers on watch, who had heard her cry, swung -himself down from the roof of the deckhouse and ran to her help. - -"Good God! Miss Compton, what has happened anyway?" he cried. - -"There--there," she gasped, pointing to the poop. "He went over the -side--a minute ago--there is still time to stop the steamer and pick him -up." - -"Who went over the side? No one was aft but yourself," said the officer. - -"It was Jack--Mr Norgate. Oh, why will you make no effort to rescue him? -I tell you that I saw him go over." - -The officer felt how she was trembling with excitement. She tried to -rush across the deck, but would have fallen through sheer weakness, if -the man had not supported her. He brought her to the seat at the side of -the cabin dome-light. - -"You are overcome, Miss Compton," he said. "You must calm yourself while -I look into this business." - -"You do not believe that I saw anything; but I tell you--oh, he will be -lost while you are delaying," she cried. - -"Nothing of the sort," he said. "But for heaven's sake sit here. Leave -the thing to me." - -He ran astern and made a pretence of peering into the distance of the -ship's seething wake. He was wondering what he should do. The poor girl -was evidently the victim of a hallucination. Several weeks had passed -since her lover had disappeared, and all this time her grief at his loss -had been poignant. This thing that had happened was the natural result -of the terrible strain upon her nerves. Of course he never thought of -awaking the captain or of stopping the vessel. - -While he was still peering over the taffrail, her voice sounded beside -him. - -"Here--it was just here," she said. - -He turned about. - -"Good Lord! Miss Compton, you should not have left your seat," he cried. -"Let me help you down to the cabin." - -"Have you not seen him in the water?" - -"There is no one in the water. In this light I would be able to see a -man's head a mile astern. I will put my arm under yours and help you to -get below. Trust to me. We would all do whatever it was in our power for -your sake. We all sympathise with you. Shall I send a quartermaster for -the doctor?" - -Viola had thrown herself down on the seat where he had placed her, and -was sobbing with her hands before her face. The man did his best to -soothe her. He made a sign to a quartermaster who had come aft to -register the patent log, and told him to send the ship's doctor aft. He -had no notion of accepting the sole responsibility of soothing a young -woman who was subject to disquieting hallucinations. - -In a few minutes the doctor relieved him of his charge. Miss Compton had -become quite tranquil. Only now and again she gazed into the steamer's -wake and pressed her hand to her side. She allowed herself to be helped -below in a short time, and did not refuse the dose of bromide which the -doctor thought it his duty to administer to her. - -The next day the doctor and the fourth officer had a whispered -conference. They agreed that it would be better to say nothing to any of -the other passengers respecting Miss Compton's hallucination. - -"Poor girl--poor girl!" said the doctor. "I have been observing her for -some time, and I cannot say that I was surprised at what occurred last -night.. It is only remarkable that the breakdown did not happen sooner." - -"I am glad that none of the rest of the ship's company heard her when -she cried out," said the officer. "Lord! you should have seen the look -in her eyes when she stretched out her hand and insisted that she had -seen the man topple over. I thought it well to do my best to humour her -until I had a chance of sending for you. I felt that it was on the cards -that she might throw herself over the side." - -"It was touch and go," said the doctor. "Ah, poor girl!" - -A week had passed before Viola reappeared among the passengers. Her -mother explained to kind inquirers that she had remained on deck quite -too late one night and had caught a chill. The doctor bore out her -unimaginative explanation of the girl's absence, and added that it was -much easier than most people suspected to catch a chill south of the -Line. When Viola was at last permitted to come on deck she received many -tokens of the interest which her fellow-passengers had in her progress -toward recovery. - -It was not until the evening of her first day out of her cabin that -Somers contrived to get a word or two with her alone. - -He was asking after her health when she turned upon him suddenly, -saying-- - -"Mr Somers, it was you who threw Jack overboard!" - -"Good God!" he cried, starting back from her. "For heaven's sake, Viola, -do not say so monstrous a thing! What!--I--Jack-------" - -"You did it," she said firmly. - -"My dear child, how on earth have you got hold of such a notion?" he -asked her. - -"It was revealed to me that night--the night before I broke down," she -replied. "I had been sitting alone in my deck chair, and I was at the -point of going below, when there--there on the poop at the side of the -wheel astern, the whole dreadful scene was revealed to me. I tell you -that I saw it all--Jack and you: I was not sure at first that the second -figure was you, but I know now that it was you. I saw Jack turn round -and lean against the rail, and that was the moment when you sprang at -him." - -The man took some steps away from her. - -He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He returned to her in a few -moments, and said-- - -"My dear child--oh, Viola! how is it possible for you to entertain so -horrible a thought? Jack Norgate--my best friend!" - -"You hoped to marry me--he is your rival--you murdered him!" - -Somers flung up his hands with an exclamation and hurried down to his -cabin. - -The next day he came to her after tiffin. - -"I want to speak a word to you apart," he said. - -She went with him very far forward. Only a few passengers were on deck, -and these were in their chairs astern. - -"I want to confess to you," he said in a low voice. "I want to confess -to you that it was I who threw Jack Norgate overboard." - -She started and stared at him. She could not speak for some time. At -last she was able to say in a whisper-- - -"You--you--murdered him?" - -"I murdered him. The temptation came over me. Oh, Viola, you do not -know how I loved you--how I love you! My God!--should do it again if I -thought it would give me a chance of you." - -She continued staring at him, and then seated herself by his side. - -"You--threw him overboard?" she whispered again. - -"We were standing side by side on the poop deck far aft, watching the -tramp steamer on that night; the yacht was rolling--he slipped--I gave -him a push.... I have lost my soul for love of you, and you think the -sacrifice worthless." - -"Oh, it is too horrible--too terrible!" she said. "For me--for me!" - -He was silent. So was she. They sat together side by side for an hour. -His terrible confession had dazed her. She was the first to break the -silence. - -"Terrible--it is terrible!" she murmured. "Who could have told me that -there was any love such as this in the world?" - -"It is my love for you," he said quietly. "It is the love that dares -all--all the powers of time and eternity. I tell you that I would do it -again; I would kill any other man who came between us. But my crime has -been purposeless; we are to part for ever at Sydney in two days." - -"Yes," she said. "It is better that we should part." - -She gave him her hand. He held it tightly for a moment, then dropped it -suddenly, and left her standing alone on the deck. - -"Was there ever such love in the world?" she murmured. "But it is -terrible--terrible!" - -The next day she went to where he was sitting alone, far from the other -passengers. - -"Mr Somers," she said, "you will not really leave the yacht at Sydney?" - -"If you tell me to stay, I will stay by the ship--I will stay by you, -and you shall know what love means," he said. - -"Ah," she said, "I think I have learned that already." - -"My beloved--you tell me to stay?" - -"I believe that you love me," said she. - -"My darling--my beloved! You are more to me than all the world--you are -dearer to me than my hope of heaven!" - -"Yes: you have shown me that you are speaking the truth. It is very -terrible, but I know that it is the truth." - -"It is the truth. And I know that you love me." - -"I wonder if I ever loved any one else," said she, after a pause--"that -is, I wonder if any one else ever loved me as you have done." - -That was all that passed between them at the time; but two days later -his hand was clasping hers as the steamer went past the Heads into the -loveliest harbour of the world. - -***** - -It was very early in the morning when he left his cabin to go on deck. -The yacht was swinging at anchor. The sound of many voices came from the -deck. - -She was waiting to receive him at the door of his cabin. He put both his -hands out to her: she did not take even one of them. She stared at him. - -"I suppose you are the greatest scoundrel in the world," she said. - -"Viola--dearest!" - -"I say you are the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, for you tried to -obtain my love by telling me a lie--a lie--a horrible lie. You did not -murder Jack Norgate. He fell overboard by accident that night, when no -one was near him, and he was picked up by the ocean tramp which you had -been watching--not beside him, but on the bridge. You are a wicked man. -You told me that you murdered him, but you did nothing of the sort. -There he is, coming toward us. I did not tell him how false you were, -and I do not intend to tell him; but I know it for myself." - -"It was you yourself who suggested the thing to me," said he. "Did you -not come to me accusing me of having murdered him? Did you not say that -it had been revealed to you in a vision?" - -"A vision? Oh, I was in need of a dose of bromide--that's all," said -she. - -Then Jack Norgate came up with the captain by his side. The hand that Mr -Somers offered him was limp and clammy. - -"Here's another of the ghost seers," laughed Jack. "They all look on me -as a ghost aboard this craft." - -"It was a marvellous escape," said the captain. "Luckily the tramp was -a fine old slow tub, and still more luckily she had a good look-out for -one hour only. Why, you couldn't have been in the water for more than -ten minutes." - -"It seemed about a week to me, old man," said Jack. "And as for the -tramp--well, we arrived at Sydney before you any way." - -The captain laughed. - -"It was a providential escape," said he. - -"It was a providential escape," said Viola, putting her arm through -Jack's and walking away with him. - - - - -"MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT." - - -I. - -I am so pleased that it has come about, my dearest Madge," said Mrs -Harland. "I always hoped that Julian would take a fancy--I mean that -you--that you would come to think tenderly of Julian. It was the one -hope of my life. What should I have done if he had come to me with a -story of having fallen in love with one of those horrid modern young -women--the sort who are for ever having their names in the papers about -something or other--charities and things? Charity has become the most -effective means of self-advertisement in these days." - -"If he had come to you saying that he loved such a girl, you--you would -have loved her too, you dear old thing!" cried Madge, kissing her on -both cheeks. - -"Madge, I'm ashamed of you," said Mrs Harland with dignity--the dignity -of the lady with a grievance. - -"It is of yourself you would feel ashamed if your son came to you with a -tale of loving a girl--any girl--and you failed to see her exactly with -his eyes," laughed Madge. "But I know you are glad that your duty in -this respect is so easy: you have always loved me, haven't you? How -could you help it? When I think of how naughty I used to be; of -the panes in the greenhouse I used to break, playing cricket with -Julian--panes that involved no penalties; when I think of your early -peas that I used to steal and eat raw out of the pods; when I think of -all the mischief I used to put poor Julian up to, usually giving him a -good lead over; and when I reflect that not once did I ever receive -more than a verbal reproof from you, then I know that you could not -help loving me,--it was not my fault that you did not think of me as the -greatest nuisance in the county." - -Mrs Harland laughed, though she had entered upon this interview with -the girl who was to be her daughter-in-law very seriously, and in by no -means a laughing spirit. - -"I loved you always, because you were always a girl to be loved, and my -prayer day and night, dear, was that Julian would come to think so in -good time," said she. "I was, I admit, slightly alarmed to find how -very friendly you and he always were: every one knows that nothing is so -fatal to falling in love as great friendliness." - -"Of course," said Madge. "How funny it was that I should never think -about the matter at all! And yet I feel that I must always have loved -him, just as I do now. How could any one help it, my dearest mother?" - -The fond mother of Julian Harland made no attempt to answer so difficult -a question. Some mothers may be able to formulate on economic grounds -how it is that young men do not find it impossible to resist the charms -of their numerous daughters; but the mother of an only son declines to -entertain the notion that he may fail to attract any girl who has had -the good fortune to appear attractive in his eyes. That was why Mrs -Harland fully acquiesced in Madge's view of the irresistible qualities -of Julian. - -"He is a good boy, he has never been otherwise than a good boy," she -said. "Still--well, I know that his future is safe in your keeping, my -Madge." - -She had heard of extremely good boys making extremely undesirable -matches with young women in tobacconists' shops. It would seem as if -every university town must be overflowing with tobacconists' shops, and -as if every tobacconist's shop must be overcrowded with attractive -young ladies; one reads so much (in books written by ladies) of the -undergraduate victims to tobacconists' girls. She felt glad that her son -Julian had not come to her from Oxford with a story of having made -up his mind that he could only be entirely happy if married to one of -these. She felt that he had been a really good son in choosing -Madge Winston, the most beautiful girl in the county, rather than a -snub-nosed, golden-haired girl from behind a tobacconist's counter. Yes, -he deserved great credit for his discrimination. - -"And I am doubly glad that you have become engaged just now," she -continued. "You will keep him at home, Madge." - -"He has never shown any tendency to roam again," said Madge, with an -inquiring look into Mrs Harland's eyes. "He has often said that having -had his tiger-shooting in Kashmir, he is perfectly satisfied." - -"It was not that sort of shooting that was in my mind," said Mrs -Harland. "But his father was a soldier--my father was a soldier. Look -round the hall, Madge--nothing but uniforms in every picture. That is -why----" - -"You are afraid that if this war breaks out in earnest----" - -"That's it--that's it. He belongs to a race of soldiers. There has not -been a war since Blenheim between England and any other Power in which a -Harland and a Severn have not fought." - -"That is a splendid thing to be able to say; and yet Julian was content -with his Militia. Isn't that strange?" - -"It was for my sake, dearest Madge. I saw in his face before he was -sixteen the old racial longing to be a soldier, and I made an appeal to -him. He put his career away from him for my sake, Madge. He promised to -stay at home with me in my loneliness." - -"You were able to make such an appeal to him?" There was a suggestion -of surprise in the girl's voice, and it carried with it a curious -suggestion of coldness as well. - -"Was it selfish of me--was it, Madge? Oh! I dare say it was. Yes, it -must have been selfish; but think of my position, dear. He is all I have -in the world now. What would life be worth to me if he were away, or if -he were in danger? And then, think of his responsibilities. The property -is not a large one, and it requires careful treatment. You don't think -that I was unreasonable, Madge?" - -"Oh no, no," said the girl. "You were right, quite right; only----" - -"Only--only what, dear?" said Mrs Harland. "What is on my mind exactly -at this moment," said Madge, "is, that I--I would not have been strong -enough to say that to him." - -"To say what to him, Madge?" - -"What you said--to ask him to stay at home when he had his heart set -on being a soldier, as his father and as his grandfathers were. Even -now--but what's the use of discussing a situation that cannot arise? -Even if the war breaks out, he is only a Militia captain, so that he -cannot be called on for duty in a campaign." - -"Of course, the war will be over in a month or two, and there is no -chance of the Militia being called out; but it is just for the next -month or so that I have my fears--my fears, I should say. I have none -now that I know that you have promised to make him happy--to make _me_ -happy. I had my fears that at the first sound of the trumpet in his -ears all the instincts of his house... Look at those uniforms in every -picture round the hall.... Ah, I was afraid that he might ask me to -release him from his promise." - -"And you knew that you would have released him without a word of demur," -said Madge. "You know that you would do so, for you belong to a fighting -house, too. Bless me, I'm the only representative of civilianism among -you all. Oh, it is high time that the fighting Severns and the fighting -Harlands got a pacific element introduced among them." - -"That is what I feel," said Mrs Harland. "Madge, you will not allow him -ever to yield to that tradition of his house. I feel that so long as -he is by your side he is safe. One campaign at least will take place -without a descendant of the Harlands having anything to do with it." - -Before Madge had time to make a reply the gravel of the drive was sent -flying against the lowest panes of the room by the feet of a horse -reined in suddenly. - -"Julian has returned with some important news," said Madge, glancing -outside. - -In another instant a man's step sounded in the porch, and Julian Harland -entered the old oak hall with a newspaper in the same hand that held his -hunting crop. - -"It has come at last!" he cried. "War! war! war!" - -"England has declared war against the Transvaal!" said Madge. - -"On the contrary, it is Mr Kruger, the Boer farmer, who has declared war -against Great Britain!" said he. - -"Poor Mr Kruger!" said Madge. - -"I am sorry--very sorry! War is terrible! I know what war means," said -Mrs Harland. - -"Sorry!--sorry!" cried her son. "Why, what is there to be grieved, -about? You're not a friend of Mr Kruger's, mother?" - -"I know what war means," said she. - -"And I don't," said he. - -There was something in his voice that suggested a sigh, and it seemed -that he was aware of this himself, for he threw his riding crop into a -corner, and cried out quite cheerily--"I'm happy to feel all the springs -of domesticity welling up within my bosom since you made me the happiest -chap in the county, my Madge. I have no greater ambition than to sit in -a chair at one side of the fire with you to look at, my Madge. How -rosy you are, my dear. What is keeping the lunch, mother? We must drink -together 'Confusion to Kruger!' His ultimatum--fancy a half-caste Dutch -peasant having the impudence to write an ultimatum to Great Britain!--it -expires to-day. We'll not leave the hall till we are sure it has -expired." - -He continued in this excited strain during lunch, and Madge found that -she too was in the same vein. War was in the air, and while the crowds -in London were cheering aloud and singing "God Save the Queen!" with -flashing eyes, the little group of three at the table in that old -Somerset hall stood up and drank to the success of the Queen's soldiers -in South Africa. Around them on the oak panels were the pictures -of Harlands in red coats, Harlands in blue coats, Harlands in -the demi-armour of the Stuarts, Harlands in the chain mail of the -Lancastrians. Every man of them carried a sword and kept his eyes fixed -on the living head of their house sternly, anxiously. - -And that was why Julian, after drinking to the toast which he had given -a moment before, remained on his feet with his glass still in his hand, -and with his eyes looking from picture to picture as though he had never -seen one of them previously in his life. - -His mother watched him, so did Madge. - -The glass dropped from his hand and was smashed in pieces on the floor, -and he fell back into his chair and gave a loud laugh. - -"That's Kruger!" he cried: "smashed!--smashed!--beyond recovery!--beyond -coaguline--smashed--and without a Harland raising his hand against -him,--that's what they are saying--those Harlands that have had their -eyes fixed on me, as if I needed their prompting. Come along, sweet -womenfolk, and have a look at the sundial that Rogers unearthed when -digging the new rose-bed, where the remains of the old maze were,--the -date is carved on it, 1472 a.d. Just think of it, hidden for perhaps -three hundred years and only unearthed yesterday, at the very hour that -you promised to be my own Madge! A good omen! What does it mean except -that a new era for the old house is beginning? Come along, my dearest." - -There was no great alacrity in Madge's response to his challenge. - - -II. - -His father was killed in the Soudan, having inherited the property when -his elder brother had been killed, a few years before, in Zulu-land. -Four brothers, all of them men of splendid physique, had been slain in -battle within a space of four years, and three widows and many children -had been left desolate. - -He knew the story of heroism associated with every one of the four, -and he knew the stories of the heroism associated with the death of his -grandfather at the Alma, and his greatgrandfather at Waterloo. That was -why he had taken it for granted from his earliest years that he was to -be a solder. It never occurred to him that there was any other destiny -possible for a Harland of the Hall. - -But when his mother came to him one day and poured her plaint into his -ear, entreating him for her sake to think of himself as associated with -a happier fate, he had yielded to her, though he made no admissions in -regard to the comparative happiness involved in the fate of dying on -the field of battle, or as a senile fox-hunter after a protracted run to -hounds. He showed himself to be a dutiful son, and he went to Oxford and -then ate his dinners at the Temple, as he believed a reasonably aspiring -country gentleman should do if he wished to retain his self-respect. He -had also drilled every year with the Militia regiment in which he held a -commission, and was rapidly qualifying for the rank of major. - -But during these years the country was engaged in no war that made -any great demand upon its resources: he had no great temptation to go -against the Afridis, and he felt sure that Khartoum could be reached -by Kitchener without his personal supervision. But his mother noticed -a change upon him as he read day by day of the probabilities of a war -breaking out between England and the Transvaal. A strange uneasiness -seemed to have come over him, and he talked of nothing except South -Africa as a campaigning ground. - -His mother became more uneasy than he was, and she was only in a measure -relieved when one day he came to her, telling her that he had asked -Madge Winston, the daughter of the Vicar of Hurst Harland, to marry him, -and that she had consented. Mrs Harland told him that he had made her -the happiest mother in the world; but from the chat, just recorded, -which she had with Madge in the hall before Julian had returned with -the news of the ultimatum, it will be gathered that she had still some -misgivings. - -They were strengthened by observing Julian's strange behaviour during -the drinking of the toast. She saw the light that was in his eyes as he -talked a little wildly about the coming campaign. She had seen such a -light in the eyes of his father when talking of a coming campaign. She -knew what it meant. - -She did not accompany Julian and Madge when they went out together -to look at the old pillar sundial which a gardener had dug up the day -before. She was happily able to make a reasonable excuse for staying -behind: a servant had just brought her a message to the effect that one -of the lacemakers of the village had come by appointment to see her. She -had interested herself for several years in the lacemaking, and was in -the habit of getting old pieces of her own splendid collection repaired -by one of the cleverest of the girls. - -This girl was still in the hall when Julian and Madge were driven -indoors by a slight shower, and Mrs Harland showed them the piece of -work which she had had mended. It was a delicate handkerchief bordered -with rosebuds, and curiously enough, as Julian pointed out, the sprays -arranged themselves so as to form a constant repetition of the letter M. - -"That stands for Madge, doesn't it?" cried he. - -"It stands for Medici," said his mother. "This particular piece of -lace belonged to Marie de' Medici, though no one ever noticed that the -rosebuds entwined themselves into the letter M." - -"I will buy the handkerchief from my mother for you, Madge," he cried. -"Who knows what magic may be 'in the web of it,' like poor Desdemona's! -These Medici were uncanny folk. The earlier ones certainly understood -the art of magic as practised by the highest authorities in the -Middle Ages. Yes, the M stands for Madge. Take it, dear, I won't be so -ungracious as to add Othello's charge to Desdemona about keeping it; and -if I should find it in a railway carriage or anywhere else in years -to come, you may make your mind easy. I'll not strangle you on that -account." - -"I got it mended on purpose for you, Madge," said Mrs Harland. - -"You are so good," said the girl, spreading out the filmy thing -admiringly. "You know that there is nothing I love so well as lace, -and this design is the most perfect that could be imagined. A thousand -thanks, dearest mother." - -Julian seemed before the evening to have become quite resigned to -staying at home; and during the next few weeks, though he followed -the progress of the preparations for the campaign with great interest, -pointing out what he believed would be the plans of each of the -divisional commanders to his mother and Madge, yet he never semed to -be unduly eager in the matter. He seemed to look on the campaign in a -purely academic spirit--merely as a Kriegspiel,--and his mother's fears -vanished. She blessed the day that Madge had come to the Hall. It was -Madge, and Madge only, who had succeeded in restraining his burning -desire to be in the thick of the fight. - -But, then, following swiftly upon the news of the arrival of the First -Army Corps and the successes of the sorties from Ladysmith, which elated -the whole of England for some days, came like a thunderclap the news of -a disaster--a second disaster--a third! It seemed as if the campaign -was going to collapse before it had well begun. The change made itself -apparent in every part of England--in every household in England, and in -none more vividly than at Harland Hall. A change had come over Julian; -he had no word for any one; he walked moodily about the house and the -grounds, taking no interest in anything. He made an excuse for going -up to London for a day or two, and he returned with a mass of news. The -country had been taken by surprise in regard to the Boer preparations. -The campaign was going to be a long one, and every available man was to -be called out; he had it from good authority--the best authority in the -world. - -His mother saw that the old light had come back to his eyes, and she -shuddered. - -The next morning when Madge came downstairs she saw her sitting in the -hall, with her head bent down, her son standing over her with a paper in -his hands. - -"Madge! Madge!" cried the mother, "you will tell him to stay; he is -going to leave us, but you will tell him to stay. He will stay if you -implore of him." - -"Yes," said he, "I will stay if Madge asks me; but she will not ask me." - -"You will ask him--you will implore of him to stay, Madge, my daughter!" -cried Mrs Harland. - -There was a long silence. The girl had become deathly pale. She stood at -her chair at the table. She did not speak. - -"Why are you silent?--why are you dumb?" cried the mother. "Will you see -him go forth to die, as all the others of his family have done in the -past? Cannot you understand what has happened? Oh! you have only just -come down. You have not heard the news: the last of the Reserves have -been called out, and volunteers are being called on from the Militia!" - -"And I have volunteered," said Julian in a low voice. - -She was still deathly pale. Her hands grasped the carved back of the -chair. She did not speak. - -"Dear Madge, you will tell him?" began Mrs Harland. - -"Yes," said the girl, "I will tell him that I am proud of him--that if -he had remained at home now I would never have married him!" - -She walked steadily across the hall and put both her hands out to him. -He took them in his own, and bent his head down to them, kissing each of -them. - -Then he raised his head and looked round at the portraits in the panels, -and laughed. - -He left the Hall in the evening. - - -III. - -It was the most dismal Christmas that any one in England could -remember. Here and there a success had been snatched from the enemy; -but the list of casualties published every day made the morning papers -a terror to read. The British losses had passed the tenth thousand, and -still Buller could not reach Ladysmith and Methuen could not cross the -Modder. It seemed as if the last of the Egyptian plagues had fallen on -England, and there was not a household in which there was not one dead! - -It was a dreary Christmas at Harland Hall. News had arrived a few days -previously of Julian's safe arrival at the Cape and of his having taken -part in a skirmish on his way to the front. Every morning his mother and -Madge--who had come to stay at the Hall for another month--picked up the -newspaper and glanced with fearing eyes down the usual casualty list. -When they failed to find his name there they breathed again. There was -no thought of festivity in the Hall this Christmas Day, and it was a -relief to Madge as well as to Mrs Harland when bedtime came. Before -going to bed the girl sat for some time before the fire in her room, -with Julian's portrait in her hand, and on her lap some of the things -which his hands had touched--a shrivelled November rose which he had -discovered on the last stroll they had together through the garden--a -swan's feather which he had picked up and thrust with a laugh and a mock -taunt into her hair--the lace handkerchief which had been given to her -on the day of the outbreak of the war. She sat there lost in her own -thoughts--praying her own prayers. - -Suddenly she became aware of an unusual sound--a sort of tap at rare -intervals upon her window-pane. At first she fancied that it was a twig -of ivy which was being blown by the breeze against the window, but the -next time the sound came she felt sure that it could only be produced by -a tiny pebble flung up from the carriage drive. - -For a few moments she was slightly alarmed. She quickly extinguished her -candle, however, and then went to the window, drawing the blind a little -way to one side and peering out. There was no moon, but the sky was full -of stars, and she knew that if any one was on the drive there was light -enough to make her aware of the fact. For some time, however, her eyes, -accustomed to the light of her room, were unable to make out any figure -below; but after waiting at the window for a few minutes, it seemed -to her that she could detect the figure of a man in the middle of the -drive. - -She shut out all the light of the fire behind her and continued peering. -Beyond a doubt there was a man outside. He was waving something white up -to her. In another instant she knew him. A terrible fear took hold upon -her, for she knew that she was looking out at a man in khaki uniform, -and she knew that that man was Julian Harland. And now she saw him -distinctly in the starlight: he was making signs to her, pointing to the -porch and walking in that direction. - -She dropped the blind. There was no doubt whatever in her mind now: -Julian had returned suddenly, and for some reason he wished to be -admitted into the house secretly. - -She stole down the broad shallow staircase into the hall, and by the -light of the glowing logs which smouldered in the big grate she found -her way to the oaken door that shut off the porch from the hall. She -loosened its chains as silently as possible, and opened it. Then she -went through to the porch and found herself standing opposite the -studded hall door. There she paused for an instant, asking herself if -she should open it. - -A low tap sounded on it from the outside. - -"I am here," she said in a low voice; "am I to open the door for you, -Julian?" - -"Open, Madge, quick--quick, I am wounded," he said. - -With trembling fingers she unfastened the bolt, opened the door, and -allowed him to pass into the porch. - -"O, my darling, have you been wounded?" she cried. She had not put -herself into his arms: she had a sense of his being wounded, and she was -afraid of hurting him by coming in contact with the wound. She felt his -hand on hers. - -"It is really only a trifle, Madge," said he; "you will be able to bind -it up for me, and you must not awaken poor mother. The shock of seeing -me might kill her." - -They went side by side into the hall, and he sank down with a sigh -of relief on the big settee before the fire. She broke up one of the -smouldering logs, and it glowed into a great flame which showed her that -his face was very pale and that he had grown a beard. - -She was on her knees at his knees in a moment. - -"Dearest Julian!" she cried, with her arms about him, "how did you come -without sending me word? Oh, where are you wounded?" - -"The arm--the right," he said rather feebly. "It is only a flesh wound, -I know, but it was enough to knock me over, and it has been bleeding -badly. If you wash it and bind it up a bit, however, it will be all -right until the morning, when I can have it looked to." - -Slowly and painfully he raised his right arm. He had apparently slit up -the sleeve of his tunic, and the pieces fell away to the right and left -of his arm, showing her a wound black with coagulated blood. - -"My poor boy--my poor boy!" she said. "I shall do my best with it; but -it is an ugly wound. Why should I not send a man to the surgery? Dr -Gwynne will come at once." - -"No, no," he said; "I don't want to make a fuss at this hour. You can -manage without outside help. Hadn't you better light the candles?" - -She sprang to her feet, and picking up one of the long chips from the -log basket, lighted it in the fire and then transferred the flame to two -of the old sconces at the side of the fireplace. As the light flickered -on him she saw that his tunic was torn and splashed, and that his -putties were caked with mire. No wayside tramp could be in a more -dilapidated condition than Julian was in. He had clearly been walking -some distance; and yet she could not recollect seeing any clay for miles -around of the same tint as that which was caked upon his garments. - -She was about to ask him why he should not go upstairs to his own room -where she could attend to him properly, but she restrained her nurse's -instinct to ask an irritated patient questions. She examined the wound -and said-- - -"I will wash it for you and bind it up till the morning. I shall get a -basin in my own room." - -"'A ministering angel thou!'" he said, with a very wan smile. "By -the way, Madge, do you remember the lace handkerchief--the Medici -handkerchief?" - -"I was looking at it only an hour ago," she said. - -"'There's magic in the web of it," he said. "Fetch it and bind up my -wound with that cobweb drawn over rosebuds and I shall be all right." - -She hastened to her room, and in a few moments had picked out from a -drawer some soft linen, a bottle of arnica, and a pair of scissors. She -had attended ambulance classes, and had confidence in her own capacity -to deal with any ordinary "case." Then she put the lace Medici -handkerchief with the other appliances, and, carrying a large china bowl -with her water jug, came quietly down the stairs once more. - -He had fallen asleep on the settee, but in an instant he was awake. He -was plainly vigilant at once. - -"It is beginning to feel a bit stiff, but that is on account of the -bleeding," he said. "I knew I was doing wisely in awaking you only. I -couldn't stand a fuss." - -"I will make no fuss," she said, "and I shall hurt you as little as -possible. I will even refrain from asking you any questions." - -"That's right; I feel so sleepy," said he. - -In a deft and businesslike way she washed the clotted blood from the -wound, and she quickly perceived that it was only a deep flesh wound, -but it had bled a great deal and that had weakened him. She bandaged the -arm with layers of linen, and when the bandage was secure he cried-- - -"Now for the handkerchief--that will make me all right in a moment. The -earlier Medici were, I told you, wonderful folk, though the later----Ah, -you are a good girl." - -She knew that he must be humoured. She made no protest against using her -handkerchief in such a way. - -"You have no idea how relieved I feel," said he. "My dearest girl, I -knew that I would be safe in your hands. Now get me a big drink of water -and I shall be all right." - -She hastened to where a great cut-glass carafe and its goblet stood -on the oak sideboard. He gave an exclamation that suggested more than -satisfaction while the water was sobbing in the throat of the bottle, -and when he had drunk a clear pint he gave a sigh. - -"I haven't had such a drink for weeks," he said. "Now, dear girl, I'm -dying with sleep, and so, I fancy, are you." - -"You do not mean to sleep here?" she cried. "You will go to your own -room, Julian, dear; a fire has been lighted in it every day to keep out -any possible damp." - -"I couldn't think of such luxury when so many of my poor comrades are -lying under the cold stars," said he. "Don't urge me, Madge; but go to -your own bed and sleep well." - -Even while she was still looking at him, he laid his head back among the -pillows of the settee and fell asleep. She waited by his side only for a -few moments, and then went quietly up to her room. She threw herself on -her knees by her bedside and wept tears of joy at the thought that he -had come safe home again, with only a wound that a few weeks would heal. - -But when she had undressed and got into bed she could not help feeling -that his homecoming was strange beyond imagination. He had sent no -telegram, he had arrived with the stains of battle still on his uniform, -and, strangest of all, his wound was not an old one. Not many hours had -passed since he had sustained it. - -What on earth was the explanation of all this? - -She felt unequal to the task of working out the question. She felt that -all other thoughts should give place to the glorious thought that he was -safe at home. He would explain everything in the morning. - - -IV. - -When she awoke this thought was dominant. He was at home--safe--safe! - -She listened at the door of his room to catch his cheery laughter with -the first of the servants who might discover him. But no such sound came -to her ears. She was nearly dressed when Mrs Harland entered her room. - -"Well!" she cried. "Well! you have seen him? Good heavens, why do you -look at me in that way? Have you not seen him?" - -"Dear Madge," said Mrs Harland, "your eyes have a strange gleam in them. -What do you mean by asking me if I have seen him--_him?_ Is there more -than one _him_ for me and for you?" - -"But he came here late last night, he threw pebbles up at that window, -and I let him into the hall and bound up a wound of his--a flesh wound -only. I left him sleeping on the settee." - -Mrs Harland stared at her. - -"My poor Madge!" she said. "You have had a vivid dream. How could -he possibly have been here when not a week has passed since we got a -cablegram from him? It would take him a week to get back to Cape Town -alone." - -"I don't try to explain anything," said she. "Only he came into the hall -as sure as we stand here together, and I bound up his wound--just -below the elbow of the right arm. If I did not do so, where is the lace -handkerchief? Here are all the things I was looking at before I heard -the sound of the pebbles on the window, and the Medici handkerchief was -there too. Where is it now?" - -"Poor child! Poor Madge!" cried Mrs Harland. "You must try to keep your -thoughts away from him for a day or two. You and I need a change of -scene badly." - -"Oh, no; I am not going mad, I can assure you, my dearest mother," said -Madge. "I tell you that--where is the handkerchief?" - -"There is the breakfast gong," said Mrs Harland. "I believe you, dear; -you were with him in heart." - -Madge laughed, and went downstairs. She gave a glance at the sconce in -which she had lighted the candles; it contained four candles burnt down -to the sockets. - -The papers had no special news; but later in the day two telegrams -arrived. One was for Mrs Harland, the other for Madge. - -They tore open the covers with palpitating fingers. - -The first dispatch said: - -"_Flesh wound--very slight._" The second--that addressed to Madge--said: -"_Thank you, dearest_." They exchanged telegrams, but not a word. - -***** - -He was invalided home after acting as escort to Cronje down to Cape -Town, and saving a gun at Reddersburg (mentioned in despatches), but no -one alluded to the wound which he had sustained on Christmas Day in a -skirmish at the Modder. - -One evening, however, when he was able to sit outside the house, Madge -turned to him, saying: "What did you mean by sending me that telegram, -'_Thank you, dearest?_" - -He gave a laugh. - -"I wonder if you have still by you that Medici handkerchief?" he said. - -"No," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "I must plead as Desdemona -did about hers, it disappeared mysteriously. I cannot produce it for -you, my lord." - -"Ah, now I should get as mad as any Othello," said he, "but on second -thoughts I will refrain." - -"Listen, dear Julian," she said. "I am resolved to confess all to you, -though you may think me a bit of a fool. Listen: on Christmas night -I went to my room and seated myself before the fire, thinking of you, -dearest,--your portrait was in my hands, and on the table were some of -the treasures your hands had touched, the handkerchief among them. Then -I heard--I seemed to hear--no, I prefer to tell the truth--I actually -heard the sound of a pebble flung against my window. I looked out, I -saw you on the drive, and I went downstairs and opened the hall door for -you. You were wounded just where you were actually wounded--and I bound -up your arm with the handkerchief and went to bed. In the morning there -was no sign of your having been here, but--but--the handkerchief was -gone. Don't think me a goose." - -"A goose? Heavens! a goose!" he cried. "Listen to my story, dear. When I -was wounded in that scrimmage, I fainted through loss of blood, and when -I recovered my senses I went in search of the ambulance tent. It was -late before I came across a transport waggon, which had been disabled by -a shell. I crept inside it, but found nothing there, and I was dying of -thirst. And then--then--you came to me with bandages and water--plenty -of water in the cut-glass carafe that stands on the sideboard. You -lighted a candle, bound up my arm, and left me comfortably asleep, where -I was found by our ambulance in the morning. Yes, that's the truth, and -that is why I sent you the telegram, and this is the handkerchief with -the stains upon it still." - -He drew the lace handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. -She gazed at it, but he only laughed and said-- - -"I told you 'there's magic in the web of it.'" - - - - -THE BASELESS FABRIC - -Tis sorry that you'll be to hear that ould Denny Callan is dead, -sir," said the station-master--he was, strictly speaking, the -junction-master--at Mallow, to whom I had confided my hopes of -eventually reaching my destination at St Barter's, in the same county. -He had been courteously voluble, and sometimes even explicit, in giving -me advice on this subject; he also took an optimistic view of the -situation. All things considered, and with a moderate share of good -luck, I might reasonably hope to reach St Barter's House within a couple -of hours. That point, which was becoming one of great interest to me, -being settled, he thought that he was entitled to assume that I should -be grieved to hear of the death of "ould Denny Callan." He assumed too -much. I had never heard the name of the lamented Mr Callan. I could not -pretend to be overwhelmed with grief at the news that some one was dead -whom I had never heard of being alive. - -"Tubbe sure, you're a stranger, sir--what am I thinking of at all--or -you'd know all about the road to St Barter's," said the official. "Oh, -but you'd have liked ould Denny, sir, if you'd but have known him. A -more harmless crayture you couldn't find, search high or low. 'Tis a -great favourite that he was with the gentlemen--ay, and for that matter, -the ladies--though I wouldn't like to say a word against him that's -gone. Oh, they all come away from St Barter's with a good word for -Denny. Well, well, he's at rest, and I don't expect that you'll have to -wait much longer for your train, sir." - -When I had got out of my compartment in the express from Dublin an hour -before, I was told that I should only have to wait for ten minutes to -make the connection that would take me on to Blarney--the station for -St Barter's--but the train which was reputed to be able to perform this -service for me had not yet been signalled. After the lapse of another -twenty minutes I began to think that the stationmaster had taken too -roseate a view of my future. It did not seem likely that I should, in -the language of the 'Manual,' "attain my objective" that day. - -I had reached a stage of bewildering doubt, which was not mitigated by -the arrival at the junction of a long train, and the announcement of the -guard to the passengers, "Change here for Ameriky,"--it was explained -to me that the train was full of emigrants bound for America via -Queenstown,--when the station-master bustled up to tell me that the -Blarney special had just been signalled from Kilmallock--the Blarney -special was getting on very well, and with good luck should be available -for passengers from Mallow within half an hour. - -The good luck on which this estimate was founded was not lacking. -My train crawled alongside the platform only five minutes over the -half-hour, and the official wished me a continuance of good luck, -adding-- - -"It wouldn't be like going back to the same place now that poor ould -Denny is gone, if you had ever been there before, sir. Best his sowl! -'Tis the harmless crayture that he was. You'll be sorry that you didn't -know him, sir, when you find the place a bit lonesome." - -I was half-way to Blarney before my sluggish mind was able to appreciate -the contingencies suggested by the station-master. I had never before -been to St Barter's, but if I had ever been there I should regret my -returning to the place now that a certain person, of whose existence I -had been unaware, was gone. That was how I worked out the matter, and -before I had concluded the operation I had become quite emotional in -regard to the demise of Denny. I shook my head mournfully at the thought -that I should never see him--that I had come too late--too late! I had -no idea that the local colour, which is associated by tradition with -this neighbourhood, was so potent; but, indeed, when the obliging -station-master at Blarney, who entered into conversation with me while -the porter was looking after my luggage, remarked-- - -"So poor ould Denny is gone at last, sir!" I shook my head sadly. - -"Poor old Denny! poor old Denny!" I said with a sigh. "Ah, we'll all -miss poor old Denny. He was the most harmless man--St Barter's will not -be the same without him." - -The station-master did his best to comfort me for half an hour--that was -the exact space that I had to wait for the car which was to carry me to -St Barter's. When it did arrive, the excuse given by the red-haired boy -who had charge of the "wee mare" was that it was a grand wake entirely -that Denny had last night. - -He told me more about it (with statistics of certain comestibles, -mostly liquid) when driving along one of the loveliest roads possible to -imagine, past the grey square tower of Blarney Castle, embowered among -its trees, and on by the side of the greenest slopes I had ever seen, -beneath the branches of one of the groves renowned in history and in -song. A broad stream flowed parallel with the road, and every glimpse -that I had through the trees on both sides was of emerald hills--some -in the distance, others apparently sending their soft ridges athwart the -road. I felt that at last I was in Ireland. - -On the side of a gracious slope, gradually approached by broad zigzag -drives which follow the swelling curves of long grassy billows, -the buildings of St Barter's stand. They are neither venerable nor -imposing--only queer. It seemed to me that everybody must have been -concerned in their construction except an architect. But the compiler -of a guide-book could, with every desire to be economical of his space, -fill half a dozen pages with a description of the landscape which faces -the windows of the front. The green terraces below the gardens dip -toward the brink of a glen through which a trout stream rushes, and the -woods of this sylvan hollow straggle up the farther slope, and spread -over it in a blaze of autumnal gold that glows half through the winter. -Where the wooded slopes and the range of green hills begin, undulating -into a soft distance of pasturages, with here and there a white -farmhouse shining out of the shadow of an orchard, and at the dividing -line of the low slopes, the turret of Blarney Castle appears above the -dark cloud of its own woods. - -Before I found myself facing this entrancing landscape, I could not for -the life of me understand why my client, who might have lived where -she pleased, should spend half the year at St Barter's. But now I -understood, and I took back the words which I had spoken more than -once, when in mid-channel the previous night. A family solicitor may be -pardoned for occasionally calling a client a fool. I had called several -of my most valued clients by this name. I did so for the same reason -that Adam gave for calling the fox a fox--because it was a fox. But I -had never to retract until now. "Hydros" are horrors as a rule, but St -Barter's is a beatitude. - -A couple of hours after lunch--the water which was placed on our table -was as exhilarating as champagne--sufficed for the transaction of the -business which had brought me to Ireland, and I was free to return by -the night train. I had, however, no mind to be so businesslike; for the -scenery had clasped me tightly in its embrace, and in addition I found -that the resident medico had been in my form at Marlborough, and I was -delighted to meet him again. I had lost sight of him for nine or ten -years. - -It was by the side of Dr Barnett that I strolled about the grounds and -learned something of the history of the curious old place. - -"Rambling? I should think it is rambling," he said, acquiescing in my -remark. "How could it be anything else, considering the piecemeal way -in which it was built? It was begun by a very brilliant and highly -practical physician more than fifty years ago. When the house, as it was -then, was fully occupied, and he got a letter from a person of quality -inquiring for rooms, he simply put the inquirer off for a week, then set -to, built on a few more rooms, and had them ready for occupation within -the time stated. This went on for several years. If the Lord Lieutenant -had written for a suite of apartments he would have had them ready in -ten days. That sort of thing produces this style of architecture. St -Barter's is the finest example extant of the pure rambling. But it is -the healthiest place in the world. People come here expecting to die -within a fortnight, and they live on for thirty years." - -"But now and again there is a death," said I. "What about poor ould -Denny? The most harmless crayture----" - -Dr Barnett stared at me. - -"Was it in the London papers?" he cried. "Oh, I see; you have been -talking to the driver of the car. Poor ould Denny! He was everybody's -friend." - -"And yet quite harmless? The place will never seem the same to me as it -would have done if I had not arrived too late to see Denny. Was he your -assistant, or what?" - -The doctor laughed. - -"He was simply 'poor ould Denny!"' he said. "That was his profession. -It was pretty comprehensive, I can tell you. He was here when the house -would be overcrowded with ten guests. He roofed a whole wing with his -own hands. Then he dug the pit for the gasometer, thirty years ago, and -he lived to dam the trout stream that works the dynamo for the electric -light. He was also an accomplished _masseur_, and set up the hatchery -that supplied the stream with trout." - -"His name should have been Crichton, not Callan. Anything else?" - -"He could do tricks on the billiard table, and he knew all that there is -to be known about hair-cutting." - -"Is that all?" - -"That's all--no, stay! he was a sculptor's model for some time. I can -show you the result of his labours in this direction, if you would care -to see it." - -"I certainly should care to see it." - -"Come along, then." - -He led me half-way round the building, from where the two storeys of the -centre block dwindled away to the single bedroom sheds of one wing. We -passed by the side of the terrace garden, and I made a remark respecting -the fine carving on some of the stone vases. - -"They were the work of the sculptor who chose Denny for his model," said -the doctor. "Here we are." - -I followed him between two fine cedars, and in another instant we were -face to face with a very striking colossal figure of a man holding aloft -a goblet. The head and the torso were very powerful, but the latter was -joined on to a conventional Greek pedestal, at the foot of which there -peeped out four tiny hoofs of satyrs. - -"What do you think of it? my friend inquired?" I told him that I -thought there was a good deal of strength in the modelling of the -figure, but I could not understand the satyrs' hoofs. - -"I take it for granted that the sculptor left the hair unfinished,' I -added; for one could not help remarking the roughness of the masses at -the top of the head. The sculptor had merely blocked out the heavy locks -of hair; he had made no attempt to define them. - -"The story of the work is rather a sad one," said the doctor. "The -sculptor was a nephew of the man who built this place. He had worked in -a good studio in Italy, and was, I believe, a pupil of the distinguished -Irishman, Foley. He was devoted to his profession, and exhibited in some -of the London galleries. But every one knows that it is very difficult -to make a name--and a profit--as a sculptor, and he realised this truth -only when he had spent the greater part of his small patrimony. He came -here, and built for himself that cottage which you see at the other side -of the terrace, and, in order to keep himself employed, he carved -all these vases and urns which you have been admiring. Unfortunately, -however, among the doctor's patients at the house there was a wealthy -linen merchant from Ulster--one of that vulgar crowd who had become -suddenly prosperous when the American Civil War prevented the export of -cotton from the southern ports; and this gentleman, meeting the sculptor -daily, and feeling probably that he would like to pose before the world -as a patron of Art, gave him a commission to execute a colossal figure -to support a lamp at the entrance to the new house which he was building -for himself. He made no stipulation as to the design, only the cost was -not to exceed a thousand pounds, and the work was to be ready within -a year. Of course, the poor sculptor was delighted. He accepted the -commission, and, thinking of the artistic rather than the business side -of the transaction, never dreamt of drawing up an agreement with his -generous patron. Before a month had passed, he had obtained his material -and made his clay sketches. Looking about for a model for the figure, -he was struck by the fine proportions of Denny, and had no difficulty in -inducing him to add to his other occupations the more restful one of a -sculptor's model. For several months the work progressed satisfactorily, -and it was very near its completion, when the model contracted a malady -which necessitated the shaving of his head and interrupted his sittings. -The sculptor was not greatly inconvenienced, however. He turned his -attention for some weeks to the carving of the pedestal, and got that -completed before his model was able to resume his sittings. But even -then the sculptor could only deal with the torso, for Denny's crown was -as bald as an egg. In a couple of months, however, the doctor assured -him that he would have as luxuriant a crop as would qualify him to -pose for one of the artists who produce the advertisements for -hair-restorers. The work was now practically finished. As the model -remarked, the edifice only needed the thatch to be put on the roof to -make it presentable. Then the proud artist wrote to his patron, telling -him that his commission was executed, and inviting him to come and -see it. After the lapse of a week or two the patron arrived, and was -conducted by the sculptor to view his masterpiece. The patron viewed -it in silence for some minutes, and then burst into a fit of laughter. -'Man, dear!' he managed at last to gasp in the raucous accent of his -native province--'Man, dear! what's that thing, anyway? Tell us what it -is, if you can. A Greek figure? They must have had funny figures, them -Greeks, if they had feet like yon. You must take me for a queer fool if -you fancy that I'd let the like o' yon stand fornenst my house. You may -make a fool of yourself as much as you please, but I'll take good care -that you don't make a fool of me!' What could a refined man say to a -brute like this? Well, he said nothing. He stood there in silence, with -his eyes fixed upon the face that he had carved, and the patron left him -staring at it. He stared at it all day, and the doctor, walking round -the garden that night, saw him staring at it in the moonlight, and led -him away to the cottage, and sent him to bed. He never rose from that -bed, except once. Two days later, his housemaid entered his room and -found him kneeling at his window--the statue could be seen where he had -placed it--where it now stands--and he was quite dead." - -I could not speak for some time after the doctor had told me the story, -for I felt that it was the saddest I had ever heard. - -"His heart was broken," I said. "But perhaps you will tell me that -science has proved that such a rupture is impossible." - -"I will tell you nothing of the sort," said he. "A broken heart is the -best possible way to describe the effect upon a sensitive brain of such -a shock as the sculptor sustained. His heart was broken. I am sorry that -I hadn't a livelier story for you. People come to Ireland expecting to -be amused; but it seems to me that the history of the island from the -earliest times is one prolonged lament. The finest music of the national -melodies is to be found in the most mournful." - -I stood with my eyes fixed upon the statue. - -"Strange, isn't it, that I should arrive here to be told that pitiful -story within an hour or two of the death of the model?" said I. "The -poor artist! I am sure that he felt that he was immortalising Denny; and -yet--I suppose that in a year or two no one will know anything either -of the sculptor or his model. Perhaps the vulgarity of the Ulster patron -is, after all, the most enduring of all the qualities that went to the -production of this work." - -"The patron eventually became one of the most distinguished bankrupts -of his generation," said Dr Barnett. "He died a few years ago, but -vulgarity did not die with him. Yes, I think you are right--vulgarity is -immortal." - -"I wonder if our friend Denny was proud to be reproduced in the stone, -or was he mortified at the result of his first connection with art?" I -remarked, while we were strolling back to the house. - -"He took an interest in the thing up to the very last," replied the -doctor. "I have often seen him take a surreptitious glance at it, and -pass away from it, stroking his head mournfully. He confided in me once -that his sorrow was that the sculptor had not lived to reproduce -his fine head of hair; and I know that he believed that it was the -unfinished state of the crown of the figure that brought about its -rejection. His widow told me only yesterday that this was the greatest -trouble of his last hours. You see, the figure was a record of his -early manhood, but the pride that he had in looking at it must have been -chastened by the feeling that it did not do justice to his curls--his -one vanity was his curly head. He was nicknamed in Irish 'The -curly-headed boy.' It was pathetic to hear his widow repeat the phrase -over his body when I visited her in her trouble yesterday. 'He was my -curly-headed boy--my curly-headed boy will never know the touch of my -comb again!' she wailed in Irish." - -"Poor old Denny!" said I. - -"That seems by one consent to be his most appropriate epitaph," said the -doctor. - -After dinner that night I played a very pleasant rubber of whist with my -client, and the doctor and his wife. When the party separated I went to -the billiard-room with Barnett, and we played a hundred up. Lighting -a cigar then, I strolled out alone upon the terrace, the doctor having -gone to his room. The night was a brilliant one, and the landscape lay -bare and white beneath the moonlight, which flooded the far-off hills -and spread a garment of filigree over the foliage of the glen and of the -slope beyond. Beneath its brilliance the trout stream, whose voice came -fitfully through the brooding silence of the night, flashed here and -there among the trees. The square tower of the Castle shone like marble -in the distance. From one of the farms of the hillside the faint sound -of a dog's bark reached my ears. - -I seated myself on one of the terrace chairs, languidly smoking my cigar -and breathing the strong perfume of the stocks of the garden. I -confess that my mind was dwelling upon the story of that queer piece -of sculpture before which I had stood in the afternoon. It was as sad -a story as that of the poet Keats, only the brutal criticism of the -sculptor's patron was more savage than the 'Quarterly Review' which had -bludgeoned the fine poet to the death. But my sympathy was not given to -the artist so fully as to leave no pity to bestow upon his model, who -had lived on for thirty or forty years with his humble grievance. I -could appreciate the feelings of poor old Denny all the years that he -had laboured beneath the burden of being handed down in effigy to coming -generations shorn of his greatest glory. The one who was known to all -men as the curly-haired hoy was doomed to stand before the eyes of all -comers as the possessor of shapeless, matted locks that were not locks -at all! - -He was not made of the same fibre as the artist; he had not broken down -beneath the weight of that reflection; but I knew it must have been a -heaviness to him all his days. - -I remained seated in the moonlight for a long time, and just as I -thought that I should turn in, I noticed a figure crossing the little -grassy slope toward the garden. It was, I perceived, the figure of a -man, and he was wearing what I took at first to be an ordinary night -suit of light silk; but before he had gone a dozen steps I perceived -that his garment was a painter's blouse. He moved silently over the -grass, and I could not help feeling, as I had often done before, how a -glance of moonlight on a figure may produce such an effect of mystery -as can never be gained in daylight. I assumed that the object which was -passing away among the flower-beds was one of the household staff on -duty--a watchman, it might be, or a gardener going to regulate the -heating apparatus in a greenhouse. And yet, looking at him from my seat, -he seemed as weird and unsubstantial as a whiff of mountain mist. - -I rose from my place, and was about to walk round to the entrance to -the house and get to bed, when I became aware of another figure moving -through the moonlight along the grassy terrace. I gave an exclamation of -surprise when I saw that this one was half nude and white--white as -the stone of the statue beyond the trees--there, it moved--_the statue -itself_---I saw it--the figure of the man with his hands held aloft--the -features were the same--the proportions of the body--only this one was -more perfect than the other, for he had a mass of curly locks clustering -over his head like the curls of the Herakles of the Vatican. - -And even while I stood there watching him, the figure passed away among -the trees. - -I waited in such a state of amazement as I had never experienced before. -I had the sensation of being newly awakened; but I knew that I had not -fallen asleep for a moment. I was not afraid; only, finding myself in a -situation to which I was unaccustomed, I did not know what I should do. -It took me some minutes to collect myself. - -Through the stillness I became aware of a curious dull tapping -sound--there it went, tap, tap, tap; then a slight pause, and again tap, -tap, tap, tap. - -A dog behind the house gave a prolonged howl, and along the path below -me a fox-terrier, which I had seen during the day, scurried, its tail -between its legs, and every limb trembling. - -"Tap, tap, tap"--a pause--"tap, tap, tap, tap." - -My mind was made up. I went cautiously along the terrace in the -direction of the garden. I found myself walking stealthily on my toes, -as though I was anxious not to disturb someone who was desirous of -quiet; and as I went on, the sounds of the tapping became more distinct. -Almost before I knew it, I reached that part of the grassy terrace which -commanded a view of the garden; and in an instant I was standing still. -I could hear the beating of my own heart as I saw, under my very eyes, -not twenty yards away, three figures, equally white and shadowy. - -The nearest to me was of the half-naked man with the head of curls; the -one in the middle was in exactly the same posture--it was the figure of -the statue; and the third was the one which I had seen wearing the long -white blouse, and this was the only one of the three that moved. He was -standing, as it seemed, on the ledge of the pedestal, and a sculptor's -chisel was in one hand and a mallet in the other. He was working at -the head of the statue, every now and again glancing at the head of the -model, pausing while he did so, and beginning to work again after the -lapse of a second or two. - -I stood there on the terrace watching this strange scene, and the -curious part of it was that it did not seem in the least degree curious -to me while it was being enacted. On the contrary, I had a distinct -sense of harmony--of artistic finish--the pleasurable sensation of -which one is conscious on the completion of the _leit motif_ of a -symphony,--that is how I can best express what my feelings were at the -time. During the hour that I remained there it never occurred to me that -I should draw any nearer to the shadowy group. As a matter of fact, I -believe that there was uppermost in my mind an apprehension that it was -necessary for me to keep very still, lest I should interfere with the -work. I have had precisely the same feeling when in the studio of a -painter while he was at work and I was watching him. But I could not -leave the place where I stood, so long as that scene was being enacted -in the silence, and the three figures were equally silent. The night -knew no sound except that caused by the chiselling of the stone. - -An hour must have passed--perhaps more than an hour--and then, still in -silence, the sculptor threw his chisel and his mallet to the ground. I -heard the little thud which each gave on the turf. Then he sprang to the -ground; but his feet made no sound in alighting. I stood on the terrace -and watched him and his model move away across the garden as silently -as they had come, and disappear among the trees at the entrance to the -glen. - -***** - -The next morning when I had breakfasted I sought my friend Dr Barnett, -and told him my experience of the night. He did not smile. But he -was strictly scientific. We were smoking together on one of the paths -bordered by laurels, and when I had told him all that I had to tell, he -put his hand on my arm, saying-- - -"My dear boy, the phenomena of ghosts are invariably interesting, -and, on the whole, not more perplexing than other natural phenomena. -Sometimes they are due to one cause, sometimes to another. Most -frequently they must be attributed to the projection of an image upon -the eye from within, not from without. Now, in your case--but we had -better stroll round to the scene of your illusion." - -We went together across the lawn in the direction of the companion -cedars, and he continued his discourse. - -"All that you have told me interests me greatly, showing as it does how, -under certain conditions, the most admirably balanced brain may become -what I may call sensitised--susceptible as a photographic plate to an -image----" - -At this point his speech was arrested. We had passed between the cedars, -and the statue was facing us. The doctor was gazing up at it. - -"Good heavens!" he said in a whisper; "he has finished it!" - -I looked up and saw that the head of the figure was covered with curls. - -"He has finished it--he has finished it," the doctor whispered again. - -"Yes," I said, "he has finished it. I saw him do it." - - - - -BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. - - -I. - -The houses which constitute the town of Picotee--in the Gambia region -a commendable liberality of spirit prevails as to the requisite elements -of a town--were glistening beneath the intolerable rays of the afternoon -sun. To the eyes of all aboard the mail steamer _Penguin_, which had -just run up a blue-peter in the anchorage, the town seemed of dazzling -whiteness. It was only the inhabitants of Picotee who knew that the -walls of the houses were not white, but of a sickly yellow tinge; -consequently, it was only the inhabitants who knew how inappropriate -it was to allude to their town as the "whited sepulchre"--a term of -reproach which was frequently levelled against it rather on account -of the appalling percentage of mortality among its inhabitants than -by reason of the spotlessness of the walls, though they did appear -spotless when viewed from the sea. In the saloon of the _Penguin_ the -thermometer registered 95, and when the passengers complained to -the captain of the steamer respecting the temperature, holding him -personally responsible for every degree that it rose above 70, he -pointed across the dazzling blue waters of the anchorage to where the -town was painfully glistening, and asked his complainants how they would -like to be there. - -It was universally believed that when the captain had put this inquiry, -the last word had been said regarding the temperature: he, at any rate, -seemed to fancy that he had relieved himself from all responsibility in -the matter. - -At Picotee things were going on pretty much as usual. But what is -progress at Picotee would be regarded as stagnation elsewhere. - -There was a fine suggestion of repose about the Kroomen who were dozing -in unpicturesque attitudes in the shade of the palms on the ridge -nearest to the beach; and even Mr Caractacus Brown, who, being one of -the merchants of the place,--he sold parrots to the sailors, and would -accept a contract for green monkeys from the more ambitious collectors -of the fauna of the West Coast,--was not supposed to give way to such -weaknesses as were exhibited by the Kroomen--even Mr Caractacus Brown -wiped his woolly head and admitted to his neighbour, Mr Coriolanus -White, that the day was warm. Having seen Coriolanus selling liquid -lard by the spoonful, he could scarcely do otherwise than admit that the -temperature was high. Devonshire cream was solid in comparison with -the lard sold at Picotee. But, in spite of the heat, a pepper-bird was -warbling among the bananas, and its song broke the monotony of the roar -of the great rollers that broke upon the beach--a roar that varies but -that never ends in the ears of the people of Picotee. - -Dr Claude Koomadhi, who occupied a villa built on the lovely green slope -above the town, opened the shutters of the room in which he sat, and -listened to the song of the pepper-bird. Upon his features, which seemed -as if they were carved out of black oak and delicately polished, a -sentimental expression appeared. His eyes showed a large proportion of -white as he sighed and remarked to his servant, who brought him a glass -of iced cocoanut milk, that the song of the pepper-bird reminded him of -home. - -"Of 'ome, sah?" said the old woman. "Lor' bress yah, sah! dere ain't no -peppah-buds at Ashantee." - -Dr Koomadhi's eyes no longer wore a sentimental expression. They flashed -when the old woman had spoken, but she did not notice this circumstance. -She only laid down the tumbler on the table, hitched up her crimson -shawl, and roared with negress' laughter. - -"You don't understand, Sally. I said home--England," remarked the -doctor. - -"Oh, beg pardung, sah; thought yah 'looded to Ashantee," said the old -woman as she rolled out of the room, still uttering that senseless -laugh. - -Dr Koomadhi did not seem to be greatly put out by that reminder of the -fact that Ashantee was his birthplace. He threw himself back in his cane -chair and took a sip from the tumbler. He then resumed his perusal of -the 'Saturday Review' brought by the _Penguin_ in the morning. - -He did not get through many pages. He shook his head gravely. He -could not approve of the tone of the political article. It suggested -compromise. It was not Conservative enough for Dr Koomadhi. He began -to fear that he must give up the 'Saturday.' It was clearly temporising -with the enemy. This would not do for Dr Koomadhi. - -He took another sip of cocoanut milk, and then began pacing the room. -He was clearly restless in his mind; but, perhaps, it would be going too -far to suggest that he was perturbed owing to the spirit of compromise -displayed in the political article which he had just read. No; though a -staunch Conservative, he was still susceptible of a passion beyond the -patriotic desire to assist in maintaining the integrity of the Empire. -This was the origin of his uneasiness. He had been awake all the -previous night thinking over his past life, and trying to think out -his future. The conclusion to which he had come was that as he had -successfully overthrown all the obstacles which had been in his path, to -success in the past, there was no reason why he might not overthrow all -that might threaten to bar his progress in the future. But, in spite of -having come to this conclusion, he was very uneasy. - -He did not become more settled when he had gone to a drawer in his -writing-desk and had taken out a cabinet portrait--the portrait of a -lady--and had gazed at it for several minutes. He laid it back with -something like a sigh, and then brought out of the same receptacle a -quantity of manuscript, every page of which consisted of a number of -lines, irregular as to their length, but each one beginning with a -capital letter. This is the least compromising way of referring to such -manuscripts. To say that they were poetry would, perhaps, be to place a -fictitious value upon them; but they certainly had one feature in common -with the noblest poems ever written in English: every line began with a -capital letter. - -Dr Koomadhi's lips--they constituted not the least prominent of his -features--moved as he read to himself the lines which he had written -during the past three months,--since his return to Picotee with -authority to spend some thousands of pounds in carrying out certain -experiments, the result of which would, it was generally hoped, -transform the region of the Gambia into one of the healthiest of her -Majesty's possessions. Then he sighed again and laid the manuscripts -over the photograph, closing and locking the drawer of the desk. - -He walked fitfully up and down the room for another hour. Then he opened -his shutters, and the first breath of the evening breeze from the sea -came upon his face. - -"I'll do it," he said resolutely. "Why should I not do it? Surely that -old ridiculous prejudice is worn out. Surely she, at least, will be -superior to such prejudice. Yes, she must--she must. I have succeeded -hitherto in everything that I have attempted, and shall I fail in this?" - -The roar of the rollers along the beach filled the room, at the open -window of which Dr Koomadhi remained standing for several minutes. - - -II. - -Dr Koomadhi belonged to a race who are intolerant of any middle course -so far as dress is concerned. They are either very much dressed or -very much undressed. But he had lived long enough in England to have -chastened whatever yearning he may have had for running into either -extreme. Only now and again--usually when in football costume--he had -felt a strange longing to forswear the more cumbersome tweeds of -daily life. This longing, combined with the circumstance of his being -extremely fond of football, might be accepted as evidence that the -traditions of the savages from whom he had sprung survived in his -nature, just as they do in the youth of Great Britain, only he had not -to go so far back as have the most of the youth of Great Britain, to -reach the fountain-head. - -The evening attire which he now resumed was wholly white,--from his pith -helmet down to his canvas shoes, he was in white, with the exception of -his tie, which was black. He looked at himself in a glass when at the -point of leaving his house, and he felt satisfied with his appearance; -only he should have dearly liked to exchange his black tie for one of -scarlet. He could not understand how it was that he had never passed -a draper's window in London without staring with envious eyes at the -crimson scarves displayed for sale. No one could know what heroic -sacrifices he made in rejecting all such allurements. No one could know -what he suffered while crushing down that uncivilised longing for a -brilliant colour. - -Just before leaving the house he went to his desk and brought out of one -of the drawers a small ivory box. He unlocked it and stood for some -time with his face down to the thing that the box contained--a -curiously-speckled stone, somewhat resembling a human ear. While -keeping his head down to this thing his lips were moving. He was clearly -murmuring some phrases in a strange language into that curiously shaped -stone. - -Relocking the ivory box, he returned it to the drawer, which he also -locked. Then he left his house, and took a path leading to a well-built -villa standing in front of a banana-jungle, with a tall flag-pole -before its hall door--a flag-pole from which the union-jack fluttered, -indicating to all casual visitors that this was the official residence -of her Majesty's Commissioner to the Gambia, Commander Hope, R.N. - -"Hallo, Koomadhi!" came a voice from the open window to the right of the -door. "Pardon me for five minutes. I'm engaged at my correspondence -to go to England by the _Penguin_ this evening. But don't mind me. Go -through to the drawing-room and my daughter will give you a cup of tea." - -"All right, sir," said Dr Koomadhi. "Don't hurry on my account. I was -merely calling to mention that I had forwarded my report early in the -day; but I'll wait inside." - -"All right," came the voice from the window. "I'm at the last folios." - -Dr Koomadhi was in the act of entering the porch when his pith helmet -was snatched off by some unseen hand, and a curious shriek sounded on -the balcony above the porch. - -"The ruffian!" said Koomadhi, with a laugh. "The ruffian! He's at his -tricks again." - -He took a few steps back and looked up to the balcony. There sat an -immense tame baboon, wearing the helmet and screeching with merriment. - -"I'll have to give you another lesson, my gentleman," said the doctor, -shaking his finger at the creature. "Hand me down that helmet at once." - -The baboon made a grimace and then raised his right hand to the -salute--his favourite trick. - -Suddenly the doctor produced a sound with his lips, and in an instant -the monkey had dropped the helmet and had fled in alarm from the balcony -to the roof of the house, whence he gazed in every direction, while the -doctor went into the house with his helmet in his hand. He had merely -given the simian word of alarm, which the creature, understanding its -mother tongue, had promptly acted upon. - -"'You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, but the -scent'--you know the rest, sir," remarked Mr Letts, the Commissioner's -Secretary, who had observed from his window the whole transaction. - -"What was that, Letts?" asked the Commissioner. - -"Koomadhi spoke to the baboon in its own tongue, sir, and it took the -hint of a man and a brother and cleared off." - -"Yes, but where does the shattering of the vase come in?" asked the -Commissioner. - -"I mean to suggest that a nigger remains a nigger, and remains on -speaking terms with a baboon, even though he has a college degree and -wears tweeds," said Mr Letts. - -"Oh," said the Commissioner. - -He had heard the same opinion expressed by various members of his staff -ever since he had anything to do with the administration of affairs on -the West Coast. He had long ago ceased to take even the smallest amount -of interest in the question of the exact depth of a negro's veneer of -civilisation. - - -III. - -But while Mr Letts was quoting Thomas Moore's line--in a corrupt -form--to the Commissioner, Dr Koomadhi was accepting, with a certain -amount of dignity, the greeting which was extended to him by Miss Hope, -the Commissioner's daughter, in the drawing-room. She had been trying -over some songs which had just arrived from England. Two of them were of -a high colour of sentimentalism, another belonged to that form of poetic -composition known as a coon song. It had a banjo obbligato; but the -pianoforte accompaniment of itself gave more than a suggestion of the -twanging of strings and the banging of a tambourine. Had Dr Koomadhi -arrived a few minutes sooner it would have been his privilege to hear -Gertrude Hope chant the chorus-- - - "Don't you belieb un, Massa John, - - Jes' winkie mid y o' eye, - - Kick up yo' heels to de gasalier-- - - Say, how am dat for high?" - -But Gertrude had, after singing the melody, pushed the copy under a pile -of music, and had risen from the piano to receive her visitor, at the -same time ringing for tea. - -He apologised for interrupting her at the piano. - -"If I had only known that you were singing, I should certainly -have--well, not exactly, stayed away; no, I should have come sooner, and -remained a worshipper in the outer court." - -"Oh, I wasn't singing--not regularly singing," said she, with a laugh. -"Trying over stupid songs about lovers' partings is not singing, Dr -Koomadhi." - -"Lovers' partings?" said he. "They seem particularly well adapted to -lyrical treatment." - -"The songs at any rate are heart-breaking," said she. - -"They represent the most acute stage of the lovers' feelings, then?" -said he. - -"I daresay. I suppose there are degrees of feelings even of lovers." - -"I'm sure of it, Miss Hope." - -He was seated in a wicker chair; she had thrown herself into another--a -seat that gave her the appearance of lying in a hammock. He scanned her -from her white forehead down to the dainty feet that crossed one another -on the sloping support of cane-work. She would have been looked on as a -very pretty girl in a London drawing-room; and even a girl who would be -regarded as commonplace there would pass as a marvel of loveliness on -the West Coast of Africa. - -"Yes," continued Dr Koomadhi, "I'm sure there are degrees of feeling -even among lovers." - -"You are a doctor, and so doubtless have had many opportunities of -diagnosing the disease in all its stages," said she. - -"Yes, I am a doctor," said he. "I am also a man. I have felt. I feel." - -She gave another laugh. - -"A complete conjugation of the verb," said she. "Past and present -tenses. How about the future?" - -There was only a little pause before he said-- - -"The future is in your hands, Miss Hope. I have come here to-day to tell -you that I have never loved any one in all my life but you, and to ask -you if you will marry me." - -There was now a long pause--so long that he became hopeful of her -answer. Then he saw the blank look that was upon her face change--he saw -the flush that came over her white face when she had had time to realise -the import of his words. - -She started up, and at the same instant the baboon came in front of the -window and raised his right hand to the salute. - -"You are mad--mad!" she said, in a whisper that had something fierce -about it. Then she lay back in her chair with a laugh. "_I_ marry -you--_you_. I should as soon marry----" - -She had pointed to the baboon before she had checked herself. - -"You would as soon marry the baboon as me?" said he in a low and -laboured voice. - -"I did not say that, although--Dr Koomadhi, what you have told me has -given me a shock--such a shock as I have never had before. I am not -myself--if I said anything hurtful to you I know that you will attribute -it to the shock--I ask your pardon--sincerely--humbly. I never thought -it possible that you--you--oh, you must have been mad! You----" - -"Give me a cup of tea, my dearest, if you don't want to see me perish -before your eyes." The words came from outside a window behind Dr -Koomadhi, and in another second a man had entered from the verandah, and -had given a low whistle on perceiving that Miss Hope had a visitor. - -"Come along," said Miss Hope, when she had drawn a deep breath--"Come -along and be introduced to Dr Koomadhi. You have often heard of Dr -Koomadhi, I'm sure, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, this is Major Minton." - -"How do you do?" said the stranger, giving his hand to the doctor. "I'm -glad to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, and how clever you are." - -"You flatter me," said Dr Koomadhi, shaking hands with the new-comer. -"I must now rush away, Miss Hope," he added. "I only called to tell your -father that I had forwarded some reports by the _Penguin_." - -"Jolly old tub, the _Penguin_--glad I've seen the last of her," said -Major Minton. - -"Major Minton arrived by the _Penguin_ this morning," said Gertrude. -"Must you really go away, Dr Koomadhi?" - -"Not even the prospect of a cup of your tea would make me swerve from -the path of duty, Miss Hope," said the doctor, with a smile so chastened -as to be deprived of all its Ethiopian character. - -He shook hands gracefully with her and Major Minton, and passed out by -the verandah, the baboon standing to one side and solemnly saluting. The -Major was the only one who laughed, and his laugh was a roar. - - -IV. - -Dr Koomadhi found waiting for him at his house his old friend Mr Ross, -the surgeon of the _Penguin_. He had been unable to leave the steamer -earlier in the day, and he had only an hour to spend ashore. No, he -did not think that anything was the matter with a bottle of champagne, -provided that it was large enough and dry enough, and that it had been -plunged into ice, not ice plunged into it. - -These essentials being guaranteed by Dr Koomadhi, Mr Ross's hour -passed--as he thought--pleasantly enough. The two men sat together on -cane chairs on the balcony facing the sea. It is at such a time, and -under such conditions, that existence on the Gambia becomes not merely -endurable, but absolutely delightful. Mr Ross made a remark to this -effect, and expressed the opinion that his friend was in luck. - -"In luck? Oh yes. I'm the luckiest fellow in the world," responded -Koomadhi grimly. "I've everything that heart can wish for." - -"Yes, you're well paid, you don't mind the climate, and you're honoured -and respected by the whole community," said Ross. - -"Of course--honoured and respected--that's the strong point of the -situation," said Koomadhi. - -"The only drawback seems to me to be the rather narrow limits of the -society. Still, the Commissioner is a decent enough sort of old boy, -and Letts has a good deal to recommend him. By the way, you'll not be so -badly off in this matter during the next six months as you have been. We -brought out a chap named Minton--a chap that any one could get on with. -He's just chucked the service and is going to marry Miss Hope." - -"I have just met him at the Residency," said Koomadhi, filling up with -a steady hand the glass of his guest. "And so he's going to marry Miss -Hope, is he?" - -"Yes; he confided a lot in me--mostly on the bridge toward the hour of -midnight. The young woman has been engaged to him for a year past. They -met just before the Commissioner got his berth, but the daughter being a -good daughter, and with a larger sense of duty than is possessed by most -girls, swore--in her own way, of course--that nothing should tempt her -to desert her father for at least a year. Much to Minton's disgust, as -you can understand, she came out here, telling him that if he still was -anxious to marry her, he might follow her at the end of a year. Well, as -he retained his fancy, he came out with us, and I believe you'll be in -a position to add an official wedding to your other experiences, -Koomadhi." - -"That's something to look forward to," said Koomadhi. "But how will that -incident improve society in this neighbourhood? I suppose Minton and his -wife will get off to England as soon as possible?" - -"Not they. Although they are to get married at once, they are to remain -here for six or seven months--until, in fact, the Commissioner gets his -leave, and then they all mean to go home together. Minton has a trifle -of six thousand a-year and a free house in Yorkshire, so Miss Hope is -in luck--so, for that matter, is Minton; she's a fine young woman, I -believe. I only met her once." - -"I'm not so certain about her constitution," said Koomadhi. "Her lungs -are, I believe, all right, but her circulation is defective, and she -suffers from headaches just when she should be at her best." - -"Oh, hang it all! a girl's a girl for a' that!" cried Ross. "Your -circulation's defective, Koomadhi, if you're capable only of judging a -girl by the stethoscope. You're too much absorbed in your profession, -that's what's the matter with you." - -"I daresay you are right," Koomadhi admitted after a pause of a few -seconds. - -In the course of the next half-hour, several other topics in addition -to the matrimonial prospects of Major Minton and the constitutional -shortcomings of Miss Hope were discussed on the verandah, until, at -length, the sound of the steam-whistle of the _Penguin_ was borne -shore-wards by the breeze. - -"That's a message to me," said Ross, starting up. "Come down to the -shore and see the last of me for three months at any rate." - -Dr Koomadhi put on his helmet, and saw his friend safely through the -surf on his way to where the steamer was swinging at her anchor. The -sun had set before he returned to his house to dinner; and before he had -risen from the table a message came to him that one of the officers of -the Houssas was anxious to see him, being threatened with an attack of -fever. The great stars were burning overhead before he returned from the -barrack of the Houssas, and was able to throw off his coat and lie back -in his chair in his own sitting-room. - -He had a good deal to think about before going to his bedroom, and he -seemed to find the darkness congenial with his thoughts. In fact, the -negro acknowledged a sort of brotherhood in the night, and he remained -for some hours in that fraternal darkness. It was just midnight when he -went, with only a small amount of groping, to his desk, and took out -of its drawer the ivory box containing the earshaped stone, into whose -orifice he had spoken some words before leaving for the Commissioner's -house in the afternoon. He unlocked the box and removed the stone. He -left his villa, taking the stone with him, and strolled once more to the -house which he had visited a few hours before. - -Lights were in the windows of the Residency, and certain musical sounds -were coming from the room where he had been. With the twanging of -the banjo there came the sound of a light bass voice of no particular -timbre, chanting the words of the latest plantation melody-- - - "Don't you belieb un, Massa John, - - Jes' winkie mid yo' eye, - - Kick up yo' heels to de gasalier-- - - Say, how am dat for high?" - -Dr Koomadhi listened while three stanzas of the doggerel were being sung -by Major Minton; then he raised the ear-shaped stone that was in the -hollow of his hand, and whispered some words into it as he had done in -the afternoon. In a second the song stopped, although the singer was in -the middle of a stanza. - -"Confound it all!" cried Major Minton--Koomadhi heard his voice -distinctly. "One of my strings is broken. I suppose it was the sudden -change of atmosphere that made it give way. It's a good bit drier here -than aboard the _Penguin_." - -"The concert is over for to-night," came the voice of the Commissioner. -"It's about time for all of us to be in our beds." - -"That's my notion too," said Letts. "Those who object can have their -money returned at the doors." - -"It was strange--that breaking of the string without warning," Dr -Koomadhi heard Gertrude say. - -He smiled. - -It was only at midnight in the open air, and when he was alone, that he -allowed himself the luxury of an unbridled smile. He knew the weaknesses -of his race. - -He put the stone into the pocket of his coat and returned to his house. - - -V. - -The marriage of Major Minton to Miss Hope took place in another week. -Of course the ceremony was performed by the Lord Bishop of Bonny, who -was also Metropolitan of the Gambia and Senegal. The gunboat that was -at the anchorage displayed every available rag of bunting, and the -lieutenant who commanded her said he would gladly have fired a salute -in honour of the event, only for the fact that the Admiralty made him -accountable for every ounce of powder that he burned, and, in addition, -for the wear and tear on every gun. The guns didn't bear much tampering -with, and there was nothing so bad for them as firing them: it wore them -out, the Admiralty stated, and the practice must be put a stop to. - -But if there was no official burning of powder to mark the happy event, -there was a great deal of it that was unofficial and wholly irregular. -Dr Koomadhi spent several hours of the afternoon amputating fingers of -Krooboys that had been mutilated through an imperfect acquaintance, on -the part of the native populace, with the properties of gunpowder when -ignited. An eye or two were reported to be missing, and in the cool of -the evening the Doctor had brought to him, by a conscientious townsman, -a human ear for which no owner could be found. - -The happy pair went to the Canary Islands for their honeymoon, and -returned radiant at the end of six weeks; and the Commissioner's -_mnage_, which had suffered materially through the absence of the -Commissioner's daughter, was restored in all its former perfection. -Every night varied strains of melody floated to the ears of such persons -as were in the neighbourhood of the Residency; and it was a fact that -Major Minton's banjo never twanged without attracting an audience of -from ten to five hundred of the negro population of Picotee. The pathway -was every night paved with negroes, who listened, shoulder to shoulder, -and kneecap to kneecap--they sat upon their haunches--to the fascinating -songs. They felt that if the Commissioner had only introduced a tom-tom -obbligato to the tom-tom melodies, the artistic charm of the performance -would be complete. - -The native evangelist, who occasionally contrived to fill a schoolhouse -with young Christians by the aid of a harmonium,--a wheezy asthmatic -instrument, which, in spite of a long lifetime spent on the West -Coast, had never become fully acclimatised,--felt that his success was -seriously jeopardised by the Major's secular melodies. When the flock -were privileged to hear such fascinating music unconditionally, he -knew that it was unreasonable to expect them to be regular in their -attendance at the schoolhouse, where the harmonium wheezed only after -certain religious services had been forced on them. - -He wondered if the Bishop might be approached on the subject of -introducing the banjo into the schoolhouse services. He believed -that with such auxiliaries as the banjo, and perhaps--but this was -optional--the bones, a large evangelistic work might be done in the -outlying districts of Picotee. - -Dr Koomadhi had always been a frequent visitor at the Residence, but for -some time after the marriage of the Commissioner's daughter he was not -quite so often to be found in the drawing-room of an evening. Gradually, -however, he increased the number of his weekly visits. He was the only -person in the neighbourhood who could (occasionally) beat Major Minton -at billiards, and this fact helped, in a large measure, to overcome -the prejudice which Major Minton frankly admitted (to his wife) he -entertained against the native races of West Africa. Major Minton -was becoming a first-class billiard-player, as any active person who -understands the game is likely to become after a few months' residence -at a West Coast settlement. - -"Dr Koomadhi is a gentleman and a Christian," Mrs Minton remarked one -day when Mr Letts, the Secretary, had challenged discussion upon his -favourite topic--namely, the thinness of the veneer of civilisation upon -the most civilised savage. - -"He's a negro-gentleman, I admit," said Letts. - -"A man who plays so straight a game of billiards can't be far wrong," -remarked Major Minton. - -"I have reasons--the best of reasons--for knowing that Dr Koomadhi is a -forgiving Christian gentleman," said Gertrude. "Yes, he shall always be -my friend." - -She had not forgiven herself for that terrible half-spoken sentence, "I -would as soon marry----" - -She had not forgiven herself for having glanced at the baboon as she -checked the words that sprang from her almost involuntarily. - -But Dr Koomadhi was showing day by day that he had forgiven them. - -And thus it was she felt that he was worthy to be regarded by all men as -a gentleman and a Christian. - - -VI. - -A few days later Dr Koomadhi was visited by Major Minton. The Major -was anxious to have some shooting at big game, and he was greatly -disappointed at being unable to find in the neighbourhood of Picotee -any one who could put him on the right track to gratify his longing for -slaughter. The ivory-hunters did not find an outlet for their business -at Picotee, and the majority of the inhabitants were as unenterprising, -Major Minton said, as the chaw-bacons of an English village; nay, more -so, for the chawbacons were beginning to know the joy of a metropolitan -music hall, and that meant enterprise. He wondered if Koomadhi would -allow him to accompany him on his next excursion inland. - -Koomadhi said that no proposal could give him greater pleasure. He would -be going up again in a week or two, and he could promise Major Minton -some first-class sport. He could show him some queer things. - -Talking of queer things, had Major Minton ever seen a piece of the -famous African sound-stone? - -It was supposed that the famous statue of Memnon had been carved out of -that stone. - -Major Minton had considered all that had been written on the subject of -the talking statue utter rot, and he believed so still. Could any sane -man credit a story like that, he was anxious to know? - -"I suppose not," said Koomadhi. - -"But anyhow, I have now and again come upon pieces of the sound-stone. -I'll show you a couple of bits." - -He produced the roughly cut stone ear, and then an equally rough stone -chipped into the form of a mouth--a negro's mouth. - -"They are rum things, to be sure," said Minton. "I don't think that I -ever saw stones just the same. Is the material marble?" - -"I haven't the least idea," said Koomadhi. "But just put that stone to -your ear for a few moments." - -Minton had the mouth-stone in his hand. Koomadhi retained the ear-stone -and put it to his lips the moment that the Major raised his hand. - -"No," said the Major. "I hear nothing. That sound-stone myth isn't good -enough for me. I'm not exactly a lunatic yet, and that's why I'm going -to climb up to your roof to enjoy the sea-breeze. Take your marvellous -sound-stone, and I'll show you what it is to be a gymnast." - -He opened the shutters, got out upon the verandah, and began climbing -one of the supports of the verandah roof. He was a pretty fair athlete, -but when the thermometer registers 97 is not, perhaps, the most -favourable time for violent exercise. Still, he reached the roof with -his hands and threw one leg up; in another moment he was sitting on -the highest part of the roof, and was inviting Koomadhi to join him, -declaring that only a fool would remain indoors on such a day. - -Koomadhi smiled and shook his head. - -"You must have some refreshment after your exertions," said he. "What -would you like--a brandy-and-soda, with a lump of ice clinking the sides -of the tumbler?" - -"That sounds inviting," said Major Minton, scratching his chest with -a forefinger--it had apparently been chafed in his ascent of the roof. -"Yes; but if you chance to have a banana and a few nuts--by Jingo I -should like a nut or two. Has no dietist written a paper on the dietetic -value of the common or garden nut, Koomadhi?" - -"Come down and I'll give you as many nuts as you can eat," said -Koomadhi. - -"Yes, I'll come down this way," said the Major. He swung himself by -one arm from the side of the roof to the bough of a tree. There he hung -suspended by the other arm, and swinging slowly backward and forward. -Even then he scraped the breast of his shirt, uttering a number of -sounds that might have meant laughter. Then he caught a lower branch -with his loose arm and dropped to the ground. Again he scraped at his -chest and laughed. - -"How about those nuts?" he said. "I think I've earned them. How the -mischief is it that I neglected my gymnastics all these months? What a -fool I was! Walking along in the open day by day, when I might have been -enjoying the free life of the jungle!" - -"Come inside and try a bit of cocoanut," said Koomadhi. - -"I'm your man," said the Major. - -"My man--man?" laughed the Doctor. "Oh yes, you've earned the cocoanut." - -The soft flesh of a green cocoanut lay on the table of the sitting-room, -and Major Minton caught it up and swallowed it without ceremony. The -Doctor watched him with a curious expression on his face. - -"That's the most refreshing tiffin I've had for a long time," said the -Major. "Now, I'll have to get back to the Residency. Will you drop in -for a game of billiards?" - -"Perhaps I may," said the Doctor. "Take that sound-stone again, and try -if you really cannot hear anything when you put it to your ear." - -"My dear fellow, I'm not the sort of a chap to become the victim of a -delusion," said the Major, picking up the stone and holding it to his -ear. "Not a sound do I hear. Hang it all, man, I'd get more sound out of -a common shell. _Au revoir_." - -He had his eyes fixed upon the ink-bottle that stood on the desk -beside a blotter and a sheet of writing-paper. Dr Koomadhi noticed the -expression in his eyes, and turned to open the door. The very instant -that his back was turned, Major Minton ran to the ink-bottle, upset -it upon the blotter, and then rushed off by the open window, laughing -heartily. - -And yet there was no human being who so detested the playing of -practical jokes as Major Minton. - -Dr Koomadhi put away the stones, and called his servant to wipe up the -ink, which was dripping down to the floor. - -"Lorramussy!" cried the old woman. "How eber did yo' make dat muss?" - -"I didn't know that it was on the blotter until too late," said he. And -yet Dr Koomadhi was a most truthful man--for a doctor. - - -VII. - -Hullo!" said Letts, "what have you been doing to yourself?" - -Major Minton had thrown himself into the Secretary's cosiest chair on -his return from visiting Dr Koomadhi, and was wiping his forehead. - -"I've been doing more to myself than I should have done," replied -Minton. "For heaven's sake, ring for a brandy-and-soda!" - -"A brandy-and-soda? That's an extreme measure," said Letts. "But you -look as if you needed one." He went to his own cupboard and produced the -brandy, and then rang the bell for the soda-water, which was of course -kept in the refrigerator. Then he looked curiously at the man in the -chair. "By the Lord Harry! you've been in a fight," he cried, when -his examination had concluded. "You're an ass to come between any -belligerents in this neighbourhood: you forget that Picotee Street -is not Regent Street. You got your collar torn off your coat for your -pains; and, O Lord, your trousers!" - -"I did not notice how much out of line I had fallen until now," said -Minton, with a laugh. "By George, Letts, that tear in my knee does -suggest a free-and-easy tussle." - -"But how on earth did it come about?" asked Letts. "Surely you should -know better than to go for a nigger as you would for a Christian! Why -the mischief didn't you kick him on the shins, and then put your knee -into his face?" - -"Give me the tumbler." - -The Secretary handed him the tumbler, containing a stiff "peg," and he -drained it without giving any evidence of dissatisfaction. - -"Now, how did it come about?" inquired Letts. "I hope you haven't -dragged us into the business. If you have, there'll be a question asked -about it in the House of Commons by one of those busybodies who have no -other way of proving to their constituents that they're in attendance. -'Mr Jones asked the Secretary of State for the Colonies if he had any -information to give to the House regarding an alleged outrage by a white -man, closely associated with the family of her Majesty's Commissioner -at Picotee, upon a native or natives of that colony.' That's how it -will read. Then there'll be puppy leaders in those papers that deal -with 'justices' justice': the boy who gets a month's imprisonment for -stealing a turnip--you know that sort of thing." - -"Keep your hair on," said Minton; "there'll be no show in the House -about this. There has been no row. I went round to Koomadhi's, and when -we were talking together I suddenly fancied that the day was just one -for a gymnastic display. I don't know whether it was that polite manner -of Koomadhi's or something else set me off, but I felt an irresistible -impulse to bounce. Without waiting to take off my coat I went out on the -verandah and hauled myself up to the roof: I don't know how I did it. -I might have managed it ten years ago, when I was in condition; but, -considering how far off colour I am just now, by George! I don't know -how I managed it. Anyhow, I did manage it." - -"At some trifling cost," said Letts. "And what did you do on the roof -when you got there?" - -"Well, I swung myself down again. But I seemed to have a notion in -the meantime that that nice, well-groomed nigger would try to climb -up beside me, and I know that I had an impulse to catch him by the -tail--the tail of his coat, of course--and swing him through the -shutters." - -"But he didn't make such an ass of himself as to go through some -gymnastics, and the thermometer standing a degree or two under a -hundred. Well, you've got off well this time, Minton; but don't do it -again, that's all." - -"I tell you it was an impulse--a curious----" - -"Oh, impulses like that don't come to chaps who have their wits about -them." - -"I suppose it was a bit of bounding, after all. But, somehow--well, you -wouldn't just call me a bounder, would you, Letts?" - -"Why shouldn't I call you a bounder, I'd like to know? A bounder is one -who bounds, isn't he?" - -"Well, I suppose--but I give you my word, I felt at that moment that it -was the most natural thing I could have done--climbing up to the roof of -the verandah, and then----" - -"And then?" - -"Swinging down again, I suppose." - -He was afraid to tell Letts of that practical joke which he had played -off on Koomadhi, when he found that the Doctor did not lend himself to -that subtle piece of jocularity which Minton said he had conceived when -sitting on the roof of the verandah. Letts had been pretty hard on him -for having gone so far as to climb up to the roof; but what would he -have said if he had been told about that ink-bottle incident? - -Minton thought it would, on the whole, be doing himself more ample -justice if he were to withhold from Letts all information regarding that -ink-bottle business. He said nothing about it, and when Letts mumbled -something when in the act of lighting a cigar--something about fellows, -who behave like idiots, going home and giving the whole West Coast a -bad name, whereas, properly treated, the climate was one of the most -salubrious, he remarked confidentially-- - -"I say, old chap, you needn't mind jawing to the missus or the Governor -about this business; it's not worth talking about, you know; but -they're both given to exaggerate the importance of such things--Gertrude -especially. I'm a bit afraid of her still, I admit: we've only been -married about three months, you'll remember." - -"Great Duke! here's a chap who fancies that as time goes on he'll get -less afraid of his wife," cried Letts. "Well, well, some chaps do get -hallucinations early in life." - -"Don't say a word about it, Letts. Where's the good of making a poor -girl uneasy?" - -"Where, indeed? But why 'poor girl'?" - -"Because she's liable to be made uneasy at trifles. You're not--only -riled. But I don't blame you: you've been on this infernal coast for -three years." - -"There's nothing the matter with the coast: it's only the idiots----" - -"Quite so: I seem somehow to feel that I've heard all that sort of thing -before. I'm one of the idiots." - -"Far be it from me to contradict so able a diagnosis of----" - -He caught the cushion which Minton hurled at him, and laughed. Then he -became curiously thoughtful. - -"By the way," he said, "wasn't it a bit rum that Koomadhi didn't try -to prevent your swinging out to that roof? He's a medico, and so should -know how such unnatural exertion is apt to play the mischief with a chap -in such a temperature as this. Didn't he abuse you in his polite way?" - -"Not he," said Minton; "on the contrary, I believe I had an idea that I -heard him suggest... no, no; that's a mistake, of course." - -"What's a mistake?" - -"That idea of mine--I don't know how I came to have it." - -"You were under the impression, somehow, that he suggested your climbing -to the roof? That was a rummy notion, wasn't it?" - -"A bit too rummy for general use. Oh no: he only said--now, what the -mischief did he say? Oh, no matter." - -"If he said 'no matter' when he saw that you were bent on gymnastics in -the middle of a day with the temperature hovering about a hundred, he -should be ashamed of himself." - -"He didn't say 'no matter.' I've just said it. Let me say it again. You -should be a cross-examiner at the Bailey and Middlesex Session, Letts. -Now, mind, not a word to the missus. Don't let her cross-examine you: -evade her as I'm evading you. I'll see you after dinner: maybe we'll -have a billiard together--I'm too tired now." - -He went off, leaving Letts trying to find out the place where he had -left off in a novel of George Eliot's. George Eliot is still read on the -West Coast of Africa. - -But when Minton had left the room Letts did not trouble himself further -with the novel. He tossed it away and lay back in his Madeira chair with -a frown, suggesting perplexity, on his face. - -Some five minutes had passed, and yet the frown, so far from departing, -had but increased in intensity. - -"I should like very much to know what his game is," he muttered. "It -wouldn't at all be a bad idea to induce sunstroke by over-exertion on -a day like this. But why can't he remember if the nigger tried on that -game with him? P'chut! what's the good of bothering about it when the -game didn't come off, whatever it was?" - -But in spite of his attempted dismissal of the whole matter from his -mind, he utterly failed to give to the confession of the youth -in 'Middlemarch' (it was to the effect that his father had been a -pawnbroker, and it was very properly made to the young woman to the -accompaniment of the peals of a terrific thunderstorm) the attention -which so striking an incident demanded. - - -VIII. - - -If it's a command, sir, I'll obey; if not, well----" - -"Oh, nonsense, Letts!" said the Commissioner. "There's no command to a -dinner with my daughter, her husband, and another man." - -"Ah, that other man," said Letts. - -"Now, I hope I'll hear nothing more about your absurd objection to -that other man," said the Commissioner. "I tell you that it's not only -ridiculous, that old-fashioned prejudice of yours, it's prejudicial to -the Service--it is, upon my soul, Letts. You know as well as I do that -the great thing is to get in touch with the natives, to show them that, -as common subjects of the Sovereign, enjoying equal rights wherever -that flag waves, we are, we are--well, we must show them that we've no -prejudices. You'll admit that we must do that, Letts." - -(As Letts had not written out this particular speech for him, the -Commissioner was a trifle shaky, and found it to his advantage to -abandon the oratorical in favour of the colloquial style.) - -"I don't feel called on to show that I'm not prejudiced against the -whole race, sir--the whole race as a race, and Dr Koomadhi as an -individual," said Letts. "Therefore I hope that you and Mrs Minton will -excuse me from your dinner." - -"Upon my soul, I'm surprised at you, Letts," said Commander Hope. "I -didn't expect to find in these days of enlightenment such old-fashioned -prejudices as regards race. Great heavens! sir, is the accident of a -man's being a negro to be looked on as debarring him from--from--well, -from all that you would make out--the friendship of the superior race, -the----" - -"Ah, there you are, sir; the superior race. In matters of equality -there's no superior." - -"Oh, of course I don't mean to suggest that there isn't some difference -between the two races. Don't they say it was the effects of the curse, -Letts--the curse of Ham? If a race was subject to the disabilities of -an early curse duly recorded, you can't quite expect them to recover -themselves all in a moment: it wouldn't be reasonable--it wouldn't be -Scriptural either. But I think that common charity should make us--well, -should make us do our best to mitigate their unfortunate position. That -appeal of yours to Scripture, Letts, was used as an argument in favour -of slavery. It's unworthy of you." - -"I agree with you, sir; and I do so the more readily as I don't -recollect ever having made use of such an authority as Scripture to -bear out my contention that the polish of a nigger is no deeper than the -polish on a mahogany table,--a thin and transparent film of lacquer. -You see I've had the advantage of living in Ashantee for six months, -and when there I got pretty well grounded on the negro as a man and a -brother. A man--well, perhaps; a brother, yes, own brother to the devil -himself." - -"Nonsense, Letts! Can't you keep Scripture out of the argument?" - -"I tell you, sir, I saw things in the Ashantee country that made me feel -certain that the archfiend made that region his headquarters many years -ago, and that he has devoted himself ever since to the training of the -inhabitants. They are his chosen people. If you had seen the unspeakable -things that I saw during my six months in Ashantee, you would hold to my -belief that the people have been taught by Satan himself, and that they -have gone one better than their instructor. No, sir, I'll not dine with -Koomadhi." - -Commander Hope shook his head. - -"You're very pig-headed, Letts," he remarked; "but we won't quarrel. -I'll see if I can make Gertrude understand how it is you refuse her -invitation." - -"I hope to heaven that she'll never get a glimpse of the real negro, -sir--the negro with his lacquer scratched off." - -The Commissioner laughed. - -"I'll not tell her that, Letts," he said. - -Letts did not laugh. - -It was really Gertrude who had suggested inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner -at the Residency. He had frequently partaken of the refreshment of tea -in her drawing-room, but she knew that tea counts for nothing in the -social scale even at Picotee: it conferred no more distinction upon one -than a presentation at the White House does upon a citizen of the United -States, or a citizen's wife or sister. He had never been asked to dine -at the Commissioner's table, and that she knew to be a distinction, and -one which he would be certain to value. - -But when she suggested to her father that there would be a certain -gracefulness in the act of inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner, she found her -suggestion treated with that form of contumely known as the snub. Her -father had looked at her sternly and walked away, saying-- - -"Impossible! What! a nig------Oh, my dear, you don't understand these -things. Impossible--impossible!" - -Gertrude Minton, being a woman, may not have understood some things, but -she thoroughly understood how her father (and all other men) should be -treated upon occasions. She took her snubbing meekly, as every clever -woman takes a snubbing, when administered by a father, or a husband, or -a brother; and of course, later on, she carried her point--as any clever -woman will; for a properly sustained scheme of meekness, if persisted -in, will accomplish anything, by making the man who snubs thoroughly -ashamed of himself, and the man who is thoroughly ashamed of himself -will be glad to come to terms, no matter how disadvantageous to himself, -in order to avert a continuance of that reproachful meekness. - -It was the Commissioner himself who, a few days later, went to his -daughter and told her that if she had her heart set upon inviting Dr -Koomadhi to dinner he would not interfere. It had at first seemed to him -a monstrous proposal, he admitted; but on thinking over it calmly, and -with the recollection of the circumstances (1) that the present day was -one of innovations; (2) that the negroes were treated on terms of the -most perfect equality by the people of the United States of America,--he -had come to the conclusion that it was necessary even for a British -naval officer to march with the times; consequently he was prepared to -do anything that his daughter suggested. He added, however, that up to -the date at which he was speaking he had got on very well without once -asking a nig----that is, a negro gentleman, to dine at his table. - -"I knew you would consent, papa," said Gertrude, throwing off her mask -of meekness in a moment, much to the satisfaction of her father. "I knew -you would consent: it would be quite unlike you not to consent. You are -so broad-minded--so generous--so reasonable in your views on all native -questions. I feel that I--that we--owe some amends--that is, we should -do our best to give him to understand that we do not regard a mere -accident of colour as disqualifying him from--from----" - -"Quite so," said her father. "We'll ask Letts: he won't come, though." - -"Why should he not come?" she asked. - -"Letts is full of prejudice, my dear. He has more than once made -disparaging remarks regarding Koomadhi. You see, he lived for some -months in the Ashantee country, and saw the human sacrifices and other -barbarities." - -"If you speak to him with due authority, he will be compelled to come," -said Gertrude warmly. "You are the head here, are you not?" - -He looked at her and assented, though he knew perfectly well that it was -not he who was the head of the Residency. Would he ask a nigger to dine -at his table if he was at the head of it? he asked himself. - -"Well, then, just tell Letts that you expect him to dine here on -Wednesday next, and he is bound to come. He is only secretary here." - -"My dear Gertrude, you know as well as I do what it is to be secretary -here," said the Commissioner. "Letts can do what he pleases. I shall -certainly not coerce him in any way: I know it would be no use trying." - -"But you must try," cried Gertrude. She had, undoubtedly, quite got rid -of her meekness. "You must try; and you must succeed too." - -Well, the Commissioner had tried, and the result of his attempt has just -been recorded. - -He told his daughter of the firm attitude that Letts had assumed--it was -just the attitude which he himself would like to assume if he had the -courage; but of course he did not suggest so much to Gertrude. - -"The foolish fellow! I shall have to go to him myself," said she. - -And she went to him. - - -IX. - -She had at one time fancied that Letts was fond of her, and she had -thought that her liking for him was no mere fancy. A young woman with -good looks and a pleasant manner and a young man with a career before -him are very apt to have fancies in respect to each other on the West -Coast of Africa, where good looks and pleasant manners are not to be met -with daily. Of course when Gertrude had gone home for some months, and -had met Major Minton, she became aware of the fact that her liking for -Letts was the merest fancy; and perhaps when she returned with the story -of her having promised (under certain conditions) to marry Major Minton, -Letts had also come to the conclusion that his feeling towards Miss Hope -was also a fancy. This is, however, not quite so certain. At any rate, -Letts and she had always been very good friends. - -For half-an-hour she talked to him quite pleasantly at first, then quite -earnestly--didactically and sarcastically--on the subject of his foolish -prejudice. She called it foolish when she was pleasant, and she called -it contemptible when she ceased to be pleasant, on a matter which she, -for her part, thought had been long ago passed out of the region of -controversy. Surely a man of Mr Letts' intelligence and observation -could not be serious in objecting to dine with Dr Koomadhi simply -because he chanced to be a negro. - -But Mr Letts assured her that he was quite serious in the matter. He -didn't pretend, he said, to be superior in point of intelligence or -power of observation to men who made no objection to meet on terms -of perfect equality the whole Ethiopian race; but he had had certain -experiences, he said, and so long as he retained a recollection of these -experiences he would decline to sit at the same table with Dr Koomadhi -or any of his race. Then it was that Mrs Minton ceased to be altogether -pleasant as to the phrases which she employed in order to induce Mr -Letts to change his mind. - -"You are not the only one with experiences," she said. "I have had -experience not merely of negroes generally, but of Dr Koomadhi in -particular, and, as I told you some time ago, I have reason to believe -him to be a generous, Christian gentleman. That is why I wish to do all -that is in my power to make him understand that I regard his possession -of the characteristics of a gentleman and a Christian as more than -placing him on a level with us. I feel that I am inferior to Dr Koomadhi -in those qualities which our religion teaches us to regard as noblest." - -"And I hope with all my soul that you will never have a different -experience of him," said Letts. - -"I know that I shall have no different experience of him," said she, -with confidence in her pose and in her tone. - -He made no reply to this. And then she went on to ask him some -interesting questions regarding the general design of the Maker of the -Universe, and His intention in respect of the negro; and though Letts -answered all to the best of his ability, he was not persuaded to accept -Mrs Minton's invitation to dinner. - -She was naturally very angry, and even went so far as to assure Mr Letts -that his refusal to accept the invitation which she offered him might be -prejudicial to his being offered any future invitations to dine at her -table--an assurance which he received without emotion. - -She told her father of her failure, and though he shook his head with -due seriousness, yet he refrained from saying "I told you so." But when -her husband heard that Letts would not be persuaded, he treated the -incident with a really remarkable degree of levity, declaring that if he -himself were independent, he would see Koomadhi and all the nigger race -sent to a region of congenial blackness before he would sit down to -dinner with the best of them. He thought Letts, however, something of -an ass for not swallowing his prejudices in a neighbourhood where there -were so few decent billiard-players. For himself, he said he would have -no objection to dine with bandits and cut-throats if they consented to -join in a good pool afterwards. - -When Dr Koomadhi received his invitation to dine at the Residency--it -was in the handwriting of Mrs Minton--he smiled. His smiles worked at -low pressure in the daytime; he felt that he could not be too careful in -this respect; he might, if taken suddenly, be led on to smile naturally -in the presence of a man with a kodak, and where would he be then? - -He smiled. He went to the drawer where he kept the curious stones, and -looked at them for some time, but without touching them. Then he went to -the drawer in which he kept the verses that he had written expressive -of the effect of Miss Hope's eyes upon his soul. By a poetic licence he -assumed that he had a soul, and he liked to write about it: it gave him -an opportunity of making it the last word in a line following one that -ended with the word "control." He read some of the pages, and honestly -believed that they were covered with poetry of the highest character. -He felt convinced that there was not another man in the whole Ashantee -country who could write as good poetry; and perhaps he was not wrong in -his estimate of his own powers, and the powers of his Ashantee brethren. - -As he closed the door with a bang his face would have seemed to any -one who might have chanced to see it one mass of ivory. This effect, -startling though it was, was due merely to an incidental change of -expression. He had ceased to smile; his teeth were tightly closed, and -his lips had receded from them as a tidal wave recedes from the strand -of a coral island, disclosing an unsuspected reef. His lips hid in their -billowy depths the remainder of his face, and only that fearful double -ridge of locked teeth would have been visible to any one, had any one -been present. - -The words that Dr Koomadhi managed to utter without unlocking his teeth -were undoubtedly suggestive of very strong feeling; but no literary -interest attaches to their repetition. - -He seated himself at his desk--after an interval--and wrote a letter -which was rather over than under the demands made by politeness upon -a man who has been asked to dinner in a rather formal way. He said it -would give him the greatest pleasure to accept the most kind invitation -with which he had been honoured by the Commissioner and Mrs Minton; and -then he added a word or two, which an ordinary gentleman would possibly -have thought superfluous, regarding the pride which he felt at being the -recipient of such a distinction. - -It could not be said, however, that there was anything in his mode -of conducting himself at the dinner-table that suggested any want of -familiarity on his part with the habits of good society. He did not eat -with his knife, though he might have done so without imperilling in any -degree the safety of his mouth, nor did he make any mistake regarding -his ice-pudding or his jelly. He also drank his champagne out of the -right glass, and he did not take it for granted that the water in his -finger-bowl was for any but external use. - -As he lay back in his chair, with his serviette across his knees and a -cigarette between his fingers, discussing with the Commissioner, -with that mild forbearance which one assumes towards one's host, the -political situation of the hour, when Mrs Minton had left the room, he -looked the picture of a model English gentleman--a silhouette picture. -He hoped that the Conservatives would not go to the country without -a programme. What were the leaders thinking of that they hadn't -familiarised the country with the policy they meant to pursue should -they be returned to power? Home Rule for Ireland! Was there ever so -ridiculous a demand seriously made to the country? Why, the Irish were, -he assured his host, very little better than savages: he should know--he -had been in Ireland for close upon a fortnight. He had some amusing -Irish stories. He imitated the brogue of the peasantry. He didn't say -it was unmusical; but Home Rule!... the idea was too ridiculous to be -entertained by any one who knew the people. - -His political views were sound beyond a doubt. They were precisely the -views of the Commissioner and his son-in-law, and the green chartreuse -was velvety as it should be. - -For this evening only Major Minton sang to his wife's accompaniment -a sentimental song which dwelt upon the misery of meeting daily with -smiles a certain person, while his, the singer's, heart was breaking. He -sang it with well-simulated feeling. One would never have thought that -there was a banjo in the house. - -Then Mrs Minton sang a lovely Scotch song about a burn; but it turned -out that the burn was water and not fire, and the Commissioner dozed in -a corner. - -At last Major Minton suggested a game of billiards, and the suggestion -was acted on without delay. - -After playing a game with Dr Koomadhi, while her husband looked on -and criticised the strokes from the standpoint of a lenient if -discriminating observer, Mrs Minton said "goodnight"; she was tired, she -said, and she knew that her husband and Dr Koomadhi meant to play all -night, so she thought she might as well go soon as late. - -Of course Dr Koomadhi entreated her not to leave them. They would, he -assured her, do anything to retain her; they would even play a four -game--abhorred of billiard-players--if she would stay. Her husband did -not join in the entreaties of their guest. He played tricky cannons -until she had left the room. - - -X. - - -Shall I break?" Minton asked. "I'll play with spot for a change." - -Before he had completed his second break of twenty-eight the -Commissioner had fallen asleep with his cigar between his fingers. When -they had commenced he had been critical. But he broke down under the -monotony of the second moderate break. - -For about a quarter of an hour the game went on, and all the variations -from "Hard lines!" to "Dammitall!" were indulged in by the players. -Minton had scored eighty against Koomadhi's seventy-one, and was about -to play a hazard requiring great judgment, when his opponent came behind -him, saying-- - -"I don't see how it can be done: a cannon is the easier game." - -"Well, I'll try the hazard anyway, and try to leave the red over the -pocket." - -"You'll need to do it very gently," said his opponent, almost leaning -over him as he took his aim at the red ball. - -For quite half a minute Minton hung over his cue, and in that space of -time Koomadhi had taken out of his pocket the curious stone shaped like -a broad ear, and had put it to his own mouth for a second or two while -he stood behind the player, returning it quickly to his pocket before -the cue had struck the ball. - -"What a stroke!" cried Minton. "It would disgrace our friend Jacco." - -"I said the cannon was the easier game," remarked Koomadhi, chalking his -cue. "Hallo! what are you going to do?" - -"Who the mischief could play billiards a night like this in such a suit -of armour as this?" laughed Minton. He was in the act of pulling his -shirt over his head, and he spoke from within its folds. In another -second he was stripped to the waist. "Now, my friend," he chuckled, -"we'll see who'll win this game. This is the proper rig for any one who -means to play billiards as billiards should be played." - -"I wouldn't have done that if I were you," said Koomadhi. "Come; you had -much better put on your shirt. The Commissioner may object." - -"Let him object," laughed the half-naked man; "he's an old fogey anyway. -Like most naval men, he has no heart in anything beyond the shape of a -button and the exact spot where it should be worn. How was it we had no -nuts for dinner, I should like to know?" - -Koomadhi had made a cannon. He walked half-way round the table to get -the chalk, and in a second Major Minton had picked up the red ball and -slipped it into his pocket. - -When Koomadhi turned to play the screw back, which he meant to do -carefully, only the white balls were on the table, and Minton denied all -knowledge of the whereabouts of the red. - -Koomadhi laughed, and put his cue into the stand. - -"Oh, I say, a joke's a joke!" chuckled Minton, producing the ball from, -his pocket. "You won't play any more? Oh, yes; we'll have another game, -only for a change we'll play it with our feet. Now, why the mischief -people don't play it with their feet I can't understand. It stands to -reason that the stroke must be far surer. I'll show you what I mean. -Oh, confound those things!--I'll have them off in a moment." - -"You'll do nothing of the kind," said the Doctor firmly, as Major Minton -kicked off his shoes and hastened to get rid of the only garments that -he was wearing. "For God's sake, don't make such a fool of yourself!" - -He had caught his hands, preventing his carrying out his singular design -of illustrating the prehensile character of the muscles of the human -foot. - -"Now, then, put on your shirt and finish your soda-water. I must be -off." - -Major Minton grinned, and, turning suddenly, caught Dr Koomadhi by the -tail of his dress-coat--he had just put it on--and with a quick jerk -upset him on the floor. - -"God bless my soul!" cried the Commissioner, waking up. - -Dr Koomadhi was brushing the dust off his waistcoat; Major Minton was -swinging halfway up one of the ropes that controlled the ventilator of -the roof. - -"What in the name of all that's ridiculous is this?" said the -Commissioner. "By the Lord! I seem to be still dreaming--a nightmare, by -George, sir!" - -"I really must ask your pardon, sir," said Koomadhi; "I had no idea that -the thing would go on so far as it has. Major Minton and I were having a -rather funny trial of strength. He was on one rope, I was on the other. -I let go my hold. Come down, man--come down--the game is over." - -"And a most peculiar game it seems to have been," said the Commissioner. -"Great heavens! it can't be possible that he took off his shirt!" - -"It was very foolish, sir," said Koomadhi. "I think I'll say -good-night." - -The Commissioner paid no attention to him; all his attention was given -to his son-in-law, who was swinging negligently with one hand on the -ventilator rope. When he at last dropped to the floor, Minton rubbed his -eyes and looked around him in a dazed way. - -"My God!" he muttered. "How do I come to be like this--this? Where's my -shirt?" - -"You should be ashamed of yourself, sir," said the Commissioner sternly. -"What have you been drinking in your soda-water?" - -"Nothing," said Minton, putting on his shirt. "I drank nothing but -soda-water. What possessed me to make such an ass of myself I can't -tell. I beg your pardon, Koomadhi. I assure you I didn't mean to--why, -it all appears like a dream to me." - -"Oh, a dream! Good night, Dr Koomadhi," said the Commissioner. "I'm -sorry that anything should happen----" - -"Don't say another word, sir, I entreat of you," cried Koomadhi. "I fear -that I was, after all, the most to blame. I should have known where this -sort of horse-play was likely to land us. Good night, sir; I really feel -that an apology should come from me. Good night, Minton. No, no; don't -say a word. I feel that I have disgraced myself for ever." - -Minton, now clothed and in his right mind, saw him off, and then -returned to the presence of his father-in-law. He knew that the -Commissioner was desirous of having a word or two with him, and he was -not the man to run away from such an interview. In fact, he himself was -anxious to have the first word; and he had it. - -"Look here, sir," he said; "I want to say that I know I made an infernal -fool of myself. Why I did it I can't tell; I touched nothing but -soda-water all night." - -"Then there is the less excuse for your behaviour," said the -Commissioner drily. "I don't want to say anything more about this -unhappy business. Only, I will point out to you that Koomadhi could -easily make things very disagreeable for us if he were so minded. You -threw him on the floor. Heavens above!" - -"I suppose I did throw him; but why?--why?--why?--that's what I want to -know." - -"Perhaps an explanation may come to you in the course of a day or two. -You had better go to bed now." - -"Yes; I'll go to bed. Only--of course there's no reason why you should -let the matter go farther." - -"I certainly, for my own sake and yours, will keep it as secret as -possible. I only hope that Koomadhi----" - -"Oh, Koomadhi is all right. But I don't see that Gertrude or Letts -should hear anything of it." - -"They don't hear anything of it from me, I promise you. Will you ring -for the lamps to be turned out?" - -Dick Minton pulled the bell. His father-inlaw went to his bed without a -word. - -But an hour had passed before Dick went to his room. He lit a cigar and -strolled away from the Residency to the brink of the sea; and there, -on the low scrub, looking out to the enormous rollers that broke on the -shallow beach two miles from where he stood, spreading their white foam -all around, he tried to think how it was he had been led to behave more -foolishly than he had ever behaved since the days of his youth. - -He was not successful in his attempts in this direction. - -And Dr Koomadhi also remained thinking his thoughts for fully half -an hour after reaching that pleasant verandah of his, which got every -breath that came inland from the sea. - -"I can do it easily enough--yes, in his presence; but what good is that -to me?" he muttered. "No good whatever--just the opposite. I must have -the Khabela--ah, the Khabela! That works miles apart." - -Two days later he paid his visit to the Residency and drank tea with Mrs -Minton. He told her that he found it necessary to go up country for ten -days or so. He knew of a nice miasma tract, and he hoped to gain in a -few days as much information regarding its operations on the human frame -as he could obtain in as many years in the comparative salubriousness of -the coast. - -Her husband did not put in an appearance while Koomadhi was in the -drawing-room. His wife reproached him for that. - -He took her reproach meekly. - - -XI. - -Moonlight was flooding the forest beyond the native village of -Moumbossa on the Upper Gambia, but where Dr Koomadhi was walking no -moonbeam penetrated. The branches formed an arch above him as dense -with interwoven boughs and thick leaves as though the arch was a railway -tunnel. Only in the far distance a gleam of light could be seen. - -At times the deep silence of the night was broken by the many sounds -of the tropical jungle. Every sound was familiar to Dr Koomadhi, and he -laughed joyously as one laughs on recognising the voice of a friend. -The wild shriek of a monkey pounced upon by some other creature, the -horrible laugh of a hyena, the yell of a lory, and then a deep silence. -He felt at home in the midst of that forest, though when he spoke -of home within the hearing of civilised people, he meant it to be -understood that he referred to England. - -When he emerged from the brake he found himself gazing at a solitary -beehive hut in the centre of a great cleared space, A quarter of a mile -away the moonlight showed him the village of Moumbossa, with its lines -of palms and plantains. - -He walked up to the hut without removing his rifle from his shoulder, -and stood for some moments at the entrance. Then he heard a voice saying -to him in the tongue of the Ashantees-- - -"Enter, my son, and let thy mother see if thy face is changed." - -"I cannot enter, mother," he replied in the same language. "But I have -come far and in peril to talk with you. We must talk together in the -moonlight." - -He retained among his other memories a vivid recollection of the -interior of a native hut. He could not bring himself to face the ordeal -of entering the one before him. - -"I will soon be beside you," came the voice; and in a few moments there -crawled out from the entering-place a half-naked old negress, of great -stature, and with only the smallest perceptible stoop. She walked round -Dr Koomadhi, and then looked into his face with a laugh. - -"Yes," she said, "it is indeed you, my son, and I see that you need my -services." - -"You are right, mother," said he. "I wondered if you still retained -your old powers. That is why I stood for some minutes outside the hut. -I said, 'If my mother has still her messengers in the air, and in the -earth, they will tell her that her son has come to her once more. - -"You should not have doubted," she said. "Do you fancy that such powers -as have come to me by the possession of the Sacred Khabela can decay by -reason of age or the weight of days?" - -"If that had been my belief, should I have come to you this night?" he -asked. "I have need of all your powers. I have need of all the powers of -the Khabela." - -"You shall have all that I can command: are you not my son?" said the -old woman. "But have you found the Sacred Ear to fail you?" - -"Never, mother," said Dr Koomadhi. "You told me what it could do, and it -has never failed me within its limits. But I must have the more powerful -charm of the Sacred Mouth. My need is extreme." - -"It must be extreme, and I will not deny it to you," said his mother. -"You know what it can do. No man or woman can withstand it. If any -offspring of woman should hold that Sacred Mouth to his ear, or her ear, -as the case may be, the words which you whisper into the Sacred Ear -will seem the truth, whatever those words may be. You know that. But the -magic of the Khabela is far greater. It will work at a distance. But if -it is lost you know what the consequences will be. You know the decree -of the great Fanshatee, the monkey-god?" - -"I know it. The stone Khabela shall not be lost. I accept the -responsibility. I must have command over it until the return of the -moon." - -"And thou shalt have control of it, whether for good or evil. It told -me that thou wert nigh to-night, so that thou must have the Ear charm in -thy possession even now." - -"It is here, mother, in this pocket. I have shown it to no mortal whose -colour is not as our colour, whose hair is not as our hair." - -"The white men laugh at all magic such as ours, I have heard." - -"Yes, they laugh at it. But some of them practise a form of it -themselves. I have seen one practise it in a great room in England. -Without the aid of a mystic stone he told sober men that they were -drunk, and they acted as drunk men; he told rough fellows that they were -priests, and they preached sermons as long and as stupid as any that we -have heard missionaries preach." - -"And yet they say that our magic is a thing accursed." - -"Yes; that is the way with the white men. When they have said their word -'damn' on any matter, they believe that the last word has been said upon -it, and all that other men may say they laugh at." - -"They are fools, my son; and thou art a fool to dwell among them." - -"They are wise men up to a certain point. They are only fools on the -subject of names. They say that magic is accursed; but they say that -hypnotism is science, and science is the only thing in which they -believe." He had some trouble translating the word hypnotism into the -native speech. "Enough about them. Let me have the mystery, and then let -me have a cake that has been baked in the earth with the leaves of the -betel." - -"Thou shalt have both, ray son, before the morning light. Enter my hut, -and I will dream that thou art a child again." - -But that was just where Dr Koomadhi drew the line. He would not crawl -into the hut even to make his venerable mother fancy that his youth was -renewed like the eagles. - -He returned to Picotee the next day, and as he walked through the forest -each side of the bush track was lined with monkeys. They came from far -and near and put their faces down to the ground, their fore-hands at the -back of their heads. - -He talked to them in simian. - -"Yes," he said. "Ye know that I am the holder of the Khabela, intrusted -to me by my brother Fanshatee; but if I lose it your attitude will not -be the same." - - -XII. - -Two days had passed, after his return to Picotee, before Dr Koomadhi -found time to call at the Residency. He found Major Minton lying on the -cane settee in a condition of perspiration and exhaustion. - -"I'm sure Dr Koomadhi will bear me out in what I say," said Mrs Minton, -as the Doctor entered the room. "I've been lecturing my husband upon the -danger of taking such violent exercise as he has been indulging in," she -continued. "Just look at the state that he is in, Doctor. The idea of -any sane man on a day like this entering into a climbing contest with a -monkey!" - -"Great heavens! Is that what he has been about--and the thermometer -nearer a hundred than ninety?" cried the Doctor. - -"I admit that I was an ass," muttered the Major. "But somehow I felt -that I should show Jacco that I could lick him on his own ground,--not -exactly his ground--we were never on the ground." - -"And when I went out I found them swinging on the topmost bough of -one of the trees," said Mrs Minton. "Upon my word, my father will feel -scandalised. Such a thing never occurred at the Residency before." - -"Apart from the social aspect of the incident, I am bound to say that it -was most indiscreet," said Dr Koomadhi. "Nothing precipitates sunstroke -like over-exertion in a high temperature. Major, this must not occur -again." - -"All right: don't make a fuss, or you'll soon be as hot as I am," said -the Major, rising with difficulty and crossing the room--he was bent -almost double--to his wife's tea-table. - -"Hallo," said the Doctor, "what have you been doing to yourself?" - -"It is not what I have been doing but what I've left undone that you -notice," laughed the Major. "The fact is that I couldn't be bothered -shaving for the last few mornings. That's what you notice." - -That was precisely what the Doctor did notice. He noticed the tossed -hair of the Major's head and such bristles of a beard and whiskers as -had completely altered the appearance of his face. He also noticed that -when Mrs Minton turned away for a moment her husband deftly abstracted -two lumps of sugar from the bowl and began eating them surreptitiously. - -"No nuts," he heard him mutter contemptuously some time afterwards. - -"Nuts?" said Mrs Minton. "You'll ruin your digestion if you eat any more -nuts, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, will you join your voice with mine in protest -against this foolish boy's fancy for nuts? You speak with the recognised -authority of a medical man. I can only speak as a wife, and I am not so -foolish as to fancy that that constitutes any claim to attention. If you -continue rubbing your chest in that absurd way, Dick, you'll certainly -make a raw." - -Dr Koomadhi did not fail to observe that the Major was rubbing his chest -with his bent-up fingers. - -"I'm quite surprised at your imprudence," said he, shaking his head. -"You told me some time ago that though you had been for seven years in -India, you never had a touch of fever, and you attributed this to the -attention you paid to your diet. Now you know as well as I do that if a -man requires to be careful in India, there is double reason for him to -be careful on the West Coast of Africa. How can you so disregard the -most elementary laws of health?" - -Major Minton laughed. - -"There's nothing like exercise," he said, "and the best of all exercise -is climbing. Why, my dear Koomadhi, haven't the greatest intellects -of the age taken to climbing? Wasn't Tyndall a splendid mountaineer? I -don't profess to be superior to Tyndall. Now, as I can't get mountains -to climb in this neighbourhood I take naturally to the trees. I think -sometimes I could pass the rest of my life pleasantly enough here. -Man wants but little here below. Give me a branch to swing on, a green -cocoa-nut, and a friend who won't resent a practical joke--I want -nothing more. By the way, it's odd that I never saw until lately--in -fact, until two days ago--what good fun there is in a practical joke." - -"His perception of what he calls good fun deprived me of my brushes and -comb this morning," said Mrs Minton. "I must confess I fail to see the -humour in hiding one's brushes and comb." - -"It was the most innocent lark in the world, and you had no reason to -be so put out about it," said her husband, leaning over the back of her -chair. Dr Koomadhi saw that he was tying the sash of her loose gown to -the wickerwork of the table at which she was sitting, so that she could -not rise without overturning the tray with the cups. - -"My dear Major," said the Doctor, "a jest is a jest, but your wife's -china----" - -"Oh, you have given me away; but I'll be equal to you, never fear," said -the Major, shambling off as his wife prepared to loose the knot of her -sash from the table. - -She did not speak a word, but her face was flushed, and it was plain -that she was greatly annoyed. The flush upon her face deepened when her -husband went out to the verandah and uttered a curious guttural cry. - -"How has he learned that?" asked Dr Koomadhi. - -"Learned what?" asked Mrs Minton. - -"That cry." - -"Oh, it's some of his foolishness." - -"I daresay; but----" - -"Ah, I thought I could bring you here, my friend," cried the Major, as -Jacco the baboon swung off his usual place over the porch into his arms. - -Dr Koomadhi watched the creature run its fingers through the Major's -disordered hair. He heard the guttural sound made by the baboon, and he -heard it responded to by the Major. - -He found that Major Minton was on a level with himself in his -acquaintance with the simian language. - -He rose and took leave of Mrs Minton, and then, with a word of warning -in regard to his imprudent exercises, of the Major, left the Residency. - -It was not until he had reached his own house that he discovered that -upon the back of his spotless linen coat there had been executed in -ink the grinning face of a clown. He recollected that he had seen Major -Minton toying with a quill pen behind him as he sat drinking tea. - - -XIII. - -A few days later Dr Koomadhi was visited--unofficially--by Commander -Hope. The poor Commissioner was as grave as if an impetuous French naval -officer had just been reported to have insulted the British flag on some -part of the coast protected (nominally) by that variegated bunting. -He was anxious to consult the Doctor regarding the condition of Major -Minton. - -"Indeed?" said the Doctor. "What do you suppose is the matter with him, -sir?" - -The Commissioner tapped his forehead significantly. - -"A slight touch of sunstroke, I fancy," he replied. "He has been -behaving strangely--giving us a great deal of uneasiness, Koomadhi. Oh -yes, it's clearly a touch of sunstroke." - -"That's bad--but not sufficiently bad to be very grave about, sir," said -the Doctor. "You know how these attacks pass away, leaving scarcely -a trace behind, if properly treated. You have, of course, applied the -ice?" - -"We've applied nothing," said the Commissioner. "He's beyond our -control, Koomadhi. He left the Residency last evening and has not turned -up since." - -"Great heavens!" - -"It's a fact. Oh, he must be stark, staring mad"--the Commissioner was -walking up and down the Doctor's room in a state of most unofficial -perturbation. "I found it necessary to speak to him pretty plainly a -couple' of days ago. It was bad enough for him to climb up the mast and -nail the flag to the pole so that it could not be hauled down at sunset, -but when it conies to dropping the keys of the despatch-boxes into the -water-tank, the thing ceases to be a joke. I gave him a good slating, -and he sulked. He had an idea, his wife told me, that he understood the -simian language, and he was for ever practising his knowledge upon our -tame baboon. What on earth does that mean, if not sunstroke--tell me -that, Koomadhi?" - -"It looks very like sunstroke, indeed," said the Doctor. "But where can -he have disappeared to?" - -"That's the question that makes me feel uneasy," said the Commissioner. -"I don't like to make a fuss just yet, but--I'll tell you what it is, -Koomadhi,"--he lowered his voice to a whisper,--"the man has a delusion -that he is an ape--it's impossible to keep it a secret any longer. God -help us all! God help my poor girl--my poor girl!" - -The Commissioner broke down completely, and wept with his face bowed -down to his hands. He was very unofficial--tears are not official. - -"Come, sir, you must not give way like this," said the Doctor. -"This coast is the very devil for men like Minton, who will not take -reasonable precautions. But there's no reason to be alarmed just yet. -The _Penguin_ will be here in a few days, and the instant the steamer -drops her anchor we'll ship him aboard. He'll be all right, take my word -for it, when he sails a few degrees northward." - -"But where is he now?" - -"He's probably loafing around the outskirts of the jungle; but he'll be -safe enough, and he'll return, most likely, within the next few hours." - -"You are of that opinion?" - -"Assuredly. Above all things, there must be no talk about this -business,--it might ruin him socially; and your daughter----" - -"Poor girl! poor girl! I agree with you, Koomadhi,--it must be kept a -secret; no human being must know about this shocking business." - -"If he does not return before to-night, send a message to me, sir." - -"I'll not fail. Poor girl! Oh, Koomadhi, her heart will be broken--her -heart will be broken!" - -The Commissioner went away, looking at least ten years older than when -he had last been seen by Dr Koomadhi. - -The Doctor watched him stumbling down the pathway: then he laughed and -opened a bottle of champagne, which he drank at a gulp--it was only when -he was alone that he allowed himself the luxury of drinking champagne in -gulps. - -Shortly before midnight he paid a visit to the barracks of the Houssas, -and found that the officer who was on the sick list was very much -better. Returning by the side of the jungle, he heard the sound of steps -and a laugh behind him. It might have been the laugh of a man, but the -steps were not those of a man. - -He looked round. - -A shambling creature was following him--a creature with a hairy face and -matted locks--a creature whose eyes gleamed wildly in the moonlight. - -"How the mischief can you walk so fast along a path like this?" came the -voice of Major Minton from the hairy jaws of the Thing. - -"I'm not walking so fast, after all," said the Doctor. He had not given -the least start on coming face to face with the Thing. - -"I don't care much about walking on roads; but I'll back myself to cross -a forest without leaving the trees," said the Thing. "That would beat -you, Koomadhi. Oh, by the way----" Here he emitted some guttural sounds. - -The simian language was recognised by the Doctor, and replied to with a -smile, and for some time the two exchanged remarks. The Doctor was the -first to break down. - -"I don't understand that expression," said he, when the other had -repeated some sounds. - -"Why, you fool, that means, 'Is there anything to drink handy?'" said -the voice of Major Minton. "Why, I know more of the language than you. -We've been talking nothing else for the past day or two." - -"Where have you been?" - -"In the jungle. Where else would you have me be?" - -"Where, indeed? You'd better stay with me to-night. I'll give you -something to drink." - -"That will suit me nicely. I'm a bit thirsty, and----" Here he lapsed -into the simian jabber. - -He curled himself up in a corner of the sofa, and took the tumbler that -Dr Koomadhi offered to him, drinking off the contents pretty much after -the style of the Doctor when alone. He then began talking about the -sense of freedom incidental to a life spent in the jungle, and every -now and again his words became what was long ago known as gibberish; but -nearly every utterance was intelligible to the Doctor. - -After some time had passed, the Doctor took the carved stones out of the -desk drawer, and, handing one to his companion, said-- - -"By the way, I wonder if you are still deaf to the sound of this thing. -Try it again." - -"What's the good? I'm not such a fool as to fancy that any sound can -come from a stone." - -"Doesn't Shakespeare say something about 'sermons in stones'?" - -"Oh, Shakespeare? He could hear things and see things that no one else -could. Well, give me the stone." - -He put the roughly carved lips to his ear, while the Doctor raised the -other to his own mouth. - -"You can hear no murmur?" said the Doctor. - -"Nothing whatever. I think, if you don't mind, I'll go asleep." - -"I can give you a bed." - -"A bed? What rot! No, thank you, I'll be comfortable enough here." - -He curled himself up and went asleep before the Doctor's eyes. - -When the Doctor entered his sitting-room the next morning the apartment -was empty. - - -XIV. - -I was a fool for not detaining him by force," said Dr Koomadhi, in -telling the Commissioner, a few hours later, that his son-in-law had -paid a visit to his (the Doctor's) house. "But there really is nothing -to be alarmed about. He has a whim, but he'll soon tire of it." - -"I hope to heavens he'll return by to-morrow evening," said the -Commander. "The _Penguin_ will be here in the morning, and we must get -him aboard by some means. What a pity you didn't lock him in." - -"To tell you the truth, I was afraid to do so--if he had made a row in -the morning on feeling himself a prisoner the thing would be over the -town before noon. Oh, you may be certain that he'll turn up again either -to-day or tomorrow." - -That night one of the officers of the Houssas gave Dr Koomadhi a -circumstantial account of a strange chimpanzee which one of the men had -seen on the outskirts of the jungle at daybreak. If the thing wasn't a -chimpanzee it certainly was a gorilla, the officer said, and he meant to -have a shot at it. Would the Doctor join him in the hunt? he inquired. - -The Doctor said he would be delighted to do so, but not before the next -evening, he had so much on hand. - -The _Penguin's_ gun was heard early in the morning, and Dr Koomadhi had -the privilege of reading his 'Saturday Review' at breakfast. - -He went to the Residency before noon. The Commissioner was not there. -He had gone aboard the _Penguin_, Mr Letts, the Secretary, said, without -looking up from his paper. - -"I wonder if you know anything about Minton, Mr Letts," whispered -Koomadhi. - -"I wonder if you know anything about him, Dr Koomadhi," said Mr Letts. - -"He has not been near me since the night before last," said the Doctor. -"Has he been here?" - -Before the Secretary could reply a servant knocked at the office door -conveying Mrs Minton's compliments to Dr Koomadhi, and to inquire if -he would be good enough to step into the breakfast-room until the -Commissioner returned from the mail steamer. - -Dr Koomadhi said he would be pleased to do so, and he left the office -and followed the servant into the breakfast-room--an apartment which -occupied one end of the Residency, and had windows opening upon the -verandah, and affording a view of that portion of the jungle which was -nearest Picotee. - -He scarcely recognised Gertrude Minton. The deadly pale, worn woman who -greeted him silently, had nothing in common with the brilliant daughter -of the Commissioner who, a few months before, had been as exquisite as a -lily in the midst of a jungle. - -"What are we to do--what are we to do?" she whispered. "You have seen -him since we saw him. What did he say? Will he return in time to be put -aboard the steamer? Oh, for God's sake, give me a word of hope--one word -to keep me from going mad too!" - -"Mrs Minton," said Dr Koomadhi, "you have asked me a great many -questions. May I remind you that I never asked but one question of you?" - -"One question? What do you mean?" - -"I asked you if you thought you could marry me. What was your answer?" - -"Why do you come here to remind me of that? If you are thinking of that -fault of mine--it was cruel, I know, but I did not mean it--if you are -thinking of that rather than of the best way to help us, you had much -better have stayed away." - -"You said you would as soon marry a baboon as marry me." - -"I checked myself." - -"When you had practically said it." - -"Well, what then?" - -"Nothing; you did not marry me, and the alternative was your own -choice." - -"The alternative?" - -"Yes; you married a baboon. You know it. Is there any doubt on your -mind? Come to this window." - -He had suddenly crossed the room to a window facing the jungle. She -staggered to his side. He threw open the shutter and pointed out. - -What Mrs Minton saw was a huge ape running on all fours across the -cleared space just outside the jungle. The creature ran on for some -distance, then stopped and turned round gibbering. Then from the jungle -there came another ape, only in a more upright posture. With a yell he -caught the hand of the first, and the creature stood upright. Then, hand -in hand, in a horribly grotesque dance, they advanced together until -they were within a hundred yards of the Residency. - -"You see--you see," laughed Dr Koomadhi. "You may still be able to -recognise some of his features in spite of the transformation. You have -had your choice. A baboon is your husband, and your child----" - -The shriek that the woman gave before falling to the floor frightened -even Dr Koomadhi. - -In a second the room door was opened. Mr Letts appeared. He rushed at Dr -Koomadhi, and had his hands on his throat before the Doctor could raise -Mrs Minton. He forced the negro backward into the porch, and flung -him out almost upon the Commissioner and Mr Ross, the surgeon of the -_Penguin_, who were in the act of entering. - -"For heaven's sake, Letts!" cried the Commissioner. - -"You infernal nigger!" shouted Letts, as Dr Koomadhi picked himself up. -"You infernal nigger! if ever you show your face here again, I'll break -every bone in your body!" - -"What the blazes is the matter?" asked. Ross. - -"I believe that that devil has killed Mrs Minton," said the Secretary. -"If he has, by God! I'll kill him." - - -XV. - -Dr Koomadhi went to his house in dignified silence. He put a couple of -glasses of brandy into a bottle of champagne and gulped down the whole. -Then he wrote a short note to the officer of the Houssas, mentioning -that he would be happy to help him to shoot the great ape at daybreak. - -He sent off the letter, and before he closed his desk he thought he -would restore the carved stones to their receptacle. He had put them -into his pocket before starting for the Residency; but now when he felt -for them in his pocket he failed to find them. He was overcome with the -fear that he had lost them. It suddenly occurred to him that they had -been thrown out of his pocket by the violence of the man who had flung -him into the road. If so, they would be lying on the pathway, and they -would be safe enough there until dark, when he could go and search for -them. - -At moonrise he went out and walked down the road to the "Residency, but -when just at the porch he was confronted by Ross, who was leaving the -house. - -"Hallo!" cried the surgeon. "I was just about to stroll up to you." - -"And I was determined not to miss you," said Koomadhi. "How is Mrs -Minton? It will be brain fever, I'm afraid." - -"It looks very like it," said Ross. "She is delirious. How did the -attack come? That fool of a Secretary will give no explanation of his -conduct to you. The Commissioner says he will either apologise or leave -the station." - -"The Secretary is a fool," said Koomadhi. "Great heavens! to think that -there are still some men like that--steeped to the lips in prejudice -against the race to which I am proud to belong! We'll not talk of him; -but I'll certainly demand an apology. The poor woman--she is little more -than a girl, Ross! The breaking strain was reached when she was in the -act of telling me about her husband." - -"Sunstroke, I suppose?" - -"Undoubtedly. He has been behaving queerly for some time. Walk back with -me and have something to drink." - -"I can only stay for an hour," said Ross. "Mrs Bryson, the wife of the -telegraphist, is nursing Mrs Minton; but it won't do for me to be absent -for long." - -He remained chatting with Koomadhi for about an hour, and then left for -the Residency alone. - -Dr Koomadhi determined to wait until midnight, when he might be pretty -certain that his search for the stones would not be interrupted. - -The door of the Residency was opened for Mr Ross by Letts. - -"Step this way, Ross," said he, in a low voice. - -Ross went into the Secretary's room. Sitting on a cane chair with a -cigar in his mouth and a tall glass at his elbow was a man from whom -came a strong perfume of shaving-soap. The man had plainly been recently -shaved. His face was very smooth. - -"Hallo, Ross, old chap!" said this man. - -"My God, it's Minton!" cried the surgeon. - -"No one else," said Minton. "What is all this about my poor wife? Don't -tell me that it's serious." - -"It's serious enough," said Ross. "But, unless a change for the worse -comes before morning, there is no reason for alarm." - -"Thank God!" said Minton. "What a fool I was to set about investigating -that monkey language! I fancied that I had mastered a word or two, and I -ventured into the jungle and got lost. I returned here an hour ago in a -woful state of dilapidation. I'm getting better every minute. For God's -sake let me know how my poor wife is now!" - -"I'll get your report, Ross, to save your leaving the room," said Letts. - -The Secretary took the surgeon into an empty apartment. - -"He returned three-quarters of an hour ago," he said, in a low voice. "I -never got such a shock as when I saw him--luckily I was at the door. He -was practically naked; and with his hair tangled over his head, and his -face one mass of bristles, he was to all intents and purposes a baboon. -That nigger is at the bottom of it all. I followed him when he visited -Mrs Minton this morning, and I even brought myself to listen outside -the door of the breakfast-room, where they had an interview. I overheard -enough to convince me that the ruffian had made Minton the victim of -some of his hellish magic. I've been long enough on the West Coast to -know what some of the niggers can do in this way. I have questioned -Minton adroitly, and he admitted to me that Koomadhi had put a certain -stone carved like a human ear into his hand, and had induced him to -place it at his own ear. That was the famous Sacred Ear stone that the -Ashantees speak of in whispers." - -"We'll talk more of this to-morrow," said Ross. "I don't believe much in -negro magic; but--my God! what is the meaning of that?" - -A window was open in the room, and through it there came the sound of -a shot, followed by appalling yells: then came another shot, and such a -wild chorus of shrieking as far surpassed in volume the first series. - - -XVI. - -Letts ran to a cupboard and whipped out a revolver. He rushed outside -without a word. Ross followed him: he felt that wherever a revolver was -going he should go also. - -The two men ran in the moonlight toward Koomadhi's house, for the yells -were still coming from that direction. When they got within sight of the -house Letts cried out in amazement. By the light of the full moon the -strangest sight that he had ever seen was before his eyes. Koomadhi's -house was invisible; but where it should have been there was an enormous -pyramid of jabbering apes. They were so thick upon the roof and the -verandah as to conceal every portion of the building, and hundreds were -on the pathway around the place. The noise they made was appalling. - -Letts and the surgeon crouched behind a cane-brake and watched that -strange scene; but they had not been long in concealment before the -creatures began trooping off to the jungle. Baboons, chimpanzees, and -gorillas, more horrible than had ever been depicted, were rushing from -the house yelling and gibbering with grotesque gestures beneath the -light of the moon. - -Before the last of the monstrous procession had disappeared--while the -shrieks of the wild parrots were still filling the air--the two men left -their place of concealment and hurried toward the house. They had to -struggle through an odour of monkeys that would have overpowered most -men. A glance was sufficient to show them that the shutters of the room -in which Koomadhi slept had been torn away. Letts sprang through -the open window, and Boss heard his cry of horror before he followed -him--before he saw the ghastly sight that the moonlight revealed. The -body of Dr Koomadhi lay torn and mangled upon the floor, his empty -revolver still warm in his hand. Around him lay the carcases of four -enormous apes, with bullet-holes in their breasts. - -"Ross," said Letts after a long pause, "there is a stronger power still -than the devil even on the West Coast of Africa." - -***** - -"Women, I have often heard, have strange notions at times," said Major -Minton, leaning over the deck-chair under the awning of the _Penguin_, -where his wife was sitting, "but that fancy which you say you had before -your attack beats the record. Still, I was greatly to blame. I'll never -forgive myself. I had no business interesting myself in that simian -jabber. If at any time I feel a craving in such a direction I'll get an -order for the Strangers' Gallery of the House of Commons when a debate -on an Irish question is going on. Poor Koomadhi! Letts declared that, -as he lay among the dead apes, it was difficult to say whether he was an -ape or a man." - - - - -THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. - -I wouldn't make a fuss about it if I were you," said Charlie Craven, -pursuing that search from pocket to pocket which men, having no -particular reputation for tidiness to maintain, are accustomed to -institute when they have filled a pipe and are anxious to light it. - -"A fuss about it?" cried his sister Madge. "A fuss--good gracious! What -is there to make a fuss about in all that I have told you? A dream--I -ask you candidly if you think that I am the sort of girl to make a fuss -over a dream?" - -"Oh, I don't know," said Charlie. He had succeeded in finding in one of -his pockets a match-box--an empty match-box. - -"Well, you should know," said Madge severely. - -"There now, you are; making a fuss over something a deal flimsier than -your dream," laughed her brother. "I wonder if that palace of your dream -was no better supplied than this house with matches: if it wasn't, I -shouldn't care to live in it for any length of time." - -"It's so like a man to keep on bothering himself and every one about him -for a match, while all the time a fire is roaring on the hearth behind -him, and his pockets are full of bills--the usual Christmas bills, the -least of which would light all the pipes he smokes in a day, and that's -saying a good deal." - -"How clever you are! I never thought of the fire. Well, as I was -remarking, I wouldn't bother telling my dreams to any one if I were you. -Dreams--well, dreams are all rot, you know." - -"I'm not quite so sure of that as you seem to be, O wisest of brothers. -The wisest of people in the world--next to you, of course--have thought -that there was something in dreams, haven't they?" - -"They were wrong. My aunt! the rot that I have dreamt from time to -time!" - -"Oh, that settles the question." - -"It does, so far as I am concerned. Look here, Madge; don't come to me -again with the story of your dreams, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. -Dreams, I say, are all----Of course, you saw that particular house and -that particular staircase in some picture, and they stuck somewhere at -the back of your brain. It's a rummy thing the brain, you know--a jolly -rum thing!" - -"It is. I am becoming more impressed every minute with the truth of that -discovery of yours." - -"Oh, if you are becoming sarcastic, I have nothing more to say. But -please to remember that sarcasm is no argument. I tell you, my dear -girl, you have seen a picture of that house at some period of your -life--I don't say recently, mind you--and my theory is that the brain is -like a sensitized plate: it records an impression once and for all, and -stores it away, and you never know exactly when it means to bring it out -again before your eyes. Oh, believe me, it plays a lot of tricks upon -even the most commonplace people." - -"Among whom I suppose I must count myself? Well, I daresay you are -right." - -"I know that I am right. Dreams! Did you ever hear the story of the old -woman who won a big prize in a lottery, the ticket being No. 26? Had she -chosen that number on chance or in accordance with some system? she was -asked, and she replied that she had dreamt it all out. Dreamt it all -out? What did she mean by that? they inquired. 'Well, a week ago I -dreamt that I won the prize, and that the ticket I took was No. 9,' said -she. 'The next night I dreamt exactly the same, and the ticket was No. -9. The third night the same thing happened, so, of course, I chose No. -26.' 'No. 26? Why not No. 9 as you dreamt it?' the people asked. 'Oh, -you fools!' said she; 'didn't I tell you that I dreamt it three times? -the number was 9, and doesn't every one know that three times 9 are 26?' -Now that's the stuff that dreams are made of, as Shakespeare remarks, so -don't you bother about this particular vision of yours; and if you take -my advice you'll say nothing to Uncle Philip or the lot of them about -it. They would only laugh at you." - -"Why on earth should I go about proclaiming my dream to all our -relations?" cried the girl. "Dear Charlie, I'm not suffering just yet -from softening of the brain. Besides, I can recall many instances of -disaster following people who bored others with the story of their -dreams. There was the notable case of Joseph and his brethren, and later -in history there was the case of the Duke of Clarence. You remember how -swiftly retribution followed his story of his dream? Now, of course, -my dream was only a little insignificant thing compared to Joseph's -and Clarence's, still something might happen if I bored people with -it--something proportionate--the plum-pudding might come to the table -in a state of squash, or the custards might be smoked. Oh no, I'll be -forewarned, and talk only of facts. I suppose a dream cannot, by even -the most indulgent of people, be called a fact." - -"I'm off to the stables," said her brother, after a little pause. - -Then he went off to the stables. He was an excellent fellow and the -best of brothers, although he was more at home in the stables than when -engaged in a discussion on a subject involving some exercise of the -imagination. There is not much room in a stable for a play of the -imagination, especially where the corn accounts are kept on a system. - -When he had left the breakfast-room on this bright Christmas morning -his sister paused for a few moments in her morning duty of collecting -a breakfast for the birds which were loitering about the Italian -balustrade in front of the window, reminding her, in their own way, that -they expected an exceptionally liberal repast on this Christmas morning: -she paused and began to think once more upon this strange dream of hers, -which she had been rehearsing to her brother. - -After all, it was not so strange a dream, she reflected. The only queer -thing about it was that it had come to her on every Christmas Eve for -five consecutive years--since she was seventeen--and that its details -did not differ in the least from one year to another. Perhaps it was -also different from the majority of dreams in its vividness, and in the -fact that, on awaking from it, she felt as exhausted as if she had just -returned from a long journey. Even now it required almost an effort on -her part to walk round the old oak table sweeping the crumbs on to a -plate to throw to the birds; and when she had discharged this duty she -seated herself with a sigh of relief in one of the arm-chairs that stood -by the side of the great wood fire. - -She closed her eyes and once again recalled her dream. She had no -difficulty in doing so. She had fancied herself in the act of driving up -to a fine old house, standing in the middle of a well-timbered park -of oak and chestnut. The lawn extended across the full front of the -mansion, and in the centre she noticed a beautiful old fountain, -composed of a great marble basin with a splendid group of figures in the -centre--Neptune with his dolphins and a Naiad or two. She passed into -the house through a great hall hung with trophies of war and of the -chase. In front of her was the enormous head of a moose, and at one side -there was a great grey skull of some animal such as she had never seen -before,--a fearful thing with huge tusks--quite the monster of a dream. - -Then she seemed to go from room to room, as if she had been a member -of the family living in the place, but--and this she felt to be a true -dream-touch--the moment she entered a room every one who was there fled -from her; but apparently this did not cause her any surprise, any -more than did the strange costume of the figures who fled at her -approach--costumes of the sixteenth century, mingled with those of the -seventeenth and eighteenth. Thinking of the figures hurrying from every -room suggested to her the family portraits of three centuries in motion. -After visiting several fine rooms she found herself walking up a broad -oaken staircase of shallow steps, until she came to a large lobby, -where the staircase divided to right and left. There she found a curious -settee of some dark wood, the long centre panel of which was carved with -many figures. She saw all this by the aid of the moonlight which flowed -in through the panes of coloured glass in a high window, painted with -many coats of arms. - -She remembered having rested in this seat for some time, feeling very -lonely, and then some one had come to her, sitting by her side and -taking her hand, saying-- - -"I have been waiting for you all these years. I am so glad that you are -here at last." - -She remembered that the sound of the voice and the touch of the hand -had banished her loneliness, and made her feel happier than she had -ever felt in all her life before. Even now she felt supremely happy, -recalling this incident of her dream, though she recollected that she -had not yet seen the face of the man who had come to her to banish her -loneliness. She wished that her dream had been less whimsical in this -one particular. She felt that she could have spared some of the other -details that came before her so vividly--the skull of that strange -animal that hung in the hall, for instance--if in their place she had -been allowed to see what manner of man it was who had sat with her. - -Still, the recollection of him gave her pleasure even when the dream had -first come to her and he had come in the dream, and this pleasure had -been increasing year by year, until she knew that she had actually gone -asleep on the previous night, full of joy in the hope of hearing the -sound of that voice and feeling the touch of that hand as she had done -in the past. - -And that was the end of her dream, unless the feeling of -happiness--happiness mingled with a certain sadness--of which she was -conscious while she recalled its details should be accounted part of -the dream. Her pleasure was the same as one experiences in recalling the -incidents of a visit to a dear friend; her sadness was the same as one -experiences on thinking that a long time must elapse before one can see -that friend again. - -Madge actually found herself reflecting that a year must pass before she -could once more find herself wandering through the strange mansion of -her dream--find herself once more seated on that carved seat in the -lobby beneath the painted window. - -She kept on thinking, and wondering as she thought, over the strange -features of this experience of hers. She knew that she was what people -would call a commonplace, practical girl--a girl without fads or fancies -of any sort. Since her mother's death, three years before, she had -managed all the household affairs of Craven Court for her brother, who -had inherited the property before she had left the schoolroom. Every one -was bound to acknowledge that her management of the household had been -admirable, though only her brother knew exactly how admirable it was. - -"There are no frills about Madge; she is the best woman of business in -the county, and we have none of the bothers of other people with our -servants," he had frequently said. - -And yet here was this embodiment of all that is practical in life, -dreaming upon a dream upon this bright and frosty Christmas morning, and -actually feeling sad at the thought that a whole year must elapse before -the same vision should return to her. - -The chiming of the church bells startled her out of her reverie. - -"Pshaw!" she cried, jumping up from her chair; "I am quite as great a -goose as Charlie believes me to be--quite! or I should not have told -him that that dream had come to me again. I should have had the sense to -know that he would have the sense to know that dreams are, one and all, -the utterest folly!" - -She knew that she was trying to convince herself that there was nothing -more in this particular dream than in the many casual dreams that came -to her as well as to other people; but before she had reached the door -of the dining-room she knew that she had failed in her attempt. The -curious fatigue of which she was conscious, quickly told her that this -oft-recurring vision was not as others were. - -She went to church with her brother, and in the afternoon their uncle, -Colonel Craven, and his wife duly arrived at the Court to spend their -annual week at the family mansion, and Madge took her brother's advice -and refrained from saying a word to either of them on the subject of her -dream. Indeed, she had so much to think of and so much to do during -the week, she had no time to give to anything so immaterial as a dream, -however interesting it might be to herself. - -On the last morning of the stay of Colonel and Mrs Craven at Craven -Court, the former received a letter which he tossed across the -breakfast-table to Charlie. - -"Funny, isn't it?" he said. "We were talking about wild-duck-shooting no -later than last night, and here's a letter from Jack Tremaine telling me -that he is taking over his cousin's place for six months and promising -me some good sport if I go to him for a week in January. You will see -that he suggests that you should be of the party: he asks if you are -here. See what he says about the ducks." - -"Who is his cousin?" inquired Charlie, "and where is his place?" - -"His cousin is a chap named Clifford, and his place is in -Dorsetshire--on the coast--Barmouth Manor it is called, and I know that -it's famous for its duck-shooting. Tremaine will no doubt write to you." - -"Where has the cousin gone, that the place is available for Jack -Tremaine?" asked Charlie. - -"Turn over the page and you'll see what he says about the Cliffords," -replied Colonel Craven. - -Charlie found on the last leaf half a dozen lines on the point in -question. Jack Tremaine said that Mrs Clifford was not satisfied as to -the health of her son, and was going abroad with him during the first -week in January. - -"I should like to have a go at the ducks," said Charlie Craven, handing -back the letter. "I suppose there is a duck-punt or two at the place?" - -"You may be sure of that," said his uncle. "Young Clifford is a good -sportsman, I believe, but I have never met him. I'll write to Tremaine -to-day telling him that you are at home. I'm sure he means to invite -you." - -All doubt on this point was removed by the arrival two days later of -an invitation from Mr Tremaine to Charlie Craven for a fortnight's -duck-shooting at Barmouth Manor, and he enclosed a letter from his wife -to Madge expressing the hope that she would be able to accompany her -brother. - -Madge was delighted at the prospect of the visit, for she and Mrs -Tremaine were close friends. - -The frost which had set in a few days before Christmas had not gone -when she and her brother were due at Barmouth Manor, so that there was a -likelihood of her having some skating on the lake. Mrs Tremaine had, -in her invitation, laid some stress upon the possibility of a week's -skating on the lake which, she said, was within the Manor Park. - -A carriage met them at Barmouth Station, for the Manor was quite five -miles from the picturesque little town; and it was late in the afternoon -before they passed through the spacious entrance gates to the Manor -Park. There was, however, quite enough light to enable Madge to see -every detail of the place, and it was observing some of the details that -caused her to make a rather startling exclamation of surprise. - -"Hallo!" said her brother, "what has startled you?" - -There was a little pause before she had recovered herself sufficiently -to be able to make an excuse that would sound plausible. She pointed to -a group of deer looking over the barrier of their enclosure. - -"One of the stags," she said; "it seemed for a moment as if it were -about to jump the rail." - -"What matter if it did? They are as tame as cats at this time of the -year," said Charlie. - -"Of course, I should have remembered," she said. "I wonder in what -direction is the pond. Does the sunset look promising?" - -"There may be no thaw before the end of the month," said he. - -That was the end of their conversation, and she flattered herself that -he had no notion how excited she was as the carriage reached that part -of the drive which was beside the lawn, and the red level rays of the -sun streaming through the naked trees stained the marble basin of an -Italian fountain, the central group of which was in every detail the -same as the figures in the fountain of her dream. In another minute the -front of the house was disclosed, and she saw that it was the house -of her dream. She would have been greatly disappointed had it been -otherwise. - -She entered the great hall, and could scarcely reply to the cordial -greeting of her aunt and Mrs Tremaine, for she found herself stared at -by the sleepy eyes that looked out from the head of a moose just as they -had stared at her in her sleep. She turned to the wall on her right. -Yes, there was the curious skull with the mighty tusks. - -"Oh yes, we had a delightful journey," she managed to say in reply -to Mrs Tremaine's inquiry. "Thank you; I should like a cup of tea -immensely. Do you have it in the hall or in the tapestry room beyond?" - -"What; you have been here before? I had no idea of that," said Mrs -Tremaine. - -For more than a moment Madge was confused. - -Luckily for her, however, the lamps had not been lighted in the hall, -and the sudden flush that came over her face was unobserved by her -friends. - -She gave a laugh. - -"What a good shot I made!" she cried. "Isn't this just the sort of house -to have an old-panelled dining-room and a tapestry chamber beside it? I -think we should have tea here. What sort of prehistoric creature is that -on the wall?" - -"I believe it is a skull that was found when they were digging the -foundations of one of the lodges," said Mrs Tremaine. - -"I seem to have read some description of this very place," said Charlie, -standing in front of the great skull. - -Madge wondered if he would remember enough of her account of the house -of her dreams to enable him to recognise the details before him. - -"It is fully described in Hall's History, and in every guide-book of the -district. The animal that that skull belonged to lived some thousands of -years before the Flood, I understand." - -"What is the exact date b.c. carved on it?" laughed Charlie. "Yes, I -daresay I came upon a paragraph or an illustration of the place. No -house is safe from the depredations of the magazines nowadays." - -Tea was served in the hall to give Madge's maid time to unpack; and then -the girl was shown to her room. She ran up the broad, shallow staircase -to the lobby; she had made up her mind to sit, if only for a moment, -on the carved settee; but a surprise awaited her,--no carved settee was -there. The painted window was there, but no settee was beneath it. - -She was so surprised that she stood for some moments gazing at the -vacant place. - -"That lobby looks quite bare without the settee, Miss Craven," said -the housekeeper, who was beside her. "It's a fine bit of carving--all -ebony." - -"Was there a settee here?" asked Madge innocently. - -"It was only taken away to-day to be in a better light for Mrs Tremaine -to photograph it," said the housekeeper. "Mrs Tremaine has done most -of the rare pieces in the house. This is your room, Miss Craven. It's -called the Dauphin's chamber, for it was here he slept fifty years ago -when he was in Dorsetshire." - -Madge entered the room, remarking that it was beautifully furnished and -that it seemed extremely comfortable. When the door was closed she threw -herself into a chair and had a good think. - -What could it all mean? she asked herself. Why should this house become -so associated with her life? Was she going to die here? Was something -going to happen to her? Was she to meet here the man who had upon five -different occasions come to her side, telling her that he had been -waiting for her? - -For ten days she remained in the house, looking forward day by day to -some occurrence that would cause her to realise what her dream meant; -but she returned with her brother to Craven Court in disappointment. -Nothing particular happened all the time, and she came to the conclusion -that her dream was as meaningless as her brother had said it was. - -Madge Craven and her brother were staying with the Tremaines at their -own place during the pheasant shooting the following October, and one -morning their hostess mentioned that her husband's cousin, Mrs Clifford, -had returned to England from South America and was expected to join -their party that day. - -She arrived before the shooters had come back from their day's sport, -and she and Mrs Tremaine had a long chat in front of the fire before -tea. Mrs Clifford was a handsome old lady of the _grande dame_ type; -and being a close observer and an admirable describer of all that she -observed, she was able to entertain Mrs Tremaine with an account of the -adventures of her son and herself in South America. - -"I hope Rawdon's health is more satisfactory now than it was," said Mrs -Tremaine when her guest had declared that there was no more to be told. - -"I can only hope for the best," said Mrs Clifford, becoming grave. -"Rawdon is gone across the mountains to Chili, and will not be at home -until the middle of January." - -"He must be pretty robust to be able to undertake such a journey," said -Mrs Tremaine. - -"He is not wanting in strength," said Mrs Clifford. "Only--poor boy!" - -"'Poor boy!' 'Why poor boy'?" asked the other. - -There was a pause before the elder lady said-- - -"It is rather difficult to explain. By the way, did any of your party at -the Manor House see the ghost?" - -"Heavens! I did not know that your family was blessed with a ghost," -laughed Mrs Tremaine. "No, I can assure you, we were not so lucky. What -sort of a ghost is it? A ghastly figure with rattling chains? Have you -seen it?" - -"Yes, I have seen it," said Mrs Clifford in a low voice. - -"How interesting! Do tell me what it is like!" cried the other. - -"Like? What is it like?" Mrs Clifford rose slowly from her chair, and -walked to another chair. She only remained seated for a moment, however: -with a sigh she began pacing the room slowly. - -"I fear I have touched upon a forbidden topic," said Mrs Tremaine. "I -had no idea that you were serious." - -"Serious--serious," said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room, -and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had -uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window, -her hands grasping the back of a chair. - -She was by her side in a moment. - -"Pray, what is the matter?" she said. - -"You are weak--overcome by-------Let me ring for brandy." - -Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm. - -"Who is that--that--on the terrace?" she said in a fearful whisper. - -"Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven," replied Mrs Tremaine. - -Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the -peacocks. - -"She was with you when you were at the Manor House," said Mrs Clifford. -"She was there, and yet you did not see the 'ghost'?" - -"What on earth do you mean?" said Mrs Tremaine. - -"I mean this: that girl out there is the ghost that appears at the Manor -House every Christmas Eve, and it is because my poor boy, as well as I -myself, saw it, that his mind has become unhinged." - -"Heavens! You mean to say----" - -"The poor boy has fallen, in love with a shadow--a phantom! It comes -every Christmas Eve and walks from room to room. It comes up the -stairs--I tell you that I have seen it--and sits on the old carved -settee, and then suddenly vanishes into the air whence it came.... And -that ghost is as surely that girl as I am I." - -"This is terrible--quite uncanny! Are you quite sure?" - -"Sure--sure!" - -"It is awful to think upon. But--but--listen to me--I have an idea. If -Madge is the ghost, why not ask her down again to your place, and give -Rawdon a thing of flesh and blood to transfer his affections to?" - -"What do you say?" - -"Madge is the best girl in the world. Every eligible man in her county, -and quite as many ineligible, have wanted to marry her. You will find -out how nice she is." - -Mrs Clifford sank into the chair. - -"Oh that it were possible!" she whispered. "He is everything to me, my -dearest boy, and until this fancy--------Oh, if it were only possible!" - -And at this point Madge entered the room, and was duly presented to Mrs -Clifford. - -***** - -If Madge was at first under the impression that the manner of Mrs -Clifford in regard to her was somewhat formal and constrained, before a -week had passed she had good reason to change her opinion on this point. -The fact was that Mrs Clifford had formed an attachment for her which -she could sincerely return; and that was why the girl was delighted to -accept her invitation to spend Christmas in Dorsetshire. It suited her -brother's arrangements for her to do so, for he was anxious to join a -big-game expedition which was starting for India early in December. - -Mrs Clifford said she was delighted to be able to have Madge all to -herself for at least a fortnight. - -"My son cannot possibly be home until the middle of January," said -she, "and then we shall probably have a large party at the Manor. But -meantime you and I shall be together." - -"I do not think that we shall quarrel," said Madge. - -"Alas! alas!" said Mrs Clifford to Mrs Tremaine, after one of the many -whispered colloquies which they had together during the week. "Alas! -Rawdon cannot be home for Christmas. It was I who took the greatest -pains to arrange matters to prevent his spending another Christmas Eve -at home until he should have completely recovered from the effects of -his strange attachment, and yet now I would give worlds to be able to -have him with us on Christmas Eve." - -"Could you not send a cable?" suggested Mrs Tremaine. - -"I might send a dozen without being able to find him. Besides, it would -be impossible for me to tell him what has occurred." - -"I suppose you could hardly cable him 'Come home at once. Ghost found," -laughed Mrs Tremaine. "Never mind. He should be all the better pleased -when the Ghost of Christmas Eve becomes a creature of flesh and blood by -the middle of January." - -***** - -It was Christmas Eve at the Manor House. Madge's maid had just left -her for the night, but the girl showed no inclination to go to bed. She -remained sitting by her fire thinking how strange it was that she should -be on this Christmas Eve in the flesh at the house which she had visited -in her dreams. And while she sat thinking over this, she found herself -overcome by that strange longing which she had had just a year ago, to -be again by the side of the man who had come to her side in her dream. - -She clasped her hands, saying in a whisper--"Come to me. Come to me -again and tell me that you have been waiting for me." - -She began to undress with feverish haste, when suddenly her hands -dropped by her sides, for the terrible thought occurred to her-- - -"What if my dream will not come to me this year because I happen to be -in the midst of the real scene where it took place?" - -The thought that it might be as capricious as other dreams oppressed -her. She now felt sorry that she had agreed to visit the place. She -should have remained at Craven Court, where her dream had always been -faithful to her. - -A sudden idea occurred to her: she would leave her room and sit in -reality on the carved settee under the painted window, and then, going -to bed immediately after, she might sink unconsciously into the kind -embrace of her dream. - -She opened her door very gently and went along the silent corridor until -she reached the head of the staircase, and saw the moonlight streaming -through the coloured glass to the lobby beneath. She stole down, and in -another instant she was in the seat, the moonlight streaming over her -and throwing the coloured pattern of the glass upon her white dress. -She closed her eyes, feeling that perhaps she might fall asleep and find -herself in the midst of her dream. - -Suddenly she opened her eyes. She fancied that she heard the sound of a -footstep in the hall below. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Some -one was in the hall--some one was coming up the stairs. She sprang -to her feet, and was about to rush up to her room, when she heard a -voice--the voice that she had heard so often in that dream of hers, -saying-- - -"Ah, do not go now. You cannot go now that I have come to you--now that -I have been waiting for you for five years." - -She could not move from where she was standing. She saw a tall man with -a bronzed face coming up the stairs. She somehow had never seen his face -in her dream, but she recognised it from the photograph which his mother -had shown her: she knew that the man was Rawdon Clifford. - -He stood before her on the lobby. - -"They thought to separate us," he said. "They thought that my love -for you was a form of madness. But I tell you, as I told them, I would -rather stand by your side for a few minutes once a-year than be for ever -by the side of another--a more real creature. That is why I have come -over land and sea to be here in time for your visit this Christmas Eve. -I promised my mother to stay away; but I could not--I could not keep my -promise, and I came to England a fortnight sooner than I expected, and -entered the house only this moment--like a burglar. But I am rewarded." - -"I do not understand. I am Mrs Clifford's guest. Madge Craven is my -name," said Madge. - -The man sprang back and raised his hands in surprise. - -"Great heavens! She is flesh and blood--at last--at last!" he cried. - -He put out his hand slowly--doubtfully. Madge put out hers to it. A cry -of delight came from him as he felt her warm hand, and he made it still -warmer by his kisses. She could not stop him. She made no attempt to do -so. - -"Tell me that I was not mad--that I am not mad now," he said in a loving -whisper. - -"Oh no--only--is it not strange?--For five years I have this dream--this -very dream--and yet I never was in this house until last January," said -Madge. - -"You have been with me every Christmas Eve for five years, and you will -remain here for ever," said he. "Do not tell me that we have not met -before--do not tell me that you have not loved me as I have loved you -all these years. What did that dream of yours mean?" - -"I think I know now--now," whispered the girl. - -***** - -Mrs Tremaine considers, herself the only survivor of the people who -professed to exorcise the ghosts in whom our grandfathers were foolish -enough to believe. - - - - -THE BLOOD ORANGES - -Ah, my friend," said the Marchesa, "you Englishmen are like to our -mountain which we see smoking over there." She threw herself into -the attitude of the '_prima donna assoluta_ in an impassioned moment -preceding the singing of the romanza, as she pointed across the blue Bay -of Naples to where Vesuvius was sending forth a delicate hazy fume. - -"I don't know anything about Englishmen," said Sir Percival morosely; -"but I know that when you are near me my heart is a volcano--my -soul----" - -The lady's laugh interrupted him--one cannot make use of similes with a -poetical flavour about them when a violet-eyed lady is leaning back her -head in laughter, even though the action displays a beautiful throat and -the curves of a superb neck. The Marchesa del Grippo displayed a -marvellous throat and neck, and was fully aware of this fact. Her laugh -rang out like a soprano dwelling with delight on a high note and -producing it _tremolo_. - -"Ah," she cried, "you are at pains to prove to me that I am right in the -way I judge you Englishmen: to-day you are volcanic, to-morrow we find -not the blaze and the thunder but only--_ecco!_ a puff of smoke." - -Once again she pointed--but this time carelessly--in the direction of -the mountain. - -The man frowned. - -"For heaven's sake do not say 'You Englishmen' when I am by!" he cried. -"I have nothing in common with Englishmen." - -"I have never met an Englishman who did not try to impress upon me that -he was not as other Englishmen," said the Marchesa. "The last one to say -so to me was your wicked young Lord Byron. The Guicciola presented him -to me at Genoa. Heavens! the old Count is more like an Englishman than -Lord Byron! He can keep his eyes fast shut when it suits him. Enough; I -said 'You Englishmen,' and he became red with anger. Droll! I had to ask -forgiveness for having accused his lordship of being English. Oh, you -are a nation of patriots." - -"You do not mean to keep up the acquaintance of Lord Byron, I would fain -hope," said Sir Percival with another frown. - -Again the lady laughed. - -"After that do not tell me that you are not an Englishman," she -said. "It is so very English to frown when the name of Lord Byron is -mentioned--to give a young woman with a husband a solemn warning to -beware of that wicked young noble, while all the time the one that -utters the warning is doing his best to earn the reputation of the -disreputable Byron. The English detest Byron; but if you want to flatter -an Englishman to the farthest point, all you have to do is to tell him -that you believe him to be a second Lord Byron. Never mind: I like the -Lord Byron, and I like--yes, a little--another of his countrymen, though -he is, I fear, very wicked." - -"Wicked?--wicked?" cried Sir Percival--he was plainly flattered. "What -is it to be wicked?" - -"Ah, do not ask me to give it a definition: I might say that it was to -be you--you yourself." - -"If it is wicked to love--madly--blindly--then indeed I admit that----" - -"That you are _aut Diabolus, aut Byron?_ I know not which of the two the -English regard as the worse. Well, suppose I do not admit your right to -tell me of your love: I suppose I dare not dispute your right to love, -but I can dispute your right to tell me of it--that is, if it exists." - -"If it exists? Heavens! my beloved creature, would I have followed you -here from England if I did not love you to distraction?" - -"It needs such extraordinary self-sacrifice on the part of an Englishman -to leave England for Italy! I think you were glad to make some -excuse--even so feeble a one as that of being in love with an Italian -woman--to make a journey to Naples. But I forgot; you were in Italy once -before, were you not?" - -"Yes; I was in some parts,--the north--Tuscany--Florence--never -here--no, never here." - -"Never here? ah, yes; now I remember well. You said you had never been -to Sorrento. I wonder did I hold out any inducement to you to come to -Sorrento?--you must have been studying a map of our bay, for you knew by -name every landmark, every island, when I tried to be your cicerone just -now." - -The glance that he cast at her after giving a little start had something -of suspicion in it. - -"Everyone knows the landmarks of the lovely Bay of Naples," said he; -"but I--ah, my beloved, did you not tell me all its beauties when we -first met in London six months ago? Had you no idea that every word -which fell from your lips--even the words in which you described the -scenery around your home--should be burnt into my memory for evermore? -Ah, sweet one, will you never listen to me? Does my devotion count for -nothing with you?" - -"My husband," she whispered with a tremulous downward glance--the glance -of love's surrender--he knew it well: he was a man of considerable -experience of woman in all her phases. He knew that he had not been -fooled by the Marchesa. - -"Did not you tell me that you detested him?" he cried. "If a husband -treats a wife cruelly, as he has treated you, he has wilfully forfeited -all claim to her devotion. There are some acts so atrocious that it is -impossible to find an adequate punishment for them." - -"You think that even if the punishment were a crime in the eyes of the -world it would be sanctified by heaven if it were meted out to a monster -of cruelty?" The Marchesa was looking at him through half-closed eyes. -He saw that her hands were clenched tightly, and he did not fail to -notice how tumultuously her bosom was heaving. He was exultant. He had -conquered. That opportune word which he had thrown in regarding her -husband's cruelty had overcome her last scruple. - -She was his. - -"My beloved--my beloved," he whispered, "cruelty to such a woman as you -makes sacred the mission of avenging it. You will leave him--with me you -will never know aught save happiness." - -She gave a little laugh, and then put her hand in his, not doubtfully, -but with an expression of the amplest trustfulness. - -"My last scruple is gone," said she in the same low tone that he had -employed. "What you have said has made my mind easy." - -"You will come to me?" - -"Till one of us dies." - -She spoke the words with the fire flashing from her eyes as she gazed -into his face. The force of that gaze of hers gave him a little shock. -It was only a momentary sensation, however; in a second he recollected -that he was talking to an Italian, not an Englishwoman. - -"Till one of us dies--till one of us dies," he whispered, poorly -imitating her intensity. "Ah, I knew that it would come, my darling. -Would I have travelled from England if I had not been certain of -you--certain of my own love for you, I mean? And you will come with -me--you will leave him? It is his punishment--his righteous punishment." - -"I shall leave him with you, I swear to you," cried the Marchesa. - -For a moment he failed to catch her exact meaning. He did not want -the Marchese to be left with him; but of course he perceived the next -instant that she meant to say that she would leave her husband and go -with him, her lover; and there was no tremor in his voice as he said-- - -"You will never repent it! Ah, what happiness will be ours, my soul! -Shall it be tomorrow? I can hire a vessel to take us to Malta,--there we -shall be safe." - -"Nay, it is too sudden," said she. "My husband could not fail to have -his suspicions aroused. Nay, we shall have to await our opportunity. If -he asks you to pay us a visit you must come. He will be going to Rome in -a day or two, and I shall contrive to be left behind." - -"Ah, that will be our chance," he cried. "Fate is on our side, my dear -one." - -"Yes, Fate is on our side," she said in a low tone that could not -possibly reach the ear of the tall and straight man who approached them -as they stood at the balustrade of the Villa Galeotto overlooking the -lovely Bay of Naples. - -"It is such a great pleasure to me to meet you once again, Sir Percival -Cleave," said the Marchese, with a smile. "I hope that the Marchesa has -offered you the hospitality of our humble home?" - -"The Marchesa has been so very kind as suggest that I should visit your -castle for an hour or two before I leave this lovely neighbourhood," -said Sir Percival. - -"Nay, surely she made you name the day," said the Marchese, turning -to his wife. "Is it possible, my dear, that you failed to be more -specific?" he asked with great gravity. - -The lady gave a shrug in response, and her husband became still more -grave. - -"The hospitality which I received in England can never be forgotten -by me, though my mission was an unpleasant one," said he. "The King -of Naples--but we will avoid politics, as people must if they mean -to remain good friends. Enough; you will honour us by paying us a -visit--but when? What day will suit your convenience?" - -"I am only remaining in this neighbourhood for a day or two," said -Sir Percival. "I have, alas! some important business that will take me -northward; but--well, I have no engagement to-morrow, if that day would -suit your Excellency." - -"It will suit me better than any other day," replied the Marchese. "I -have myself to go to Rome almost at once. I shall never cease to be -thankful to Fate for having so delayed my departure as to enable me to -have the pleasure of meeting Sir Percival Cleave. You will come in -the afternoon and eat a simple dinner at our table. You are already -acquainted with the road to the Castle?" - -"Oh yes--that is, no; I do not know the road, but I do not suppose I -shall have any difficulty in finding it out." - -"What!" the Marchese had turned once more to his wife and had assumed -the tone of a reproof. "What! you did not make Sir Percival aware of the -direction to the Castle?" - -"Sir Percival has been studying a map of the Bay," said she. "Though he -has never before been here he shows a remarkable acquaintance with the -neighbourhood." - -"It is not right to take so much for granted," said the Marchese. "Allow -me to repair the negligence of the Marchesa, Sir Percival." - -He then pointed out to the Englishman the direction to take in order to -reach the road leading to the cliffs a mile beyond Sorrento, where -the Castello del Grippo stood in the centre of its olive-groves. -Sir Percival thanked him, and said that having received such plain -directions he would not now carry out his intention of driving to the -castle; he would ride there instead. - -Before the Marchese and his wife took their departure, the latter -had managed to whisper in the ear of Sir Percival as she returned the -pressure of his hand-- - -"Without fail." - -"Till one of us dies," he replied. - -How strange it all was! he thought that night as he stood at the door of -the inn where he was staying at Sorrento, and listened to the singing -of the fishermen putting out to sea. How strange it all was! The seven -years that had passed since he had last heard the hymn of the fishermen -in that Bay seemed no more than so many days. He had had his adventures -since he had been so foolish as to fancy himself in love with -Paolina--poor Paolina! A good many faces had interposed between the -face of the Italian girl of 1815 and the face of the Italian Marchesa -in 1822. But what a whimsical fate it was that had made him fall in -love with the Marchesa del Grippo more deeply than he had ever permitted -himself to fall in regard to other women! He had never known what it was -to love before, though she was the woman whom he should have avoided, -even if there were no other woman to love in the wide world. - -Ah, it was fate--the Marchesa had said so that afternoon at the Villa -Galeotto. She had loved him from the first--he was ready to swear to -that. He remembered now certain indications of her passion which he -had noticed the first evening they had met, but which had escaped his -memory. It was at Lady Blessington's in Kensington, and the Marchesa -had expressed the pleasure it gave her to meet with an Englishman who -spoke such excellent Italian. He had been very cautious at that time in -replying to her questions as to the length of time he had been in Italy -and the places that he had visited. It was not beyond the bounds -of possibility that, after the lapse of seven years, any one might -recognise him as the lover of Paolina, so it was just as well, he -thought, to be careful. He had not mentioned a word about Sorrento, and -not until the Marchesa had stood by his side in the garden of the Villa -Galeotto had he lapsed in his feigning a complete ignorance of the -locality. It was the force of his passion for that lovely woman which -had overwhelmed him, causing him to forget himself and to refer by name -to various landmarks. - -But what did it matter now? The woman had responded to him, and in a -day or two would be by his side for--well, for as long as he pleased. A -short distance away Lord Byron was affording the Italians a new reading -of the cold-blooded Englishman; but Sir Percival Cleave would take very -good care that he was not made such a fool of by the Marchesa as Lord -Byron was by the Contessa Guicciola. Byron was practically a pauper, -whereas he, Sir Percival Cleave, was rich. He could therefore (the logic -was his) prevent himself from ever being made a fool of by any woman, -Marchesa or Contessa though she might be. - -But he loved her--of that he was certain. He had asked her if he would -have faced the discomforts of a journey from England to Italy had he not -been in love with her; and now as he stood listening to the fishermen's -hymns sung in the boats that were drifting out of the Bay, he asked -himself the same question. Oh yes, he loved her! and her husband was -cruel to her--she had told him so in England, and she had been greatly -comforted by his assurance--given in answer to her inquiry--that the -crime of being cruel to her was so great as to condone any act of -hers--say, running away with another man. - -She was superstitious; she had some scruples. The priests, no doubt, -were in the pay of her husband, and they had probably exaggerated the -crime of a wife's leaving a husband,--it would be so like a greasy -Italian priest to lay emphasis upon this one particular act; but he, an -English gentleman to the core, and properly sensible of the blessings of -a Protestant king and constitution, had succeeded in counteracting the -insidious teaching of the priests. She had listened to him. She -had readily accepted that great truth: a woman's retaliation to her -husband's cruelty is sanctified in the eyes of heaven. That was his -point: the eyes of heaven. It was immaterial in what light such an act -of retaliation as he suggested to her would appear in the eyes of the -people of the world. - -Before he slept he had brought himself to believe that he was actually -the lady's honourable champion, boldly coming forward to rescue her from -an intolerable oppressor. - -The Castello del Grippo was built on the summit of the headland that -sloped away from the sea at one side, but was very precipitous on -the other. For three hundred years the family of Del Grippo had been -accustomed to display a light in the tower nightly for the guidance of -the fishing-boats, for the Castle could be seen from the north as well -as the south. For more than a mile on the shoreward side of the Castle -the olive-trees grew mixed with lemons and oranges; and as Sir -Percival rode along the somewhat rough avenue on his way to accept -the hospitality of the man whose wife he had the previous day been -instructing on some interesting points in regard to her duty, he was -entranced with the perfumes of the fruits and flowers. The air was heavy -with odours of the citrons, and the gold of the luscious fruit gleamed -among the glossy leaves. Though he had never been on the avenue before, -the gleam of the fruit and the exquisite scents brought back to him the -sweet memory of Paolina. It was not at this side of the great garden -that he had been accustomed to meet her, but on the other side--that -nearest the cliff, a mile away. - -It was a sweet sad memory, and it was so poignant that it even caused -him to sigh and murmur-- - -"Ah, la povera Paolina! la povera Paolina!" - -And having thereby satisfied himself that his heart was as soft as the -heart of a little child, he urged his horse forward. - -He soon reached the Castle, and it seemed gloomy enough, outlined -against the wonderful blue sky. He had seen numbers of the peasants -working among the olives, but close to the Castle none were in sight. -It was not until he had dismounted and pulled the handle of the old iron -bell that a servant appeared. In a few moments the Marchese himself came -out of a room at one side of the hall and welcomed his guest, giving -instructions to another servant to stable the horse. - -"You have not met the Marchesa?" he inquired of Sir Percival. "She left -the Castle half-an-hour ago, trusting to meet you. Pray enter and we -shall have some refreshment." - -But Sir Percival declined to enter in the absence of the Marchesa. He -felt that to do so would be very gross--to say the least of it. The -idea of sitting down with the Marchese while the lady--his lady--was -wandering disconsolately around the grounds in search of him was very -repugnant to him. - -"As you will," said the Marchese with a shrug when he remarked that he -would like to go in search of the Marchesa. "As you will. She is not -likely to get lost. Oh yes; we shall go in search of her, and that -will serve me as an excuse for showing you some of the spots to which -interest attaches within our grounds." - -He picked up a hat and stick and left the Castle with his visitor. - -"We shall first go to the grove where the historic duel was fought -between my ancestor and the two nephews of Pope Adrian," said the -Marchese. "You have heard of that affair, no doubt." - -"Shall we be likely to find the Marchesa there?" asked Sir Percival. - -"As likely as not we shall meet her as we go there," replied the -Marchese. - -He led the way through an avenue of ilex, and they soon came upon a -cleared space at the foot of a terrace of rocks. The Marchese explained -the position occupied by the combatants in the famous duel that had so -consolidated the position of the family of Del Grippo. But all the time -the details of the incident were being explained to him Sir Percival was -casting his eyes around for the appearance of the lady. What did he care -about Pope Adrian or his nephews so long as his lady--he had come to -think of her as his lady--was roaming the grounds in search of him? - -Then his host brought him to where the body of his grandfather had been -found by the side of the three men whom he had killed before receiving -the fatal blow from behind, dealt by that poltroon, Prince Roberto, who -had hired four of his bravos to attack the old man. At another part of -the grounds were the ruins of the ancient summer-house, where a certain -member of this distinguished family had strangled his wife, whom he had -suspected of infidelity, though, as the Marchese explained, the lady had -saved him more than once from assassination and was perfectly guiltless. - -An hour had been passed viewing these very interesting localities, about -which the air of the middle ages still lingered, and still the Marchesa -was absent. - -"Should we not return to the Castle? the Marchesa may be waiting for -us," suggested Sir Percival. - -"A thousand pardons," cried the Marchese. "I fear I have fatigued you. -You are thirsty." - -"Well, yes; I am somewhat thirsty," laughed the visitor. - -"How discourteous I have been! We shall have the refreshment of an -orange before returning. There is a famous grove a short way toward the -cliff." - -He strode onward, and then, suddenly turning down a narrow path made -among the olives, Sir Percival gave a start, for he found himself by the -side of the Marchese, at the one part of those grounds with which he was -well acquainted. They stood among the orange-trees at the summit of the -cliff which he had nightly climbed to meet Paolina. - -"Here are our choicest fruits," said the Marchese, plucking an orange -and handing it to his visitor. "Break it open and you will see how -exquisite the fruit is." - -Sir Percival broke the orange, but the moment he did so it fell from his -fingers and he gave a cry of horror, for out of the fruit had come a red -stream staining his hands. - -The Marchese laughed loud and long. - -"Your hands are embrued with blood," he said. "Oh, a stranger might -fancy for a moment that Sir Percival Cleave was a murderer. Ah! pray -pardon my folly. That is only the refreshing juice of the orange. And -yet you fancied that it was blood! Come, my friend, take courage; here -is another. Eat it; you will find it delicious. I have heard that there -are in the world such strange monsters as are refreshed by drinking -blood--we have ourselves vampires in this neighbourhood. But you and I, -sir, we prefer only the heart's blood of a simple orange. You will eat -one." - -"I could not touch one," said Sir Percival. "Nay; to do me the favour? -What! an Englishman and superstitious?" - -Sir Percival took another orange and made a pretence of eating it. His -hands trembled so, however, they were soon dripping with the crimson -juice. - -"You are caught red-handed in the act," said the Marchese, "red-handed-- -but the man who came here long ago was not so captured." - -"Another medieval story?" said Sir Percival. "Had your Excellency not -better reserve it for the evening?" - -"This story is not a medieval one; and it can only be told on the spot," -said the Marchese. "You have never been here before or you would not -need to be told that this orange-grove was until seven years ago an -ordinary one. It was not until blood was spilt here seven years ago that -the fruit became crimson when bruised, and blood--your hands are dyed -with it----flowed from it as you have seen--it is on your lips--you have -drunk of her blood--Paolina's." - -"For Gods sake let us leave this place!" said Sir Percival hoarsely. "I -have heard enough stories of bloodshed." - -"Nay; this one is so piteous, you shall hear it and weep, sir--ah! -tears of blood might be drawn from the most hard-hearted at the story of -Paolina. She was a sweet girl. She lived with her sister, who is now the -Marchesa----" - -"Good God!" - -"What amazes you, sir? Is it remarkable that my wife should have had a -sister?' - -"No, no; of course not; I was only surprised to find those horrid marks -still on my hands. Pray let us return to the Castle and permit me to -remove the stains." - -"Poor Paolina!--she lived at the Castle with our aunt seven years ago. -She was a flower of girlhood. I thought myself in love with her; but -when my brother Ugo--he was the elder--confided in me that he loved her, -I left the Castle. He loved her, and it seemed that she returned his -affection. They were betrothed, and one could not doubt that their -happiness was assured. But one evil day she met a man--a scoundrel; I -regret to say that he was an Englishman--do not move, sir, you shall -hear me out. This villain spoke to her of love. He tempted her. She was -accustomed to meet him every evening on this very spot--we learned -that he sailed from Sorrento and climbed the cliff. My brother began to -suspect. He followed her here one evening, and she confessed everything -to him. He was a passionate man, and he strangled her here--here--and -then flung himself headlong from the cliff." - -"A gruesome story, Marchese. Now, shall we return?" - -"Villain!--assassin!--look at your hands--they are wet with her -blood--your lips--they have drunk her blood, but 'tis their last -draught--for----" - -Sir Percival sprang at the man and caught him by the throat, but in an -instant his hands relaxed. He had only strength to glance round. He saw -the woman who had stabbed him, before he fell forward. - -"That one was for her--for her--my beloved sister. This one is for our -dear brother--the man whom you wronged. This----" - -She stabbed him again. His blood mixed with the crimson stains on the -earth. - -"Look at it--bear witness that I have kept my oath," cried the Marchesa. -"Did not I swear that his blood should be drunk by the same earth that -drank hers?" - -"Beloved one, you are an angel--an avenging angel!" cried the Marchese, -embracing his wife. - -The next day Sir Percival Cleave's horse was found dead at the foot of -one of the cliffs; but the body of the "unfortunate baronet"--so he was -termed by the newspapers (English)--was never recovered. - - - - -THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. - -When Arthur Jephson wrote to me to join his Christmas party at -Northavon Priory, I was set wondering where I had heard the name of -this particular establishment. I felt certain that I had heard the name -before, but I could not recollect for the moment whether I had come -upon it in a newspaper report of a breach of promise of marriage or in a -Blue-Book bearing upon Inland Fisheries: I rather inclined to the belief -that it was in a Blue-Book of some sort. I had been devoting myself some -years previously to an exhaustive study of this form of literature; -for being very young, I had had a notion that a Blue-Book education -was essential to any one with parliamentary aspirations. Yes, I had, -I repeat, been very young at that time, and I had not found out that a -Blue-Book is the _oubliette_ of inconvenient facts. - -It was not until I had promised Arthur to be with him on Christmas Eve -that I recollected where I had read something about Northavon Priory, -and in a moment I understood how it was I had acquired the notion that -the name had appeared in an official document. I had read a good deal -about this Priory in a curious manuscript which I had unearthed at -Sir Dennis le Warden's place in Norfolk, known as Marsh Towers. -The document, which, with many others, I found stowed away in a -wall-cupboard in the great library, purported to be a draft of the -evidence taken before one of the Commissions appointed by King Henry -VIII. to inquire into the abuses alleged to be associated with certain -religious houses throughout England. An ancestor of Sir Dennis's had, it -appeared, been a member of one of these Commissions, and he had taken a -note of the evidence which he had in the course of his duties handed to -the King. - -The parchments had, I learned, been preserved in an iron coffer with -double padlocks, but the keys had been lost at some remote period, and -then the coffer had been covered over with lumber in a room in the east -tower overlooking the moat, until an outbreak of fire had resulted in an -overturning of the rubbish and a discovery of the coffer. A blacksmith -had been employed to pick the locks, which he did with a sledge-hammer; -but it was generally admitted that his energy had been wasted when the -contents of the box were made known. Sir Dennis cared about nothing -except the improvement of the breed of horses through the agency of race -meetings, so the manuscripts of his painstaking ancestor were bundled -into one of the presses in the library, some, however, being reserved by -the intelligent housekeeper in the still-room to make jam-pot covers--a -purpose for which, as she explained to me at considerable length, they -were extremely well adapted. - -I had no great difficulty in deciphering those that came under my hand, -for I had had considerable experience of the tricks of early English -writers; and as I read I became greatly interested in all the original -"trustie and well-beelou'd Sir Denice le Warden" had written. The -frankness of the evidence which he had collected on certain points took -away my breath, although I had been long accustomed to the directness -with which some of the fifteenth-century people expressed themselves. - -Northavon Priory was among the religious houses whose practices had -formed the subject of the inquiry, and it was the summary of Sir -Denice's notes regarding the Black Masses alleged to have been -celebrated within its walls that proved so absorbing to me. The -bald account of the nature of these orgies would of itself have been -sufficient, if substantiated, to bring about the dissolution of all the -order in England. The Black Mass was a pagan revel, the details of which -were unspeakable, though their nature was more than hinted at by the -King's Commissioner. Anything so monstrously blasphemous could not be -imagined by the mind of man, for with the pagan orgie there was mixed -up the most solemn rite of the Mass. It was celebrated on the night of -Christmas Eve, and at the hour of midnight the celebration culminated -in an invocation to the devil, written so as to parody an office of the -Church, and, according to the accounts of some witnesses, in a human -sacrifice. Upon this latter point, however, Sir Denice admitted there -was a diversity of opinion. - -One of the witnesses examined was a man who had entered the Priory -grounds from the river during a fearful tempest, on one Christmas Eve, -and had, he said, witnessed the revel through a window to which he had -climbed. He declared that at the hour of midnight the candles had -been extinguished, but that a moment afterwards an awful red light had -floated through the room, followed by the shrieks of a human being at -the point of strangulation, and then by horrible yells of laughter. -Another man who was examined had been a wood-cutter in the service of -the Priory, and he had upon one occasion witnessed the celebration of -a Black Mass; but he averred that no life was sacrificed, though he -admitted that in the strange red light, which had flashed through the -room, he had seen what appeared to be two men struggling on the floor. -In the general particulars of the orgie there was, however, no diversity -of opinion, and had the old Sir Denice le Warden been anything of a -comparative mythologist, he could scarcely fail to have been greatly -interested in being brought face to face with so striking an example -of the survival of an ancient superstition within the walls of a holy -building. - -During a rainy week I amused myself among the parchments dealing with -Northavon Priory, and although what I read impressed me greatly at the -time, yet three years of pretty hard work in various parts of the -world had so dulled my memory of any incident so unimportant as the -deciphering of a mouldy document that, as I have already stated, it was -not until I had posted my letter to Arthur Jephson agreeing to spend a -day or two with his party, that I succeeded in recalling something of -what I had read regarding Northavon Priory. - -I had taken it for granted that the Priory had been demolished when -Henry had superintended the dissolution of the religious establishments -throughout the country: I did not think it likely that one with such a -record as was embodied in the notes would be allowed to remain with a -single stone on another. A moment's additional reflection admitted of my -perceiving how extremely unlikely it was that, even if Northavon Priory -had been spared by the King, it would still be available for visitors -during the latter years of the nineteenth century. I had seen many -red-brick "abbeys" and "priories" in various parts of the country, not -more than ten years old, inhabited mostly by gentlemen who had made -fortunes in iron, or perhaps lard, which constitutes, I understand, an -excellent foundation for a fortune. There might be, for all I knew, a -score of Northavon Priories in England. Arthur Jephson's father had -made his money by the judicious advertising of a certain oriental rug -manufactured in the Midlands, and I thought it very likely that he had -built a mansion for himself which he had called Northavon Priory. - -A letter which I received from Arthur set my mind at rest. He explained -to me very fully that Northavon Priory was a hotel built within the -walls of an ancient religious house. - -He had spent a delightful month fishing in the river during the -summer,--I had been fishing in the Amazon at that time,--and had -sojourned at the hotel, which he had found to be a marvel of comfort in -spite of its picturesqueness. This was why, he said, he had thought -how jolly it would be to entertain a party of his friends at the place -during the Christmas week. - -That explanation was quite good enough for me. I had a week or two to -myself in England before going to India, and so soon as I recalled what -I had read regarding North-avon Priory, I felt glad that my liking for -Jephson had induced me to accept his invitation. - -It was not until we were travelling together to the station nearest to -the Priory that he mentioned to me, quite incidentally, that during the -summer he had been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a young -woman who resided in a spacious mansion within easy distance of the -Priory Hotel, and who was, so far as he was capable of judging,--and he -considered that in such matters his judgment was worth something,--the -most charming girl in England. - -"I see," I remarked before his preliminary panegyric had quite come to -a legitimate conclusion--"I see all now: you haven't the courage--to -be more exact, the impudence--to come down alone to the hotel--she has -probably a brother who is a bit of an athlete--but you think that Tom -Singleton and I will form a good enough excuse for an act on your part -which parents and guardians can construe in one way only." - -"Well, perhaps----Hang it all, man, you needn't attribute to me any -motives but those of the purest hospitality," laughed my companion. -"Isn't the prospect of a genuine old English Christmas--the Yule log, -and that sort of thing--good enough for you without going any further?" - -"It's quite good enough for me," I replied. "I only regret that it is -not good enough for you. You expect to see her every day?" - -"Every day? Don't be a fool, Jim. If I see her more than four times in -the course of the week--I think I should manage to see her four times--I -will consider myself exceptionally lucky." - -"And if you see her less than four times you will reckon yourself -uncommonly unlucky?" - -"O, I think I have arranged for four times all right: I'll have to trust -to luck for the rest." - -"What! you mean to say that the business has gone as far as that?" - -"As what?" - -"As making arrangements for meetings with her?" - -My friend laughed complacently. - -"Well, you see, old chap, I couldn't very well give you this treat -without letting her know that I should be in the neighbourhood," said -he. - -"Oh, indeed. I don't see, however, what the----" - -"Great heavens! You mean to say that you don't see----Oh, you will have -your joke." - -"I hope I will have one eventually; I can't say that I perceive much -chance of one at present, however. You'll not give us much of your -interesting society during the week of our treat, as you call it." - -"I'll give you as much of it as I can spare--more than you'll be likely -to relish, perhaps. A week's a long time, Jim." - -"'Time travels at divers paces with divers persons,' my friend. I -suppose she's as lovely as any of the others of past years?" - -"As lovely! Jim, she's just the----" - -"Don't trouble yourself over the description. I have a vivid -recollection of the phrases you employed in regard to the others. There -was Lily, and Gwen, and Bee, and--yes, by George! there was a fourth; -her name was Nelly, or----" - -"All flashes in the pan, my friend. I didn't know my own mind in those -old days; but now, thank heaven!--Oh, you'll agree with me when you see -her. This is the real thing and no mistake." - -He was good enough to give me a genuine lover's description of the young -woman, whose name was, he said, Sylvia St Leger; but it did not differ -materially from the descriptions which had come from him in past days, -of certainly four other girls for whom he had, he imagined, entertained -a devotion strong as death itself. Alas! his devotion had not survived a -single year in any case. - -When we arrived at the hotel, after a drive of eight miles from -the railway station, we found Tom Singleton waiting for us rather -impatiently, and in a quarter of an hour we were facing an excellent -dinner. We were the only guests at the hotel, for though it was -picturesquely situated on the high bank of the river, and was doubtless -a delightful place for a sojourn in summer, yet in winter it possessed -few attractions to casual visitors. - -After dinner I strolled over the house, and found, to my surprise, that -the old walls of the Priory were practically intact. The kitchen was -also unchanged, but the great refectory was now divided into four rooms. -The apartments upstairs had plainly been divided in the same way by -brick partitions; but the outer walls, pierced with narrow windows, were -those of the original Priory. - -In the morning I made further explorations, only outside the building, -and came upon the ruins of the old Priory tower; and then I perceived -that only a small portion of the original building had been utilised -for the hotel. The landlord, who accompanied me, was certainly no -antiquarian. He told me that he had been "let in" so far as the hotel -was concerned. He had been given to understand that the receipts for the -summer months were sufficiently great to compensate for the absence -of visitors during the winter; but his experience of one year had not -confirmed this statement, made by the people from whom he had bought the -place, and he had come to the conclusion that, as he had been taken in -in the transaction, it was his duty to try to take in some one else in -the same way. - -"I only hope that I may succeed, sir," he said, "but I'm doubtful about -it. People are getting more suspicious every day." - -"You weren't suspicious, at any rate," said I. - -"That I weren't--more's the pity, sir," said he. "But it'll take me all -my time to get the place off my hands, I know. Ah, yes; it's hard to get -people to take your word for anything nowadays." - -For the next two days Tom Singleton and I were left a good deal -together, the fact being that our friend Arthur parted from us after -lunch and only returned in time for dinner, declaring upon each occasion -that he had just passed the pleasantest day of his life. On Christmas -Eve he came to us in high spirits, bearing with him an invitation from -a lady who had attained distinction through being the mother of Miss St -Leger, for us to spend Christmas Day at her house--it had already been -pointed out to us by Arthur: it was a fine Georgian country house, named -The Grange. - -"I've accepted for you both," said Arthur. "Mrs St Leger is a most -charming woman, and her daughter--I don't know if I mentioned that she -had a daughter--well, if I omitted, I am now in a position to assure -you that her daughter--her name is Sylvia--is possibly the most -beautiful----But there's no use trying to describe her; you'll see her -for yourselves to-morrow, and judge if I've exaggerated in the least -when I say that the world does not contain a more exquisite creature." - -"Yes, one hour with her will be quite sufficient to enable us to -pronounce an opinion on that point," laughed Tom. - -We remained smoking in front of the log fire that blazed in the great -hearth, until about eleven o'clock, and then went to our rooms upstairs, -after some horse-play in the hall. - -My room was a small one at the beginning of the corridor, Arthur -Jephson's was alongside it, and at the very end of the corridor was Tom -Singleton's. All had at one time been one apartment. - -Having walked a good deal during the day, I was very tired, and had -scarcely got into bed before I fell asleep. - -When I awoke it was with a start and a consciousness that something -was burning. A curious red light streamed into the room from outside. I -sprang from my bed in a moment and ran to the window. But before I had -reached it the room was in darkness once more, and there came a yell of -laughter, apparently from the next room. - -For a moment I was paralysed. But the next instant I had recovered my -presence of mind. I believed that Arthur and Tom had been playing some -of their tricks upon me. They had burnt a red light outside my window, -and were roaring with laughter as they heard me spring out of bed. - -That was the explanation of what I had seen and heard which first -suggested itself to me; and I was about to return to bed when my door -was knocked at and then opened. - -"What on earth have you been up to?" came the voice of Arthur Jephson. -"Have you set the bed-curtains on fire? If you have, that's nothing to -laugh at." - -"Get out of this room with your larking," said I. "It's a very poor joke -that of yours, Arthur. Go back to your bed." - -He struck a light--he had a match-box in his hand--and went to my candle -without a word. In a moment the room was faintly illuminated. - -"Do you mean to say that you hadn't a light here just now--a red light?" -he cried. - -"I had no light: a red light floated through the room, but it seemed to -come from outside," said I. - -"And who was it laughed in that wild way?" - -"I took it for granted that it was you and Tom who were about your usual -larks." - -"Larks! No, I was about no larks, I can promise you. Good Lord! man, -that laugh was something beyond a lark." He seated himself on my bed. -"Do you fancy it may have been some of the servants going about the -stables with a carriage-lamp?" he continued. "There may have been a late -arrival at the hotel, you know." - -"That's not at all unlikely," said I. "Yes, it may have been that, and -the laughter may have been between the grooms." - -"I don't hear any sound of bustle through the house or outside," said -he. - -"The stables are not at this angle of the building," said I. "We must -merely have seen the light and heard that laughter as the carriage -passed our angle. Anyhow, we'll only catch cold if we lounge about in -our pyjamas like this. You'd best get back to bed and let me do the -same." - -"I don't feel much inclined to sleep, but I'll not prevent your having -your night's rest," said he, rising. "I wonder is it near morning?" - -I held the candle before the dial of my watch that hung above my bed. - -"It's exactly five minutes past twelve," said I. "We've slept barely an -hour." - -"Then the sooner I clear out the better it will be for both of us," said -he. - -He went away slowly, and I heard him strike a match in his own room. He -evidently meant to light his candle. - -Some hours had passed before I fell into an uneasy sleep, and once more -I was awakened by Arthur Jephson, who stood by my bedside. The morning -light was in the room. - -"For God's sake, come into Tom's room!" he whispered. "He's dead!--Tom -is dead!" - -I tried to realise his words. Some moments had elapsed before I -succeeded in doing so. I sprang from my bed and ran down the corridor -to the room occupied by Tom Singleton. The landlord and a couple of -servants were already there. They had burst in the door. - -It was but too true: our poor friend lay on his bed with his body bent -and his arms twisted as though he had been struggling desperately with -some one at his last moment. His face, too, was horribly contorted, and -his eyes were wide open. - -"A doctor," I managed to say. - -"He's already sent for, sir," said the landlord. - -In a few moments the doctor arrived. - -"Cardiac attack," said he. "Was he alone in the room? No, he can't have -been alone." - -"He was quite alone," said Arthur. "I knocked at the door a quarter of -an hour ago, but getting no answer, I tried to force the lock. It was -too strong for me; but the landlord and the man-servant who was bringing -us our hot water burst in the door at my request." - -"And the window--was it fastened?" asked the doctor. - -"It was secure, sir," said the landlord. - -"Ah, a sudden cardiac attack," said the doctor. - -There was, of course, an inquest, but as no evidence of foul play was -forthcoming, the doctor's phrase "cardiac attack" satisfied the jury, -and a verdict of "Death from natural causes" was returned. - -Before I went back to town I examined the room in which our poor friend -had died. On the side of one of the window-shutters there were four -curious burnt marks. They gave one the impression that the shutter had -at one time been grasped by a man wearing a red-hot gauntlet. - -I started for India before the end of the year and remained there for -eight months. Then I thought I would pay a visit to a sister of mine in -Queensland. On my return at the end of the year I meant to stop at Cairo -for a few weeks. On entering Shepheard's Hotel I found myself face to -face with Arthur Jephson and his wife--he called her Sylvia. They had -been married in August, but their honeymoon seemed still to be in its -first quarter. It was after Mrs Jephson had retired, and when Arthur was -sitting with me enjoying the cool of the night by the aid of a pretty -strong cigar or two, that we ventured to allude to the tragic occurrence -which marked our last time of meeting. - -"I wish to beg of you not to make any allusion to that awful business -in the hearing of my wife," said Arthur. "In fact I must ask you not to -allude to that fearful room in the Priory in any way." - -"I will be careful not to do so," said I. "You have your own reasons, I -suppose, for giving me this warning." - -"I have the best of reasons, Jim. She too had her experience of that -room, and it was as terrible as ours." - -"Good heavens! I heard nothing of that. She did not sleep in that room?" - -"Thank God, she didn't. I arrived in time to save her." - -I need scarcely say that my interest was now fully aroused. - -"Tell me what happened--if you dare tell it," I said. - -"You were abroad, and so you wouldn't be likely to hear of the fire at -The Grange," said my friend, after a pause. - -"I heard nothing of it." - -"It took place only two days before last Christmas. I had been in the -south of France, where I had spent a month or two with my mother,--she -cannot stand a winter at home,--and I had promised Sylvia to return to -The Grange for Christmas. When I got to Northavon I found her and her -mother and their servants at the Priory Hotel. The fire had taken place -the previous night, and they found the hotel very handy when they hadn't -a roof of their own over their heads. Well, we dined together, and were -as jolly as was possible under the circumstances until bedtime. I had -actually said 'Good night' to Sylvia before I recollected what had taken -place the previous Christmas Eve in the same house. I rushed upstairs, -and found Sylvia in the act of entering the room--that fatal room. When -I implored of her to choose some other apartment, she only laughed at -first, and assured me that she wasn't superstitious; but when she saw -that I was serious--I was deadly serious, as you can believe, Jim----" - -"I can--I can." - -"Well, she agreed to sleep in her mother's room, and I went away -relieved. So soon as I returned to the fire in the dining-room I began -to think of poor Tom Singleton. I felt curiously excited, and I knew -that it would be useless for me to go to bed,--in fact, I made up my -mind not to leave the dining-room for some hours, at any rate, and when -the landlord came to turn out the lights I told him he might trust me -to do that duty for him. He left me alone in the room about half-past -eleven o'clock. When the sound of his feet upon the oaken stairs died -away I felt as fearful as a child in the dark. I lit another cigar and -walked about the room for some time. I went to the window that opened -upon the old Priory ground, and, seeing that the night was a fine one, -I opened the door and strolled out, hoping that the cool air would do me -good. I had not gone many yards across the little patch of green before -I turned and looked up at the house--at the last window, the window of -that room. A fire had been lighted in the room early in the evening, -and its glow shone through the white blind. Suddenly that faint glow -increased to a terrific glare,--a red glare, Jim,--and then there -came before my eyes for a moment the shadow of two figures upon the -blind,--one the figure of a woman, the other--God knows what it was. I -rushed back to the room, but before I had reached the door I heard the -horrible laughter once again. It seemed to come from that room and -to pass on through the air into the distance across the river. I ran -upstairs with a light, and found Sylvia and her mother standing together -with wraps around them at the door of the room. 'Thank God, you are -safe!' I managed to cry. 'I feared that you had returned to the room.' -'You heard it--that awful laughter?' she whispered. 'You heard it, and -you saw something--what was it?' I gently forced her and her mother -back to their room, for the servants and the landlord's family were now -crowding into the corridor. They, too, had heard enough to alarm them." - -"You went to the room?" - -"The scene of that dreadful morning was repeated. The door was locked on -the inside. We broke it in and found a girl lying dead on the floor, her -face contorted just as poor Singleton's was. She was Sylvia's maid, -and it was thought that, on hearing that her mistress was not going to -occupy the room, she had gone into it herself on account of the fire -which had been lighted there." - -"And the doctor said----?" - -"Cardiac attack--the same as before--singular coincidence! I need -scarcely say that we never slept again under that accursed roof. Poor -Sylvia! She was overwhelmed at the thought of how narrow her escape had -been." - -"Did you notice anything remarkable about the room--about the shutters -of the window?" I asked. - -He looked at me curiously for a moment. Then he bent forward and said-- - -"On the edge of the shutter there were some curious marks where the wood -had been charred." - -"As if a hand with a red-hot gauntlet had been laid upon it?" - -"There were the marks of two such hands," said my friend slowly. - -We remained for an hour in the garden; then we threw away the ends of -our cigars and went into the hotel without another word. - - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - -***** This file should be named 51963-8.txt or 51963-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/6/51963/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51963-8.zip b/old/51963-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ec37486..0000000 --- a/old/51963-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51963-h.zip b/old/51963-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d86616c..0000000 --- a/old/51963-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51963-h/51963-h.htm b/old/51963-h/51963-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1786383..0000000 --- a/old/51963-h/51963-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7527 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Other World - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51963] -Last Updated: November 16, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE OTHER WORLD - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h4> - Author of ‘The Jessamy Bride,’ ‘Nell Gwyn, Comedian,’ ‘The Original - Woman,’ ‘Castle Omeragii,’ Etc. Etc. - </h4> - <h4> - London: Eveleigh Nash - </h4> - <h3> - MCMIV - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “<i>This Other World is indeed not so far distant from our own that is - ruled by the sunne and moon. Therein the Prince of the Power of the Air - hath his dominion, whose servants are the Witch and the Warlock,... the - Night hagge,... and those that some, for want of a better name, term - Ghosts, Ghouls (breeders of sadde dreams),... also the Hob Goblin (himself - a foul fiend, albeit full of pranks),... Lyars all, but dangerous to - trajfick with and very treacherous to Mankind. They lure to Perdition - soone or late.</i>” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> “MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE BASELESS FABRIC </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE BLOOD ORANGES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he majority of the - passengers aboard the steam yacht <i>Bluebottle</i> said that it was - anybody’s game. In the smoking-room—when neither Somers nor Norgate - was present of course—the betting varied daily according to the - events of the day. At first the odds were slightly in favour of Teddy - Somers—yes, she undoubtedly gave signs of enjoying the companionship - of Mr Somers. She had been seen by trustworthy witnesses standing behind - him while he sketched with a rapid pencil the group of Portuguese boatmen - surrounding the solitary Scotchman, who had got the better of them all in - a bargain, within the first hour of the arrival of the yacht in Funchal - Bay. Afterwards she had been noticed carefully gumming the drawing upon a - cardboard mount. Would a girl take all that trouble about a man unless she - had a sincere regard for him? was the question which a sapient one put to - a section of his fellow passengers, accompanying an offer of three to one - on Somers. - </p> - <p> - But after a pause, which somehow seemed to suggest an aggregation of - thought—the pauses of a conscientious smoker are frequently fraught - with suggestions—a youth who had been accused of writing poetry, but - whose excellent cigars did much to allay that suspicion, remarked—“What - you say about the drawing suggests that the girl takes an interest in him, - and that would be fatal to her falling in love with him.” There was - another long pause, during which the smokers looked at one another, - carefully refraining from glancing at the speaker, until the man who had - offered the odds said— - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to tell us that a girl’s being interested in a chap isn’t the - first step to her falling in love with him?” - </p> - <p> - “I have no hesitation in saying so much—I could say a good deal more - on the same subject,” replied the propounder of the theory. - </p> - <p> - Then it was that a number of the men glanced quickly toward him,—there - was something of an appeal for mercy in the glance of most of them: it - seemed as if they were not particularly anxious to hear a good deal more - on the same subject. - </p> - <p> - It is scarcely necessary to say, however, that the circumstance of their - not wanting to hear a good deal more did not prevent the poet (alleged) - from telling them a good deal more. It took him twenty-five minutes to - formulate his theory, which was to the effect that it is impossible—impossible - was the word he employed: there is no spirit of compromise on the part of - a theorist, especially when he is young, and more especially when he has - been suspected of writing poetry—<i>impossible</i> for a woman to - love a man who has at first merely interested her. - </p> - <p> - “Love is a passion, whereas interest is—well, interest is merely - interest,” said he, with that air of finality which a youthful theorist - assumes when he is particularly absurd—and knows it. “Yes, when a - woman hates a man thoroughly, and for the best of reasons,—though - for that matter she may hate him thoroughly without having any reason for - it,—she is nearer to loving him thoroughly than she is to loving a - man who merely interests her, however deep may be the interest which he - arouses.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll give three to one in sovereigns on Somers,” said the man who had - originally offered the same odds. He was clearly not amenable to the - dictates of reason, the theorist said: he certainly was not amenable to - the dictates of a theory, which, however, is not exactly the same thing. - </p> - <p> - “It’s anybody’s game, just now,” remarked another of the sapient ones. - </p> - <p> - “Anybody’s except the man’s in whom she has become interested,” said the - theorist. - </p> - <p> - “My dear young man,” said the professional cynic—he had scarcely - recovered from a severe attack of <i>mal de mer</i>—“My dear young - man, you’re not a very much greater ass than most boys of your age; but - you will really not strike people as being much below the average if you - only refrain from formulating any theory respecting any woman. The only - thing that it is safe to say about a woman—any woman—every - woman—is that no human being knows what she will do next.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but we were not talking about what a woman will do next, but what - she will do first,” said the poet, who was not easily crushed. “Now I say - that she——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do dry up!” shouted a smoking man in a corner, who had just rung for - a whisky-and-soda. “I’ve heard more nonsense within the past half-hour - than I ever heard during an entire year of my life. There is no sense in - arguing, but there is some sense in betting. If you believe in your - theory, back it with a sovereign to show that you’re in earnest.” - </p> - <p> - But the young man’s theory did not run into coin; though in other - directions three to one on Teddy Somers was officially reported as offered - and taken. - </p> - <p> - Two days afterwards the layer of the odds tried to hedge. The fact was - that the girl had shown such a marked inclination for the society of Jack - Norgate in preference to that of Teddy Somers, it seemed as if the former - would, to make use of an apt phrase, romp in. But before the steam yacht - <i>Bluebottle</i> had crossed the equator the odds were even, as a - passenger named Molloy—he was reputed to be of Irish descent—remarked. - </p> - <p> - It was a pleasant company that had left Gravesend on September 10th, for - the six months’ cruise to cheat the winter (see advertisements) in the - steam yacht <i>Bluebottle</i>, 3500 tons, Captain Grosvenor, R.N.R., in - command. The passengers numbered sixty, and included singularly few - disagreeable persons, in spite of the fact that the voyage was one that - only people with money and leisure could afford. The vessel was well - found, and her commander and officers were the pick of the Company’s - fleet, and possessed innumerable resources in the way of deck games. The - report found ready credence in the service that Captain Grosvenor had - gained his position through being the originator of deck-golf. However - this may be, he certainly recognised in the amplest way the - responsibilities of the position of trust which he occupied, and he never - allowed any duty to interfere with his daily exposition of the splendid - possibilities of deck-golf. He had started a golf tournament before the - yacht had left the Channel, and he hove to for three days in the Bay of - Biscay, when the heavy sea that was running threatened to interfere with - the playing off of the tie between Colonel Mydleton and Sir Edwin Everard. - </p> - <p> - The cruise promised to be all that the advertisements had predicted it - would be. But before Madeira was reached comments were made upon the - extraordinary scarcity of young girls among the passengers. Among a - certain section of the passengers the comments on this point had a highly - congratulatory tone, but among another section the matter was touched upon - with a considerable amount of grumbling. Old voyagers, who were - accompanied by vigilant wives (their own), foresaw a tranquil voyage, - undisturbed by those complications which their experience told them - invariably arise when attractive young women are to be found in graceful - attitudes on deck chairs. On the other hand, however, there were several - men aboard who had just sufficient experience of going down to the sea in - steam yachts to cause them to look askance, during their first day aboard, - over the deck chairs, which were occupied mainly by fathers and matrons. - Yes, there was, undoubtedly, a scarcity of girls. - </p> - <p> - The fact is that such a pleasure cruise as that which had been mapped out - for the <i>Bluebottle</i> differs essentially from the ordinary Indian or - Australian voyage. On the two last-named, girls are to be found by the - score going out or returning. It is not a matter of pleasure with them—though - most of them contrive to get a good deal of pleasure out of it—but a - matter of necessity. The majority of people who set out on a cruise in a - steam yacht do so only because time hangs heavy on their hands, and they - do not take their daughters with them, for the simple reason that their - daughters decline to expatriate themselves for six or eight months at the - most critical period of their lives. - </p> - <p> - Only six young women were among the passengers, of the <i>Bluebottle</i>; - of these only three were quite good-looking, and of these three the only - really beautiful one was Viola Compton. It did not take the experienced - voyagers long to perceive that Miss Compton would have an extremely good - time aboard the yacht. With all their experience they knew no better than - to suppose that a girl is having a good time when she has half a dozen men - at her feet, and a reserve force of twenty others ready to prostrate - themselves before her at a moment’s notice—when she is sneered at by - her less pretty sisters, who tell one another that she gives herself - insufferable airs—when she is frowned at by the wives of uncertain - husbands, who call her (among themselves) a forward minx, and when she - cannot snub the most odious of the men who disarrange her cushions for - her, and prevent her from reading her novels by insisting on chatting to - her on all the inanities which a long voyage fosters in men who on shore - are alluded to as “genial.” If to be in such a position is to be having a - good time, Viola had certainly the best time on record even before the - yacht had crossed the Line. She had about a score of men around her who - never allowed her to have a moment to herself; she was bored by Colonel - Mydleton’s story of Lord Roberts’ mistakes when in India, the crowning one - being—according to Colonel Mydleton—the march to Kandahar, - which he assured her was one of the greatest fiascos of the century; she - was rendered uncomfortable for a whole afternoon of exquisite sunshine by - the proximity of the poet, who insisted on repeating to her a volume of - lyrics that only awaited a publisher; she was awakened from a delightful - doze after tiffin by the commonplace jests of the young man who fondly - believed himself to be a humourist; she was sneered at by the other girls - and frowned upon by the matrons, and she was made the subject of bets in - the smoking-room,—in short, she was having, most people agreed, an - uncommonly good time aboard. - </p> - <p> - The captain knew better, however: he had kept his eyes open during a - lifetime of voyages on passenger steamers, and he could see a good deal - with his eyes without the aid of a binocular telescope. - </p> - <p> - There could be no doubt that Miss Compton treated both Teddy Somers and - Jack Norgate with a favour which she could not see her way to extend to - the other passengers. It was only natural that she should do so, the - captain saw at once, though he was too experienced to say so even to his - chief engineer, who was a Scotchman. Norgate and Somers were both nice - chaps, and had won distinction for themselves in the world. The former was - a mighty hunter, and had slain lions in the region of the Zambesi and - bears in the Rockies: the latter was well known as an artist; he was - something of a musician as well, and he had once had a play produced which - had taken a very respectable position amongst the failures of the season. - Both men were very well off,—the one could afford to be a hunter, - and the other could even afford to be an artist. They were both clearly - devoted to Viola; but this fact did not seem to interfere with the - friendship which existed between them. Neither of the two tried to cut out - the other so far as the girl was concerned. When Somers was sitting by her - side, Norgate kept apart from them, and when Norgate chanced to find - himself with her, his friend—although the tropical moonlight was - flooding the heaven—continued his smoking on the bridge with the - captain. - </p> - <p> - The captain was lost in admiration of both men; he reserved some for the - girl, however: he acknowledged that she was behaving very well indeed—that - is, of course, for the only really pretty girl aboard a ship. The captain - was a strong believer in the advantages of a healthy competition between - young women: the tyranny of the monopolist had frequently come within his - range of vision. Yes, he saw that Miss Compton was behaving discreetly. - She did not seek to play off one man against the other, nor did she make - the attempt to play off a third man against both. For his own part, he - utterly failed in his attempt to find out in what direction her affections - tended. He saw that the girl liked both men, but he did not know which of - them she loved—assuming that she actually did love one of them. He - wondered if the girl herself knew. He was strongly inclined to believe - that she did not. - </p> - <p> - But that was just where he made a mistake. She did know, and she - communicated her knowledge to Teddy Somers one night when they stood - together watching the marvellous phosphorescence of the South Atlantic - within ten days’ sail of the Cape. A concert was going on in the great - saloon, so that there was an appropriate musical background, so to speak, - for their conversation. Teddy had said something to her that forced from - her an involuntary cry—or was it a sigh? - </p> - <p> - Then there was a pause—with appropriate music: it came from a banjo - in the saloon. - </p> - <p> - “Is that your answer?” he inquired, laying one of his hands upon hers as - it lay on the brass plating of the bulwarks. - </p> - <p> - “My answer?” she said. “I’m so sorry—so very sorry, Mr Somers.” - </p> - <p> - “Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” he said softly. “I tell you that I love - you with all——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not say it again—for pity’s sake do not say it again,” she - cried, almost piteously. “You must never speak to me of love; I have - promised to love only Jack—Mr Norgate.” - </p> - <p> - “What—you have promised?—you have——” - </p> - <p> - “It only happened after tiffin to-day. I thought perhaps he might have - told you—I thought perhaps you noticed that he and I—oh yes, - you certainly behaved as if you took it for granted that... ah, I am so - sorry that you misunderstood.... I think that I must have loved him from - the first.” - </p> - <p> - There was another long pause. He looked down into the gleaming water that - rushed along the side of the ship. Then she laid one of her hands on his, - saying— - </p> - <p> - “Believe me, Mr Somers, I am sorry—oh, so sorry!” - </p> - <p> - He took her hand tenderly, looking into her face as he said— - </p> - <p> - “My dear child, you have no reason to be sorry: I know Jack Norgate well, - and I know that a better fellow does not live: you will be happy with him, - I am sure. And as for me—well, I suppose I was a bit of a fool to - think that you——” - </p> - <p> - “Do not say that,” she cried. “I am not worthy of you—I am not - worthy of him. Oh, who am I that I should break up such a friendship as - yours and his? I begin to wish that I had never come aboard this steamer.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not flatter yourself that you have come between us, my dear,” he said, - with a little laugh. “Oh no; ‘shall I, wasting with despair?’—well, - I think not. Men don’t waste with despair except on the lyric stage. My - dear girl, he has won you fairly, and I congratulate him; and you—yes, - I congratulate you. He is a white man, as they say on the Great Pacific - slope. Listen to that banjo! Confound it! I wonder shall I ever be able to - listen to the banjo again.... Shall we join the revellers in the saloon?” - </p> - <p> - They went into the saloon together, and took seats on a vacant sofa. Some - people eyed them suspiciously and said that Miss Compton was having an - exceedingly good time aboard the yacht. - </p> - <p> - Later on, Somers congratulated his friend very sincerely, and his friend - accepted his congratulations in a very tolerant spirit. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose it’s what every chap must come to sooner or - later. Viola is far better than I deserve—than any chap deserves.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a very poor sort of girl that isn’t better than the best chap - deserves, and although I think you are the best chap in the world, I - should be sorry to think that Miss Compton has not made a wise choice. May - you be happy together!” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, old chap. I must confess to you frankly that some days ago I - thought that you——” - </p> - <p> - “That I?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that you had a certain tendresse for her yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I! Oh, your judgment must have been warped by a lover’s jealousy. ‘The - thief doth think each bush an officer’—the lover fancies that every - man’s taste must be the same as his own. May you both be happy!” - </p> - <p> - It seemed that his prayer was granted so far at least as the next day was - concerned, for certainly no two people could appear happier than the - lovers, as they sat together under the awning, watching half a dozen of - their fellow-passengers perspiring over their golf. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Compton—she was an invalid taking the cruise for her health’s - sake—was compelled to remain in her berth all day, but Jack Norgate - visited her with her daughter after tiffin and doubtless obtained the - maternal blessing, for when he came on deck alone in the afternoon his - face was beaming as Moses’ face beamed on one occasion. There was a slight - tornado about dinner-time and the vessel rolled about so as to necessitate - the use of the “fiddles” on the table. It continued blowing and raining - until darkness set in, so that the smoking-room was crowded, and three - bridge-parties assembled in the chief saloon as well as a poker-party and - a chess-party. Four bells had just been made, when one of the stewards - startled all the saloon by crying out of the pantries— - </p> - <p> - “Coming, sir!” - </p> - <p> - A moment afterwards he hurried into the saloon, putting on his jacket, and - looked round as if waiting to receive an order. The passengers glanced at - him and laughed. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter?” asked the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t some one call me, sir?” the man inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Not that we heard,” replied the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I thought I heard some one sing out, sir,” said the steward, looking - round. - </p> - <p> - “It must have been some one on deck,” suggested Colonel Mydleton. “Shall I - cut the cards for you, doctor?” - </p> - <p> - The steward went on deck. He was met by Mr Somers, who, in reply to the - man’s inquiry, said— - </p> - <p> - “Call you? No, I didn’t call you.” - </p> - <p> - “The infant Samuel,” said one of the poker players, and the others at the - table laughed. - </p> - <p> - “It’s raining cats and dogs, or whatever the equivalent to cats and dogs - is in these parallels,” said Somers. “I got wet watching the <i>Bluebottle</i> - show a clean pair of heels to a tramp. She’s in our wake just now. I think - I’ll turn into my berth.” - </p> - <p> - He went to the bar and called for a brandy-and-soda, and then sang out - “Good night,” as he hurried to his cabin. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Miss Compton appeared at the breakfast table, and so did - Somers, but Norgate had clearly overslept himself, for he was absent. The - captain inquired for him. - </p> - <p> - “He must be on deck, sir,” said one of the stewards, “for he was not in - his cabin when I went with his chocolate an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he’ll turn up before we have finished breakfast,” said Somers, - attacking his devilled kidneys. - </p> - <p> - But his prediction was not realised. A pantry boy was sent on deck in - search of Mr Norgate, but Mr Norgate was not to be found. A steward - hurried to his cabin, but returned in a few minutes, saying that his bunk - had not been slept in. The captain rose from the table with a - well-simulated laugh. A search was organised. It failed to find him. The - awful truth had to be faced: Mr Norgate was not aboard. Viola Compton was - hysterical. Teddy Somers was silent; no one had ever seen him so deathly - pale before. - </p> - <p> - Theories were forthcoming to account for Norgate’s suicide—people - took it for granted, of course, that he had committed suicide. Only one - person suggested the possibility of his having fallen overboard, and of - his cry being that which the steward had heard, for a part of the pantry - was open on the starboard side. But against this it was urged that Mr - Somers must have been on deck at the time the steward had heard, or had - fancied he heard, that cry, and Mr Somers said he had heard nothing. - </p> - <p> - For a week the gloom hung over the whole party; but by the time the Cape - was reached, Miss Compton was able to appear at the table once more. She - looked heartbroken; but every one said she was bearing up wonderfully. - Only the poet had the bad taste to offer her his sympathy through the - medium of a sonnet. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - On leaving the Cape the bereaved girl seemed to find a certain plaintive - consolation in the society of Mr Somers. He sat beside her in his deck - chair, and they talked together about poor Jack Norgate; but after a week - or two, steaming from Bombay to Ceylon, and thence through the Straits to - Sydney, they began to talk about other subjects, and before long the girl - began visibly to brighten. The passengers said she was a woman. - </p> - <p> - And she proved that they were right, for when one lovely night Teddy - Somers suggested very delicately to her that his affection for her was the - same as it had always been, there was more than a little reproach in her - voice as she cried— - </p> - <p> - “Oh, stop—stop—for Heaven’s sake! My love is dead—buried - with him. I cannot hear any one talk to me of love.” - </p> - <p> - He pressed her hand and left her without another word. - </p> - <p> - She remained in her deck chair far removed from the rest of the passengers - for a long time, thinking her thoughts, whatever they may have been. The - moon was almost at the full, so that it was high in the sky before the - quartermaster made six bells, and those of the passengers who had not - already gone to their berths arose from their chairs, murmuring that they - had no notion it was within an hour of midnight. A few of them, passing - the solitary figure of the girl on her chair, said “Good night” to her in - a cheery way, and then shook their heads suggestively together with such - an exchange of sentiments as “Poor girl!—Poor girl!” - </p> - <p> - “Very sad!” - </p> - <p> - “Melancholy affair!” but it is doubtful if their hearts were so - overcharged with sympathy as to interfere to any marked degree with their - slumbers. - </p> - <p> - The girl remained upon the deserted deck and watched the quartermasters - collecting and storing away all the passengers’ chairs which lay scattered - about, just as their owners had vacated them. When they had finished their - job no one of the ship’s company remained on the quarterdeck. The sound of - the little swish made by a leaping flying-fish had a suggestion of - something mysterious about it as it reached her ears: it seemed like the - faint whisper of a secret of the sea—it seemed as if some voice - outside the ship was saying “Hist!” to her, to attract her attention - before making a revelation to her. - </p> - <p> - But she knew what the sound was, and she did not move from her chair. - </p> - <p> - “Alas—alas!” she murmured, “you can tell me nothing. Ah! there is - nothing for me to be told. I know all that will be known until the sea - gives up its dead. He loved me, and the sea snatched him from me.” - </p> - <p> - The tears with which her heart was filled began to overflow. She wept - softly for a long time, and when at last she gave a sigh and wiped the - mist from her eyes she found that the moon, previously so brilliant, had - become dim. Its outline was blurred, so that, although the atmosphere was - full of moonlight, it was impossible to say what was the centre of the - illumination. It seemed to Viola as if a thin diaphanous silk curtain had - fallen between the moon and the sea. Every object which an hour before had - cast a black shadow athwart the deck—the spars of the mainmast, the - quarterboat hanging in its davits—was clearly seen as ever, only - without the strong contrasts of light and shade. The sea out to the - horizon was of a luminous grey, which bore but a shadowy resemblance to - the dark-blue carpet traversed by the glittering golden pathway to the - moon, over which Viola had pensively gazed in the early night before - Somers had come to her side. - </p> - <p> - She now stood at the bulwarks looking across that shadowy expanse, - marvelling at the change which had come about within so short a space of - time. - </p> - <p> - “My life—it is my life,” she sighed. “A short time ago it was made - luminous by love; but now—ah! now——” - </p> - <p> - She turned away with another sigh and walked back to her deck chair. She - was in the act of picking up her cushions from the seat when, glancing - astern, she was amazed on becoming aware of the fact that she was not - alone at that part of the ship. She saw two figures standing together on - the raised poop that covered the steam-steering apparatus at the farthest - curve of the stern. - </p> - <p> - She was amazed. She asked herself how it was possible that she had failed - to see them when she had looked astern a few minutes before. The figures - were of course shadowy in the strange mistily luminous atmosphere, but - they were sufficiently conspicuous in the place where they stood to make - her confident that, had they been there five minutes before, she would - have seen them. - </p> - <p> - She stood there wondering, the cushion which she had picked up hanging - from her hand, who the men were that had come so mysteriously before her - eyes an hour after the last of the passengers had, as she thought, - descended to their berths. - </p> - <p> - She could not recognise either of them. They were separated from her by - half the length of the stern. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she gave a little gasp. The cushion which she had held dropped - from her hand, for one of the figures made a movement, turning his back to - the low poop rail over which he had been leaning, and that moment was - enough, even in the pale light, to allow of her recognising the features - of Jack Norgate. - </p> - <p> - She gave a little cry of mingled wonder and joy, but before she had taken - even a step toward that tableau, she had shrieked out; for in the second - that separated her exclamations, the figure whom she saw in front of the - one she knew had sprung upon him, causing him to overbalance himself on - the low rail against which he was leaning, and to disappear over the side. - </p> - <p> - She shrieked and sprang forward; at that moment the second figure seemed - to fade away and to vanish into nothingness before her eyes. She staggered - diagonally across the deck astern, but before she had taken more than a - dozen blind steps her foot caught in the lashing of the tarpaulin which - was spread over a pile of deck chairs, and she fell forward. One of the - officers on watch, who had heard her cry, swung himself down from the roof - of the deckhouse and ran to her help. - </p> - <p> - “Good God! Miss Compton, what has happened anyway?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “There—there,” she gasped, pointing to the poop. “He went over the - side—a minute ago—there is still time to stop the steamer and - pick him up.” - </p> - <p> - “Who went over the side? No one was aft but yourself,” said the officer. - </p> - <p> - “It was Jack—Mr Norgate. Oh, why will you make no effort to rescue - him? I tell you that I saw him go over.” - </p> - <p> - The officer felt how she was trembling with excitement. She tried to rush - across the deck, but would have fallen through sheer weakness, if the man - had not supported her. He brought her to the seat at the side of the cabin - dome-light. - </p> - <p> - “You are overcome, Miss Compton,” he said. “You must calm yourself while I - look into this business.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not believe that I saw anything; but I tell you—oh, he will - be lost while you are delaying,” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But for heaven’s sake sit here. Leave the - thing to me.” - </p> - <p> - He ran astern and made a pretence of peering into the distance of the - ship’s seething wake. He was wondering what he should do. The poor girl - was evidently the victim of a hallucination. Several weeks had passed - since her lover had disappeared, and all this time her grief at his loss - had been poignant. This thing that had happened was the natural result of - the terrible strain upon her nerves. Of course he never thought of awaking - the captain or of stopping the vessel. - </p> - <p> - While he was still peering over the taffrail, her voice sounded beside - him. - </p> - <p> - “Here—it was just here,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He turned about. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord! Miss Compton, you should not have left your seat,” he cried. - “Let me help you down to the cabin.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you not seen him in the water?” - </p> - <p> - “There is no one in the water. In this light I would be able to see a - man’s head a mile astern. I will put my arm under yours and help you to - get below. Trust to me. We would all do whatever it was in our power for - your sake. We all sympathise with you. Shall I send a quartermaster for - the doctor?” - </p> - <p> - Viola had thrown herself down on the seat where he had placed her, and was - sobbing with her hands before her face. The man did his best to soothe - her. He made a sign to a quartermaster who had come aft to register the - patent log, and told him to send the ship’s doctor aft. He had no notion - of accepting the sole responsibility of soothing a young woman who was - subject to disquieting hallucinations. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes the doctor relieved him of his charge. Miss Compton had - become quite tranquil. Only now and again she gazed into the steamer’s - wake and pressed her hand to her side. She allowed herself to be helped - below in a short time, and did not refuse the dose of bromide which the - doctor thought it his duty to administer to her. - </p> - <p> - The next day the doctor and the fourth officer had a whispered conference. - They agreed that it would be better to say nothing to any of the other - passengers respecting Miss Compton’s hallucination. - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl—poor girl!” said the doctor. “I have been observing her - for some time, and I cannot say that I was surprised at what occurred last - night.. It is only remarkable that the breakdown did not happen sooner.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad that none of the rest of the ship’s company heard her when she - cried out,” said the officer. “Lord! you should have seen the look in her - eyes when she stretched out her hand and insisted that she had seen the - man topple over. I thought it well to do my best to humour her until I had - a chance of sending for you. I felt that it was on the cards that she - might throw herself over the side.” - </p> - <p> - “It was touch and go,” said the doctor. “Ah, poor girl!” - </p> - <p> - A week had passed before Viola reappeared among the passengers. Her mother - explained to kind inquirers that she had remained on deck quite too late - one night and had caught a chill. The doctor bore out her unimaginative - explanation of the girl’s absence, and added that it was much easier than - most people suspected to catch a chill south of the Line. When Viola was - at last permitted to come on deck she received many tokens of the interest - which her fellow-passengers had in her progress toward recovery. - </p> - <p> - It was not until the evening of her first day out of her cabin that Somers - contrived to get a word or two with her alone. - </p> - <p> - He was asking after her health when she turned upon him suddenly, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Mr Somers, it was you who threw Jack overboard!” - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” he cried, starting back from her. “For heaven’s sake, Viola, - do not say so monstrous a thing! What!—I—Jack———-” - </p> - <p> - “You did it,” she said firmly. - </p> - <p> - “My dear child, how on earth have you got hold of such a notion?” he asked - her. - </p> - <p> - “It was revealed to me that night—the night before I broke down,” - she replied. “I had been sitting alone in my deck chair, and I was at the - point of going below, when there—there on the poop at the side of - the wheel astern, the whole dreadful scene was revealed to me. I tell you - that I saw it all—Jack and you: I was not sure at first that the - second figure was you, but I know now that it was you. I saw Jack turn - round and lean against the rail, and that was the moment when you sprang - at him.” - </p> - <p> - The man took some steps away from her. - </p> - <p> - He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He returned to her in a few - moments, and said— - </p> - <p> - “My dear child—oh, Viola! how is it possible for you to entertain so - horrible a thought? Jack Norgate—my best friend!” - </p> - <p> - “You hoped to marry me—he is your rival—you murdered him!” - </p> - <p> - Somers flung up his hands with an exclamation and hurried down to his - cabin. - </p> - <p> - The next day he came to her after tiffin. - </p> - <p> - “I want to speak a word to you apart,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She went with him very far forward. Only a few passengers were on deck, - and these were in their chairs astern. - </p> - <p> - “I want to confess to you,” he said in a low voice. “I want to confess to - you that it was I who threw Jack Norgate overboard.” - </p> - <p> - She started and stared at him. She could not speak for some time. At last - she was able to say in a whisper— - </p> - <p> - “You—you—murdered him?” - </p> - <p> - “I murdered him. The temptation came over me. Oh, Viola, you do not know - how I loved you—how I love you! My God!—should do it again if - I thought it would give me a chance of you.” - </p> - <p> - She continued staring at him, and then seated herself by his side. - </p> - <p> - “You—threw him overboard?” she whispered again. - </p> - <p> - “We were standing side by side on the poop deck far aft, watching the - tramp steamer on that night; the yacht was rolling—he slipped—I - gave him a push.... I have lost my soul for love of you, and you think the - sacrifice worthless.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is too horrible—too terrible!” she said. “For me—for - me!” - </p> - <p> - He was silent. So was she. They sat together side by side for an hour. His - terrible confession had dazed her. She was the first to break the silence. - </p> - <p> - “Terrible—it is terrible!” she murmured. “Who could have told me - that there was any love such as this in the world?” - </p> - <p> - “It is my love for you,” he said quietly. “It is the love that dares all—all - the powers of time and eternity. I tell you that I would do it again; I - would kill any other man who came between us. But my crime has been - purposeless; we are to part for ever at Sydney in two days.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said. “It is better that we should part.” - </p> - <p> - She gave him her hand. He held it tightly for a moment, then dropped it - suddenly, and left her standing alone on the deck. - </p> - <p> - “Was there ever such love in the world?” she murmured. “But it is terrible—terrible!” - </p> - <p> - The next day she went to where he was sitting alone, far from the other - passengers. - </p> - <p> - “Mr Somers,” she said, “you will not really leave the yacht at Sydney?” - </p> - <p> - “If you tell me to stay, I will stay by the ship—I will stay by you, - and you shall know what love means,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she said, “I think I have learned that already.” - </p> - <p> - “My beloved—you tell me to stay?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that you love me,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “My darling—my beloved! You are more to me than all the world—you - are dearer to me than my hope of heaven!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes: you have shown me that you are speaking the truth. It is very - terrible, but I know that it is the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the truth. And I know that you love me.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if I ever loved any one else,” said she, after a pause—“that - is, I wonder if any one else ever loved me as you have done.” - </p> - <p> - That was all that passed between them at the time; but two days later his - hand was clasping hers as the steamer went past the Heads into the - loveliest harbour of the world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was very early in the morning when he left his cabin to go on deck. The - yacht was swinging at anchor. The sound of many voices came from the deck. - </p> - <p> - She was waiting to receive him at the door of his cabin. He put both his - hands out to her: she did not take even one of them. She stared at him. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you are the greatest scoundrel in the world,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Viola—dearest!” - </p> - <p> - “I say you are the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, for you tried to - obtain my love by telling me a lie—a lie—a horrible lie. You - did not murder Jack Norgate. He fell overboard by accident that night, - when no one was near him, and he was picked up by the ocean tramp which - you had been watching—not beside him, but on the bridge. You are a - wicked man. You told me that you murdered him, but you did nothing of the - sort. There he is, coming toward us. I did not tell him how false you - were, and I do not intend to tell him; but I know it for myself.” - </p> - <p> - “It was you yourself who suggested the thing to me,” said he. “Did you not - come to me accusing me of having murdered him? Did you not say that it had - been revealed to you in a vision?” - </p> - <p> - “A vision? Oh, I was in need of a dose of bromide—that’s all,” said - she. - </p> - <p> - Then Jack Norgate came up with the captain by his side. The hand that Mr - Somers offered him was limp and clammy. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s another of the ghost seers,” laughed Jack. “They all look on me as - a ghost aboard this craft.” - </p> - <p> - “It was a marvellous escape,” said the captain. “Luckily the tramp was a - fine old slow tub, and still more luckily she had a good look-out for one - hour only. Why, you couldn’t have been in the water for more than ten - minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “It seemed about a week to me, old man,” said Jack. “And as for the tramp—well, - we arrived at Sydney before you any way.” - </p> - <p> - The captain laughed. - </p> - <p> - “It was a providential escape,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “It was a providential escape,” said Viola, putting her arm through Jack’s - and walking away with him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - “MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.” - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> am so pleased - that it has come about, my dearest Madge,” said Mrs Harland. “I always - hoped that Julian would take a fancy—I mean that you—that you - would come to think tenderly of Julian. It was the one hope of my life. - What should I have done if he had come to me with a story of having fallen - in love with one of those horrid modern young women—the sort who are - for ever having their names in the papers about something or other—charities - and things? Charity has become the most effective means of - self-advertisement in these days.” - </p> - <p> - “If he had come to you saying that he loved such a girl, you—you - would have loved her too, you dear old thing!” cried Madge, kissing her on - both cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “Madge, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mrs Harland with dignity—the - dignity of the lady with a grievance. - </p> - <p> - “It is of yourself you would feel ashamed if your son came to you with a - tale of loving a girl—any girl—and you failed to see her - exactly with his eyes,” laughed Madge. “But I know you are glad that your - duty in this respect is so easy: you have always loved me, haven’t you? - How could you help it? When I think of how naughty I used to be; of the - panes in the greenhouse I used to break, playing cricket with Julian—panes - that involved no penalties; when I think of your early peas that I used to - steal and eat raw out of the pods; when I think of all the mischief I used - to put poor Julian up to, usually giving him a good lead over; and when I - reflect that not once did I ever receive more than a verbal reproof from - you, then I know that you could not help loving me,—it was not my - fault that you did not think of me as the greatest nuisance in the - county.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Harland laughed, though she had entered upon this interview with the - girl who was to be her daughter-in-law very seriously, and in by no means - a laughing spirit. - </p> - <p> - “I loved you always, because you were always a girl to be loved, and my - prayer day and night, dear, was that Julian would come to think so in good - time,” said she. “I was, I admit, slightly alarmed to find how very - friendly you and he always were: every one knows that nothing is so fatal - to falling in love as great friendliness.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Madge. “How funny it was that I should never think about - the matter at all! And yet I feel that I must always have loved him, just - as I do now. How could any one help it, my dearest mother?” - </p> - <p> - The fond mother of Julian Harland made no attempt to answer so difficult a - question. Some mothers may be able to formulate on economic grounds how it - is that young men do not find it impossible to resist the charms of their - numerous daughters; but the mother of an only son declines to entertain - the notion that he may fail to attract any girl who has had the good - fortune to appear attractive in his eyes. That was why Mrs Harland fully - acquiesced in Madge’s view of the irresistible qualities of Julian. - </p> - <p> - “He is a good boy, he has never been otherwise than a good boy,” she said. - “Still—well, I know that his future is safe in your keeping, my - Madge.” - </p> - <p> - She had heard of extremely good boys making extremely undesirable matches - with young women in tobacconists’ shops. It would seem as if every - university town must be overflowing with tobacconists’ shops, and as if - every tobacconist’s shop must be overcrowded with attractive young ladies; - one reads so much (in books written by ladies) of the undergraduate - victims to tobacconists’ girls. She felt glad that her son Julian had not - come to her from Oxford with a story of having made up his mind that he - could only be entirely happy if married to one of these. She felt that he - had been a really good son in choosing Madge Winston, the most beautiful - girl in the county, rather than a snub-nosed, golden-haired girl from - behind a tobacconist’s counter. Yes, he deserved great credit for his - discrimination. - </p> - <p> - “And I am doubly glad that you have become engaged just now,” she - continued. “You will keep him at home, Madge.” - </p> - <p> - “He has never shown any tendency to roam again,” said Madge, with an - inquiring look into Mrs Harland’s eyes. “He has often said that having had - his tiger-shooting in Kashmir, he is perfectly satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - “It was not that sort of shooting that was in my mind,” said Mrs Harland. - “But his father was a soldier—my father was a soldier. Look round - the hall, Madge—nothing but uniforms in every picture. That is why——” - </p> - <p> - “You are afraid that if this war breaks out in earnest——” - </p> - <p> - “That’s it—that’s it. He belongs to a race of soldiers. There has - not been a war since Blenheim between England and any other Power in which - a Harland and a Severn have not fought.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a splendid thing to be able to say; and yet Julian was content - with his Militia. Isn’t that strange?” - </p> - <p> - “It was for my sake, dearest Madge. I saw in his face before he was - sixteen the old racial longing to be a soldier, and I made an appeal to - him. He put his career away from him for my sake, Madge. He promised to - stay at home with me in my loneliness.” - </p> - <p> - “You were able to make such an appeal to him?” There was a suggestion of - surprise in the girl’s voice, and it carried with it a curious suggestion - of coldness as well. - </p> - <p> - “Was it selfish of me—was it, Madge? Oh! I dare say it was. Yes, it - must have been selfish; but think of my position, dear. He is all I have - in the world now. What would life be worth to me if he were away, or if he - were in danger? And then, think of his responsibilities. The property is - not a large one, and it requires careful treatment. You don’t think that I - was unreasonable, Madge?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh no, no,” said the girl. “You were right, quite right; only——” - </p> - <p> - “Only—only what, dear?” said Mrs Harland. “What is on my mind - exactly at this moment,” said Madge, “is, that I—I would not have - been strong enough to say that to him.” - </p> - <p> - “To say what to him, Madge?” - </p> - <p> - “What you said—to ask him to stay at home when he had his heart set - on being a soldier, as his father and as his grandfathers were. Even now—but - what’s the use of discussing a situation that cannot arise? Even if the - war breaks out, he is only a Militia captain, so that he cannot be called - on for duty in a campaign.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, the war will be over in a month or two, and there is no chance - of the Militia being called out; but it is just for the next month or so - that I have my fears—my fears, I should say. I have none now that I - know that you have promised to make him happy—to make <i>me</i> - happy. I had my fears that at the first sound of the trumpet in his ears - all the instincts of his house... Look at those uniforms in every picture - round the hall.... Ah, I was afraid that he might ask me to release him - from his promise.” - </p> - <p> - “And you knew that you would have released him without a word of demur,” - said Madge. “You know that you would do so, for you belong to a fighting - house, too. Bless me, I’m the only representative of civilianism among you - all. Oh, it is high time that the fighting Severns and the fighting - Harlands got a pacific element introduced among them.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I feel,” said Mrs Harland. “Madge, you will not allow him - ever to yield to that tradition of his house. I feel that so long as he is - by your side he is safe. One campaign at least will take place without a - descendant of the Harlands having anything to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - Before Madge had time to make a reply the gravel of the drive was sent - flying against the lowest panes of the room by the feet of a horse reined - in suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “Julian has returned with some important news,” said Madge, glancing - outside. - </p> - <p> - In another instant a man’s step sounded in the porch, and Julian Harland - entered the old oak hall with a newspaper in the same hand that held his - hunting crop. - </p> - <p> - “It has come at last!” he cried. “War! war! war!” - </p> - <p> - “England has declared war against the Transvaal!” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “On the contrary, it is Mr Kruger, the Boer farmer, who has declared war - against Great Britain!” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Mr Kruger!” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry—very sorry! War is terrible! I know what war means,” - said Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - “Sorry!—sorry!” cried her son. “Why, what is there to be grieved, - about? You’re not a friend of Mr Kruger’s, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “I know what war means,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “And I don’t,” said he. - </p> - <p> - There was something in his voice that suggested a sigh, and it seemed that - he was aware of this himself, for he threw his riding crop into a corner, - and cried out quite cheerily—“I’m happy to feel all the springs of - domesticity welling up within my bosom since you made me the happiest chap - in the county, my Madge. I have no greater ambition than to sit in a chair - at one side of the fire with you to look at, my Madge. How rosy you are, - my dear. What is keeping the lunch, mother? We must drink together - ‘Confusion to Kruger!’ His ultimatum—fancy a half-caste Dutch - peasant having the impudence to write an ultimatum to Great Britain!—it - expires to-day. We’ll not leave the hall till we are sure it has expired.” - </p> - <p> - He continued in this excited strain during lunch, and Madge found that she - too was in the same vein. War was in the air, and while the crowds in - London were cheering aloud and singing “God Save the Queen!” with flashing - eyes, the little group of three at the table in that old Somerset hall - stood up and drank to the success of the Queen’s soldiers in South Africa. - Around them on the oak panels were the pictures of Harlands in red coats, - Harlands in blue coats, Harlands in the demi-armour of the Stuarts, - Harlands in the chain mail of the Lancastrians. Every man of them carried - a sword and kept his eyes fixed on the living head of their house sternly, - anxiously. - </p> - <p> - And that was why Julian, after drinking to the toast which he had given a - moment before, remained on his feet with his glass still in his hand, and - with his eyes looking from picture to picture as though he had never seen - one of them previously in his life. - </p> - <p> - His mother watched him, so did Madge. - </p> - <p> - The glass dropped from his hand and was smashed in pieces on the floor, - and he fell back into his chair and gave a loud laugh. - </p> - <p> - “That’s Kruger!” he cried: “smashed!—smashed!—beyond recovery!—beyond - coaguline—smashed—and without a Harland raising his hand - against him,—that’s what they are saying—those Harlands that - have had their eyes fixed on me, as if I needed their prompting. Come - along, sweet womenfolk, and have a look at the sundial that Rogers - unearthed when digging the new rose-bed, where the remains of the old maze - were,—the date is carved on it, 1472 a.d. Just think of it, hidden - for perhaps three hundred years and only unearthed yesterday, at the very - hour that you promised to be my own Madge! A good omen! What does it mean - except that a new era for the old house is beginning? Come along, my - dearest.” - </p> - <p> - There was no great alacrity in Madge’s response to his challenge. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is father was - killed in the Soudan, having inherited the property when his elder brother - had been killed, a few years before, in Zulu-land. Four brothers, all of - them men of splendid physique, had been slain in battle within a space of - four years, and three widows and many children had been left desolate. - </p> - <p> - He knew the story of heroism associated with every one of the four, and he - knew the stories of the heroism associated with the death of his - grandfather at the Alma, and his greatgrandfather at Waterloo. That was - why he had taken it for granted from his earliest years that he was to be - a solder. It never occurred to him that there was any other destiny - possible for a Harland of the Hall. - </p> - <p> - But when his mother came to him one day and poured her plaint into his - ear, entreating him for her sake to think of himself as associated with a - happier fate, he had yielded to her, though he made no admissions in - regard to the comparative happiness involved in the fate of dying on the - field of battle, or as a senile fox-hunter after a protracted run to - hounds. He showed himself to be a dutiful son, and he went to Oxford and - then ate his dinners at the Temple, as he believed a reasonably aspiring - country gentleman should do if he wished to retain his self-respect. He - had also drilled every year with the Militia regiment in which he held a - commission, and was rapidly qualifying for the rank of major. - </p> - <p> - But during these years the country was engaged in no war that made any - great demand upon its resources: he had no great temptation to go against - the Afridis, and he felt sure that Khartoum could be reached by Kitchener - without his personal supervision. But his mother noticed a change upon him - as he read day by day of the probabilities of a war breaking out between - England and the Transvaal. A strange uneasiness seemed to have come over - him, and he talked of nothing except South Africa as a campaigning ground. - </p> - <p> - His mother became more uneasy than he was, and she was only in a measure - relieved when one day he came to her, telling her that he had asked Madge - Winston, the daughter of the Vicar of Hurst Harland, to marry him, and - that she had consented. Mrs Harland told him that he had made her the - happiest mother in the world; but from the chat, just recorded, which she - had with Madge in the hall before Julian had returned with the news of the - ultimatum, it will be gathered that she had still some misgivings. - </p> - <p> - They were strengthened by observing Julian’s strange behaviour during the - drinking of the toast. She saw the light that was in his eyes as he talked - a little wildly about the coming campaign. She had seen such a light in - the eyes of his father when talking of a coming campaign. She knew what it - meant. - </p> - <p> - She did not accompany Julian and Madge when they went out together to look - at the old pillar sundial which a gardener had dug up the day before. She - was happily able to make a reasonable excuse for staying behind: a servant - had just brought her a message to the effect that one of the lacemakers of - the village had come by appointment to see her. She had interested herself - for several years in the lacemaking, and was in the habit of getting old - pieces of her own splendid collection repaired by one of the cleverest of - the girls. - </p> - <p> - This girl was still in the hall when Julian and Madge were driven indoors - by a slight shower, and Mrs Harland showed them the piece of work which - she had had mended. It was a delicate handkerchief bordered with rosebuds, - and curiously enough, as Julian pointed out, the sprays arranged - themselves so as to form a constant repetition of the letter M. - </p> - <p> - “That stands for Madge, doesn’t it?” cried he. - </p> - <p> - “It stands for Medici,” said his mother. “This particular piece of lace - belonged to Marie de’ Medici, though no one ever noticed that the rosebuds - entwined themselves into the letter M.” - </p> - <p> - “I will buy the handkerchief from my mother for you, Madge,” he cried. - “Who knows what magic may be ‘in the web of it,’ like poor Desdemona’s! - These Medici were uncanny folk. The earlier ones certainly understood the - art of magic as practised by the highest authorities in the Middle Ages. - Yes, the M stands for Madge. Take it, dear, I won’t be so ungracious as to - add Othello’s charge to Desdemona about keeping it; and if I should find - it in a railway carriage or anywhere else in years to come, you may make - your mind easy. I’ll not strangle you on that account.” - </p> - <p> - “I got it mended on purpose for you, Madge,” said Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - “You are so good,” said the girl, spreading out the filmy thing - admiringly. “You know that there is nothing I love so well as lace, and - this design is the most perfect that could be imagined. A thousand thanks, - dearest mother.” - </p> - <p> - Julian seemed before the evening to have become quite resigned to staying - at home; and during the next few weeks, though he followed the progress of - the preparations for the campaign with great interest, pointing out what - he believed would be the plans of each of the divisional commanders to his - mother and Madge, yet he never semed to be unduly eager in the matter. He - seemed to look on the campaign in a purely academic spirit—merely as - a Kriegspiel,—and his mother’s fears vanished. She blessed the day - that Madge had come to the Hall. It was Madge, and Madge only, who had - succeeded in restraining his burning desire to be in the thick of the - fight. - </p> - <p> - But, then, following swiftly upon the news of the arrival of the First - Army Corps and the successes of the sorties from Ladysmith, which elated - the whole of England for some days, came like a thunderclap the news of a - disaster—a second disaster—a third! It seemed as if the - campaign was going to collapse before it had well begun. The change made - itself apparent in every part of England—in every household in - England, and in none more vividly than at Harland Hall. A change had come - over Julian; he had no word for any one; he walked moodily about the house - and the grounds, taking no interest in anything. He made an excuse for - going up to London for a day or two, and he returned with a mass of news. - The country had been taken by surprise in regard to the Boer preparations. - The campaign was going to be a long one, and every available man was to be - called out; he had it from good authority—the best authority in the - world. - </p> - <p> - His mother saw that the old light had come back to his eyes, and she - shuddered. - </p> - <p> - The next morning when Madge came downstairs she saw her sitting in the - hall, with her head bent down, her son standing over her with a paper in - his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Madge! Madge!” cried the mother, “you will tell him to stay; he is going - to leave us, but you will tell him to stay. He will stay if you implore of - him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said he, “I will stay if Madge asks me; but she will not ask me.” - </p> - <p> - “You will ask him—you will implore of him to stay, Madge, my - daughter!” cried Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. The girl had become deathly pale. She stood at - her chair at the table. She did not speak. - </p> - <p> - “Why are you silent?—why are you dumb?” cried the mother. “Will you - see him go forth to die, as all the others of his family have done in the - past? Cannot you understand what has happened? Oh! you have only just come - down. You have not heard the news: the last of the Reserves have been - called out, and volunteers are being called on from the Militia!” - </p> - <p> - “And I have volunteered,” said Julian in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - She was still deathly pale. Her hands grasped the carved back of the - chair. She did not speak. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Madge, you will tell him?” began Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the girl, “I will tell him that I am proud of him—that - if he had remained at home now I would never have married him!” - </p> - <p> - She walked steadily across the hall and put both her hands out to him. He - took them in his own, and bent his head down to them, kissing each of - them. - </p> - <p> - Then he raised his head and looked round at the portraits in the panels, - and laughed. - </p> - <p> - He left the Hall in the evening. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the most - dismal Christmas that any one in England could remember. Here and there a - success had been snatched from the enemy; but the list of casualties - published every day made the morning papers a terror to read. The British - losses had passed the tenth thousand, and still Buller could not reach - Ladysmith and Methuen could not cross the Modder. It seemed as if the last - of the Egyptian plagues had fallen on England, and there was not a - household in which there was not one dead! - </p> - <p> - It was a dreary Christmas at Harland Hall. News had arrived a few days - previously of Julian’s safe arrival at the Cape and of his having taken - part in a skirmish on his way to the front. Every morning his mother and - Madge—who had come to stay at the Hall for another month—picked - up the newspaper and glanced with fearing eyes down the usual casualty - list. When they failed to find his name there they breathed again. There - was no thought of festivity in the Hall this Christmas Day, and it was a - relief to Madge as well as to Mrs Harland when bedtime came. Before going - to bed the girl sat for some time before the fire in her room, with - Julian’s portrait in her hand, and on her lap some of the things which his - hands had touched—a shrivelled November rose which he had discovered - on the last stroll they had together through the garden—a swan’s - feather which he had picked up and thrust with a laugh and a mock taunt - into her hair—the lace handkerchief which had been given to her on - the day of the outbreak of the war. She sat there lost in her own thoughts—praying - her own prayers. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she became aware of an unusual sound—a sort of tap at rare - intervals upon her window-pane. At first she fancied that it was a twig of - ivy which was being blown by the breeze against the window, but the next - time the sound came she felt sure that it could only be produced by a tiny - pebble flung up from the carriage drive. - </p> - <p> - For a few moments she was slightly alarmed. She quickly extinguished her - candle, however, and then went to the window, drawing the blind a little - way to one side and peering out. There was no moon, but the sky was full - of stars, and she knew that if any one was on the drive there was light - enough to make her aware of the fact. For some time, however, her eyes, - accustomed to the light of her room, were unable to make out any figure - below; but after waiting at the window for a few minutes, it seemed to her - that she could detect the figure of a man in the middle of the drive. - </p> - <p> - She shut out all the light of the fire behind her and continued peering. - Beyond a doubt there was a man outside. He was waving something white up - to her. In another instant she knew him. A terrible fear took hold upon - her, for she knew that she was looking out at a man in khaki uniform, and - she knew that that man was Julian Harland. And now she saw him distinctly - in the starlight: he was making signs to her, pointing to the porch and - walking in that direction. - </p> - <p> - She dropped the blind. There was no doubt whatever in her mind now: Julian - had returned suddenly, and for some reason he wished to be admitted into - the house secretly. - </p> - <p> - She stole down the broad shallow staircase into the hall, and by the light - of the glowing logs which smouldered in the big grate she found her way to - the oaken door that shut off the porch from the hall. She loosened its - chains as silently as possible, and opened it. Then she went through to - the porch and found herself standing opposite the studded hall door. There - she paused for an instant, asking herself if she should open it. - </p> - <p> - A low tap sounded on it from the outside. - </p> - <p> - “I am here,” she said in a low voice; “am I to open the door for you, - Julian?” - </p> - <p> - “Open, Madge, quick—quick, I am wounded,” he said. - </p> - <p> - With trembling fingers she unfastened the bolt, opened the door, and - allowed him to pass into the porch. - </p> - <p> - “O, my darling, have you been wounded?” she cried. She had not put herself - into his arms: she had a sense of his being wounded, and she was afraid of - hurting him by coming in contact with the wound. She felt his hand on - hers. - </p> - <p> - “It is really only a trifle, Madge,” said he; “you will be able to bind it - up for me, and you must not awaken poor mother. The shock of seeing me - might kill her.” - </p> - <p> - They went side by side into the hall, and he sank down with a sigh of - relief on the big settee before the fire. She broke up one of the - smouldering logs, and it glowed into a great flame which showed her that - his face was very pale and that he had grown a beard. - </p> - <p> - She was on her knees at his knees in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Dearest Julian!” she cried, with her arms about him, “how did you come - without sending me word? Oh, where are you wounded?” - </p> - <p> - “The arm—the right,” he said rather feebly. “It is only a flesh - wound, I know, but it was enough to knock me over, and it has been - bleeding badly. If you wash it and bind it up a bit, however, it will be - all right until the morning, when I can have it looked to.” - </p> - <p> - Slowly and painfully he raised his right arm. He had apparently slit up - the sleeve of his tunic, and the pieces fell away to the right and left of - his arm, showing her a wound black with coagulated blood. - </p> - <p> - “My poor boy—my poor boy!” she said. “I shall do my best with it; - but it is an ugly wound. Why should I not send a man to the surgery? Dr - Gwynne will come at once.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” he said; “I don’t want to make a fuss at this hour. You can - manage without outside help. Hadn’t you better light the candles?” - </p> - <p> - She sprang to her feet, and picking up one of the long chips from the log - basket, lighted it in the fire and then transferred the flame to two of - the old sconces at the side of the fireplace. As the light flickered on - him she saw that his tunic was torn and splashed, and that his putties - were caked with mire. No wayside tramp could be in a more dilapidated - condition than Julian was in. He had clearly been walking some distance; - and yet she could not recollect seeing any clay for miles around of the - same tint as that which was caked upon his garments. - </p> - <p> - She was about to ask him why he should not go upstairs to his own room - where she could attend to him properly, but she restrained her nurse’s - instinct to ask an irritated patient questions. She examined the wound and - said— - </p> - <p> - “I will wash it for you and bind it up till the morning. I shall get a - basin in my own room.” - </p> - <p> - “‘A ministering angel thou!’” he said, with a very wan smile. “By the way, - Madge, do you remember the lace handkerchief—the Medici - handkerchief?” - </p> - <p> - “I was looking at it only an hour ago,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “‘There’s magic in the web of it,” he said. “Fetch it and bind up my wound - with that cobweb drawn over rosebuds and I shall be all right.” - </p> - <p> - She hastened to her room, and in a few moments had picked out from a - drawer some soft linen, a bottle of arnica, and a pair of scissors. She - had attended ambulance classes, and had confidence in her own capacity to - deal with any ordinary “case.” Then she put the lace Medici handkerchief - with the other appliances, and, carrying a large china bowl with her water - jug, came quietly down the stairs once more. - </p> - <p> - He had fallen asleep on the settee, but in an instant he was awake. He was - plainly vigilant at once. - </p> - <p> - “It is beginning to feel a bit stiff, but that is on account of the - bleeding,” he said. “I knew I was doing wisely in awaking you only. I - couldn’t stand a fuss.” - </p> - <p> - “I will make no fuss,” she said, “and I shall hurt you as little as - possible. I will even refrain from asking you any questions.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right; I feel so sleepy,” said he. - </p> - <p> - In a deft and businesslike way she washed the clotted blood from the - wound, and she quickly perceived that it was only a deep flesh wound, but - it had bled a great deal and that had weakened him. She bandaged the arm - with layers of linen, and when the bandage was secure he cried— - </p> - <p> - “Now for the handkerchief—that will make me all right in a moment. - The earlier Medici were, I told you, wonderful folk, though the later——Ah, - you are a good girl.” - </p> - <p> - She knew that he must be humoured. She made no protest against using her - handkerchief in such a way. - </p> - <p> - “You have no idea how relieved I feel,” said he. “My dearest girl, I knew - that I would be safe in your hands. Now get me a big drink of water and I - shall be all right.” - </p> - <p> - She hastened to where a great cut-glass carafe and its goblet stood on the - oak sideboard. He gave an exclamation that suggested more than - satisfaction while the water was sobbing in the throat of the bottle, and - when he had drunk a clear pint he gave a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t had such a drink for weeks,” he said. “Now, dear girl, I’m - dying with sleep, and so, I fancy, are you.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not mean to sleep here?” she cried. “You will go to your own room, - Julian, dear; a fire has been lighted in it every day to keep out any - possible damp.” - </p> - <p> - “I couldn’t think of such luxury when so many of my poor comrades are - lying under the cold stars,” said he. “Don’t urge me, Madge; but go to - your own bed and sleep well.” - </p> - <p> - Even while she was still looking at him, he laid his head back among the - pillows of the settee and fell asleep. She waited by his side only for a - few moments, and then went quietly up to her room. She threw herself on - her knees by her bedside and wept tears of joy at the thought that he had - come safe home again, with only a wound that a few weeks would heal. - </p> - <p> - But when she had undressed and got into bed she could not help feeling - that his homecoming was strange beyond imagination. He had sent no - telegram, he had arrived with the stains of battle still on his uniform, - and, strangest of all, his wound was not an old one. Not many hours had - passed since he had sustained it. - </p> - <p> - What on earth was the explanation of all this? - </p> - <p> - She felt unequal to the task of working out the question. She felt that - all other thoughts should give place to the glorious thought that he was - safe at home. He would explain everything in the morning. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen she awoke this - thought was dominant. He was at home—safe—safe! - </p> - <p> - She listened at the door of his room to catch his cheery laughter with the - first of the servants who might discover him. But no such sound came to - her ears. She was nearly dressed when Mrs Harland entered her room. - </p> - <p> - “Well!” she cried. “Well! you have seen him? Good heavens, why do you look - at me in that way? Have you not seen him?” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Madge,” said Mrs Harland, “your eyes have a strange gleam in them. - What do you mean by asking me if I have seen him—<i>him?</i> Is - there more than one <i>him</i> for me and for you?” - </p> - <p> - “But he came here late last night, he threw pebbles up at that window, and - I let him into the hall and bound up a wound of his—a flesh wound - only. I left him sleeping on the settee.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Harland stared at her. - </p> - <p> - “My poor Madge!” she said. “You have had a vivid dream. How could he - possibly have been here when not a week has passed since we got a - cablegram from him? It would take him a week to get back to Cape Town - alone.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t try to explain anything,” said she. “Only he came into the hall - as sure as we stand here together, and I bound up his wound—just - below the elbow of the right arm. If I did not do so, where is the lace - handkerchief? Here are all the things I was looking at before I heard the - sound of the pebbles on the window, and the Medici handkerchief was there - too. Where is it now?” - </p> - <p> - “Poor child! Poor Madge!” cried Mrs Harland. “You must try to keep your - thoughts away from him for a day or two. You and I need a change of scene - badly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; I am not going mad, I can assure you, my dearest mother,” said - Madge. “I tell you that—where is the handkerchief?” - </p> - <p> - “There is the breakfast gong,” said Mrs Harland. “I believe you, dear; you - were with him in heart.” - </p> - <p> - Madge laughed, and went downstairs. She gave a glance at the sconce in - which she had lighted the candles; it contained four candles burnt down to - the sockets. - </p> - <p> - The papers had no special news; but later in the day two telegrams - arrived. One was for Mrs Harland, the other for Madge. - </p> - <p> - They tore open the covers with palpitating fingers. - </p> - <p> - The first dispatch said: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Flesh wound—very slight.</i>” The second—that addressed to - Madge—said: “<i>Thank you, dearest</i>.” They exchanged telegrams, - but not a word. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - He was invalided home after acting as escort to Cronje down to Cape Town, - and saving a gun at Reddersburg (mentioned in despatches), but no one - alluded to the wound which he had sustained on Christmas Day in a skirmish - at the Modder. - </p> - <p> - One evening, however, when he was able to sit outside the house, Madge - turned to him, saying: “What did you mean by sending me that telegram, ‘<i>Thank - you, dearest?</i>” - </p> - <p> - He gave a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you have still by you that Medici handkerchief?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I must plead as Desdemona - did about hers, it disappeared mysteriously. I cannot produce it for you, - my lord.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, now I should get as mad as any Othello,” said he, “but on second - thoughts I will refrain.” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, dear Julian,” she said. “I am resolved to confess all to you, - though you may think me a bit of a fool. Listen: on Christmas night I went - to my room and seated myself before the fire, thinking of you, dearest,—your - portrait was in my hands, and on the table were some of the treasures your - hands had touched, the handkerchief among them. Then I heard—I - seemed to hear—no, I prefer to tell the truth—I actually heard - the sound of a pebble flung against my window. I looked out, I saw you on - the drive, and I went downstairs and opened the hall door for you. You - were wounded just where you were actually wounded—and I bound up - your arm with the handkerchief and went to bed. In the morning there was - no sign of your having been here, but—but—the handkerchief was - gone. Don’t think me a goose.” - </p> - <p> - “A goose? Heavens! a goose!” he cried. “Listen to my story, dear. When I - was wounded in that scrimmage, I fainted through loss of blood, and when I - recovered my senses I went in search of the ambulance tent. It was late - before I came across a transport waggon, which had been disabled by a - shell. I crept inside it, but found nothing there, and I was dying of - thirst. And then—then—you came to me with bandages and water—plenty - of water in the cut-glass carafe that stands on the sideboard. You lighted - a candle, bound up my arm, and left me comfortably asleep, where I was - found by our ambulance in the morning. Yes, that’s the truth, and that is - why I sent you the telegram, and this is the handkerchief with the stains - upon it still.” - </p> - <p> - He drew the lace handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She - gazed at it, but he only laughed and said— - </p> - <p> - “I told you ‘there’s magic in the web of it.’” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BASELESS FABRIC - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>is sorry that - you’ll be to hear that ould Denny Callan is dead, sir,” said the - station-master—he was, strictly speaking, the junction-master—at - Mallow, to whom I had confided my hopes of eventually reaching my - destination at St Barter’s, in the same county. He had been courteously - voluble, and sometimes even explicit, in giving me advice on this subject; - he also took an optimistic view of the situation. All things considered, - and with a moderate share of good luck, I might reasonably hope to reach - St Barter’s House within a couple of hours. That point, which was becoming - one of great interest to me, being settled, he thought that he was - entitled to assume that I should be grieved to hear of the death of “ould - Denny Callan.” He assumed too much. I had never heard the name of the - lamented Mr Callan. I could not pretend to be overwhelmed with grief at - the news that some one was dead whom I had never heard of being alive. - </p> - <p> - “Tubbe sure, you’re a stranger, sir—what am I thinking of at all—or - you’d know all about the road to St Barter’s,” said the official. “Oh, but - you’d have liked ould Denny, sir, if you’d but have known him. A more - harmless crayture you couldn’t find, search high or low. ‘Tis a great - favourite that he was with the gentlemen—ay, and for that matter, - the ladies—though I wouldn’t like to say a word against him that’s - gone. Oh, they all come away from St Barter’s with a good word for Denny. - Well, well, he’s at rest, and I don’t expect that you’ll have to wait much - longer for your train, sir.” - </p> - <p> - When I had got out of my compartment in the express from Dublin an hour - before, I was told that I should only have to wait for ten minutes to make - the connection that would take me on to Blarney—the station for St - Barter’s—but the train which was reputed to be able to perform this - service for me had not yet been signalled. After the lapse of another - twenty minutes I began to think that the stationmaster had taken too - roseate a view of my future. It did not seem likely that I should, in the - language of the ‘Manual,’ “attain my objective” that day. - </p> - <p> - I had reached a stage of bewildering doubt, which was not mitigated by the - arrival at the junction of a long train, and the announcement of the guard - to the passengers, “Change here for Ameriky,”—it was explained to me - that the train was full of emigrants bound for America via Queenstown,—when - the station-master bustled up to tell me that the Blarney special had just - been signalled from Kilmallock—the Blarney special was getting on - very well, and with good luck should be available for passengers from - Mallow within half an hour. - </p> - <p> - The good luck on which this estimate was founded was not lacking. My train - crawled alongside the platform only five minutes over the half-hour, and - the official wished me a continuance of good luck, adding— - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn’t be like going back to the same place now that poor ould Denny - is gone, if you had ever been there before, sir. Best his sowl! ‘Tis the - harmless crayture that he was. You’ll be sorry that you didn’t know him, - sir, when you find the place a bit lonesome.” - </p> - <p> - I was half-way to Blarney before my sluggish mind was able to appreciate - the contingencies suggested by the station-master. I had never before been - to St Barter’s, but if I had ever been there I should regret my returning - to the place now that a certain person, of whose existence I had been - unaware, was gone. That was how I worked out the matter, and before I had - concluded the operation I had become quite emotional in regard to the - demise of Denny. I shook my head mournfully at the thought that I should - never see him—that I had come too late—too late! I had no idea - that the local colour, which is associated by tradition with this - neighbourhood, was so potent; but, indeed, when the obliging - station-master at Blarney, who entered into conversation with me while the - porter was looking after my luggage, remarked— - </p> - <p> - “So poor ould Denny is gone at last, sir!” I shook my head sadly. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Denny! poor old Denny!” I said with a sigh. “Ah, we’ll all miss - poor old Denny. He was the most harmless man—St Barter’s will not be - the same without him.” - </p> - <p> - The station-master did his best to comfort me for half an hour—that - was the exact space that I had to wait for the car which was to carry me - to St Barter’s. When it did arrive, the excuse given by the red-haired boy - who had charge of the “wee mare” was that it was a grand wake entirely - that Denny had last night. - </p> - <p> - He told me more about it (with statistics of certain comestibles, mostly - liquid) when driving along one of the loveliest roads possible to imagine, - past the grey square tower of Blarney Castle, embowered among its trees, - and on by the side of the greenest slopes I had ever seen, beneath the - branches of one of the groves renowned in history and in song. A broad - stream flowed parallel with the road, and every glimpse that I had through - the trees on both sides was of emerald hills—some in the distance, - others apparently sending their soft ridges athwart the road. I felt that - at last I was in Ireland. - </p> - <p> - On the side of a gracious slope, gradually approached by broad zigzag - drives which follow the swelling curves of long grassy billows, the - buildings of St Barter’s stand. They are neither venerable nor imposing—only - queer. It seemed to me that everybody must have been concerned in their - construction except an architect. But the compiler of a guide-book could, - with every desire to be economical of his space, fill half a dozen pages - with a description of the landscape which faces the windows of the front. - The green terraces below the gardens dip toward the brink of a glen - through which a trout stream rushes, and the woods of this sylvan hollow - straggle up the farther slope, and spread over it in a blaze of autumnal - gold that glows half through the winter. Where the wooded slopes and the - range of green hills begin, undulating into a soft distance of pasturages, - with here and there a white farmhouse shining out of the shadow of an - orchard, and at the dividing line of the low slopes, the turret of Blarney - Castle appears above the dark cloud of its own woods. - </p> - <p> - Before I found myself facing this entrancing landscape, I could not for - the life of me understand why my client, who might have lived where she - pleased, should spend half the year at St Barter’s. But now I understood, - and I took back the words which I had spoken more than once, when in - mid-channel the previous night. A family solicitor may be pardoned for - occasionally calling a client a fool. I had called several of my most - valued clients by this name. I did so for the same reason that Adam gave - for calling the fox a fox—because it was a fox. But I had never to - retract until now. “Hydros” are horrors as a rule, but St Barter’s is a - beatitude. - </p> - <p> - A couple of hours after lunch—the water which was placed on our - table was as exhilarating as champagne—sufficed for the transaction - of the business which had brought me to Ireland, and I was free to return - by the night train. I had, however, no mind to be so businesslike; for the - scenery had clasped me tightly in its embrace, and in addition I found - that the resident medico had been in my form at Marlborough, and I was - delighted to meet him again. I had lost sight of him for nine or ten - years. - </p> - <p> - It was by the side of Dr Barnett that I strolled about the grounds and - learned something of the history of the curious old place. - </p> - <p> - “Rambling? I should think it is rambling,” he said, acquiescing in my - remark. “How could it be anything else, considering the piecemeal way in - which it was built? It was begun by a very brilliant and highly practical - physician more than fifty years ago. When the house, as it was then, was - fully occupied, and he got a letter from a person of quality inquiring for - rooms, he simply put the inquirer off for a week, then set to, built on a - few more rooms, and had them ready for occupation within the time stated. - This went on for several years. If the Lord Lieutenant had written for a - suite of apartments he would have had them ready in ten days. That sort of - thing produces this style of architecture. St Barter’s is the finest - example extant of the pure rambling. But it is the healthiest place in the - world. People come here expecting to die within a fortnight, and they live - on for thirty years.” - </p> - <p> - “But now and again there is a death,” said I. “What about poor ould Denny? - The most harmless crayture——” - </p> - <p> - Dr Barnett stared at me. - </p> - <p> - “Was it in the London papers?” he cried. “Oh, I see; you have been talking - to the driver of the car. Poor ould Denny! He was everybody’s friend.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet quite harmless? The place will never seem the same to me as it - would have done if I had not arrived too late to see Denny. Was he your - assistant, or what?” - </p> - <p> - The doctor laughed. - </p> - <p> - “He was simply ‘poor ould Denny!”’ he said. “That was his profession. It - was pretty comprehensive, I can tell you. He was here when the house would - be overcrowded with ten guests. He roofed a whole wing with his own hands. - Then he dug the pit for the gasometer, thirty years ago, and he lived to - dam the trout stream that works the dynamo for the electric light. He was - also an accomplished <i>masseur</i>, and set up the hatchery that supplied - the stream with trout.” - </p> - <p> - “His name should have been Crichton, not Callan. Anything else?” - </p> - <p> - “He could do tricks on the billiard table, and he knew all that there is - to be known about hair-cutting.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that all?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s all—no, stay! he was a sculptor’s model for some time. I can - show you the result of his labours in this direction, if you would care to - see it.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly should care to see it.” - </p> - <p> - “Come along, then.” - </p> - <p> - He led me half-way round the building, from where the two storeys of the - centre block dwindled away to the single bedroom sheds of one wing. We - passed by the side of the terrace garden, and I made a remark respecting - the fine carving on some of the stone vases. - </p> - <p> - “They were the work of the sculptor who chose Denny for his model,” said - the doctor. “Here we are.” - </p> - <p> - I followed him between two fine cedars, and in another instant we were - face to face with a very striking colossal figure of a man holding aloft a - goblet. The head and the torso were very powerful, but the latter was - joined on to a conventional Greek pedestal, at the foot of which there - peeped out four tiny hoofs of satyrs. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think of it? my friend inquired?” I told him that I thought - there was a good deal of strength in the modelling of the figure, but I - could not understand the satyrs’ hoofs. - </p> - <p> - “I take it for granted that the sculptor left the hair unfinished,’ I - added; for one could not help remarking the roughness of the masses at the - top of the head. The sculptor had merely blocked out the heavy locks of - hair; he had made no attempt to define them. - </p> - <p> - “The story of the work is rather a sad one,” said the doctor. “The - sculptor was a nephew of the man who built this place. He had worked in a - good studio in Italy, and was, I believe, a pupil of the distinguished - Irishman, Foley. He was devoted to his profession, and exhibited in some - of the London galleries. But every one knows that it is very difficult to - make a name—and a profit—as a sculptor, and he realised this - truth only when he had spent the greater part of his small patrimony. He - came here, and built for himself that cottage which you see at the other - side of the terrace, and, in order to keep himself employed, he carved all - these vases and urns which you have been admiring. Unfortunately, however, - among the doctor’s patients at the house there was a wealthy linen - merchant from Ulster—one of that vulgar crowd who had become - suddenly prosperous when the American Civil War prevented the export of - cotton from the southern ports; and this gentleman, meeting the sculptor - daily, and feeling probably that he would like to pose before the world as - a patron of Art, gave him a commission to execute a colossal figure to - support a lamp at the entrance to the new house which he was building for - himself. He made no stipulation as to the design, only the cost was not to - exceed a thousand pounds, and the work was to be ready within a year. Of - course, the poor sculptor was delighted. He accepted the commission, and, - thinking of the artistic rather than the business side of the transaction, - never dreamt of drawing up an agreement with his generous patron. Before a - month had passed, he had obtained his material and made his clay sketches. - Looking about for a model for the figure, he was struck by the fine - proportions of Denny, and had no difficulty in inducing him to add to his - other occupations the more restful one of a sculptor’s model. For several - months the work progressed satisfactorily, and it was very near its - completion, when the model contracted a malady which necessitated the - shaving of his head and interrupted his sittings. The sculptor was not - greatly inconvenienced, however. He turned his attention for some weeks to - the carving of the pedestal, and got that completed before his model was - able to resume his sittings. But even then the sculptor could only deal - with the torso, for Denny’s crown was as bald as an egg. In a couple of - months, however, the doctor assured him that he would have as luxuriant a - crop as would qualify him to pose for one of the artists who produce the - advertisements for hair-restorers. The work was now practically finished. - As the model remarked, the edifice only needed the thatch to be put on the - roof to make it presentable. Then the proud artist wrote to his patron, - telling him that his commission was executed, and inviting him to come and - see it. After the lapse of a week or two the patron arrived, and was - conducted by the sculptor to view his masterpiece. The patron viewed it in - silence for some minutes, and then burst into a fit of laughter. ‘Man, - dear!’ he managed at last to gasp in the raucous accent of his native - province—‘Man, dear! what’s that thing, anyway? Tell us what it is, - if you can. A Greek figure? They must have had funny figures, them Greeks, - if they had feet like yon. You must take me for a queer fool if you fancy - that I’d let the like o’ yon stand fornenst my house. You may make a fool - of yourself as much as you please, but I’ll take good care that you don’t - make a fool of me!’ What could a refined man say to a brute like this? - Well, he said nothing. He stood there in silence, with his eyes fixed upon - the face that he had carved, and the patron left him staring at it. He - stared at it all day, and the doctor, walking round the garden that night, - saw him staring at it in the moonlight, and led him away to the cottage, - and sent him to bed. He never rose from that bed, except once. Two days - later, his housemaid entered his room and found him kneeling at his window—the - statue could be seen where he had placed it—where it now stands—and - he was quite dead.” - </p> - <p> - I could not speak for some time after the doctor had told me the story, - for I felt that it was the saddest I had ever heard. - </p> - <p> - “His heart was broken,” I said. “But perhaps you will tell me that science - has proved that such a rupture is impossible.” - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you nothing of the sort,” said he. “A broken heart is the - best possible way to describe the effect upon a sensitive brain of such a - shock as the sculptor sustained. His heart was broken. I am sorry that I - hadn’t a livelier story for you. People come to Ireland expecting to be - amused; but it seems to me that the history of the island from the - earliest times is one prolonged lament. The finest music of the national - melodies is to be found in the most mournful.” - </p> - <p> - I stood with my eyes fixed upon the statue. - </p> - <p> - “Strange, isn’t it, that I should arrive here to be told that pitiful - story within an hour or two of the death of the model?” said I. “The poor - artist! I am sure that he felt that he was immortalising Denny; and yet—I - suppose that in a year or two no one will know anything either of the - sculptor or his model. Perhaps the vulgarity of the Ulster patron is, - after all, the most enduring of all the qualities that went to the - production of this work.” - </p> - <p> - “The patron eventually became one of the most distinguished bankrupts of - his generation,” said Dr Barnett. “He died a few years ago, but vulgarity - did not die with him. Yes, I think you are right—vulgarity is - immortal.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if our friend Denny was proud to be reproduced in the stone, or - was he mortified at the result of his first connection with art?” I - remarked, while we were strolling back to the house. - </p> - <p> - “He took an interest in the thing up to the very last,” replied the - doctor. “I have often seen him take a surreptitious glance at it, and pass - away from it, stroking his head mournfully. He confided in me once that - his sorrow was that the sculptor had not lived to reproduce his fine head - of hair; and I know that he believed that it was the unfinished state of - the crown of the figure that brought about its rejection. His widow told - me only yesterday that this was the greatest trouble of his last hours. - You see, the figure was a record of his early manhood, but the pride that - he had in looking at it must have been chastened by the feeling that it - did not do justice to his curls—his one vanity was his curly head. - He was nicknamed in Irish ‘The curly-headed boy.’ It was pathetic to hear - his widow repeat the phrase over his body when I visited her in her - trouble yesterday. ‘He was my curly-headed boy—my curly-headed boy - will never know the touch of my comb again!’ she wailed in Irish.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Denny!” said I. - </p> - <p> - “That seems by one consent to be his most appropriate epitaph,” said the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - After dinner that night I played a very pleasant rubber of whist with my - client, and the doctor and his wife. When the party separated I went to - the billiard-room with Barnett, and we played a hundred up. Lighting a - cigar then, I strolled out alone upon the terrace, the doctor having gone - to his room. The night was a brilliant one, and the landscape lay bare and - white beneath the moonlight, which flooded the far-off hills and spread a - garment of filigree over the foliage of the glen and of the slope beyond. - Beneath its brilliance the trout stream, whose voice came fitfully through - the brooding silence of the night, flashed here and there among the trees. - The square tower of the Castle shone like marble in the distance. From one - of the farms of the hillside the faint sound of a dog’s bark reached my - ears. - </p> - <p> - I seated myself on one of the terrace chairs, languidly smoking my cigar - and breathing the strong perfume of the stocks of the garden. I confess - that my mind was dwelling upon the story of that queer piece of sculpture - before which I had stood in the afternoon. It was as sad a story as that - of the poet Keats, only the brutal criticism of the sculptor’s patron was - more savage than the ‘Quarterly Review’ which had bludgeoned the fine poet - to the death. But my sympathy was not given to the artist so fully as to - leave no pity to bestow upon his model, who had lived on for thirty or - forty years with his humble grievance. I could appreciate the feelings of - poor old Denny all the years that he had laboured beneath the burden of - being handed down in effigy to coming generations shorn of his greatest - glory. The one who was known to all men as the curly-haired hoy was doomed - to stand before the eyes of all comers as the possessor of shapeless, - matted locks that were not locks at all! - </p> - <p> - He was not made of the same fibre as the artist; he had not broken down - beneath the weight of that reflection; but I knew it must have been a - heaviness to him all his days. - </p> - <p> - I remained seated in the moonlight for a long time, and just as I thought - that I should turn in, I noticed a figure crossing the little grassy slope - toward the garden. It was, I perceived, the figure of a man, and he was - wearing what I took at first to be an ordinary night suit of light silk; - but before he had gone a dozen steps I perceived that his garment was a - painter’s blouse. He moved silently over the grass, and I could not help - feeling, as I had often done before, how a glance of moonlight on a figure - may produce such an effect of mystery as can never be gained in daylight. - I assumed that the object which was passing away among the flower-beds was - one of the household staff on duty—a watchman, it might be, or a - gardener going to regulate the heating apparatus in a greenhouse. And yet, - looking at him from my seat, he seemed as weird and unsubstantial as a - whiff of mountain mist. - </p> - <p> - I rose from my place, and was about to walk round to the entrance to the - house and get to bed, when I became aware of another figure moving through - the moonlight along the grassy terrace. I gave an exclamation of surprise - when I saw that this one was half nude and white—white as the stone - of the statue beyond the trees—there, it moved—<i>the statue - itself</i>—-I saw it—the figure of the man with his hands held - aloft—the features were the same—the proportions of the body—only - this one was more perfect than the other, for he had a mass of curly locks - clustering over his head like the curls of the Herakles of the Vatican. - </p> - <p> - And even while I stood there watching him, the figure passed away among - the trees. - </p> - <p> - I waited in such a state of amazement as I had never experienced before. I - had the sensation of being newly awakened; but I knew that I had not - fallen asleep for a moment. I was not afraid; only, finding myself in a - situation to which I was unaccustomed, I did not know what I should do. It - took me some minutes to collect myself. - </p> - <p> - Through the stillness I became aware of a curious dull tapping sound—there - it went, tap, tap, tap; then a slight pause, and again tap, tap, tap, tap. - </p> - <p> - A dog behind the house gave a prolonged howl, and along the path below me - a fox-terrier, which I had seen during the day, scurried, its tail between - its legs, and every limb trembling. - </p> - <p> - “Tap, tap, tap”—a pause—“tap, tap, tap, tap.” - </p> - <p> - My mind was made up. I went cautiously along the terrace in the direction - of the garden. I found myself walking stealthily on my toes, as though I - was anxious not to disturb someone who was desirous of quiet; and as I - went on, the sounds of the tapping became more distinct. Almost before I - knew it, I reached that part of the grassy terrace which commanded a view - of the garden; and in an instant I was standing still. I could hear the - beating of my own heart as I saw, under my very eyes, not twenty yards - away, three figures, equally white and shadowy. - </p> - <p> - The nearest to me was of the half-naked man with the head of curls; the - one in the middle was in exactly the same posture—it was the figure - of the statue; and the third was the one which I had seen wearing the long - white blouse, and this was the only one of the three that moved. He was - standing, as it seemed, on the ledge of the pedestal, and a sculptor’s - chisel was in one hand and a mallet in the other. He was working at the - head of the statue, every now and again glancing at the head of the model, - pausing while he did so, and beginning to work again after the lapse of a - second or two. - </p> - <p> - I stood there on the terrace watching this strange scene, and the curious - part of it was that it did not seem in the least degree curious to me - while it was being enacted. On the contrary, I had a distinct sense of - harmony—of artistic finish—the pleasurable sensation of which - one is conscious on the completion of the <i>leit motif</i> of a symphony,—that - is how I can best express what my feelings were at the time. During the - hour that I remained there it never occurred to me that I should draw any - nearer to the shadowy group. As a matter of fact, I believe that there was - uppermost in my mind an apprehension that it was necessary for me to keep - very still, lest I should interfere with the work. I have had precisely - the same feeling when in the studio of a painter while he was at work and - I was watching him. But I could not leave the place where I stood, so long - as that scene was being enacted in the silence, and the three figures were - equally silent. The night knew no sound except that caused by the - chiselling of the stone. - </p> - <p> - An hour must have passed—perhaps more than an hour—and then, - still in silence, the sculptor threw his chisel and his mallet to the - ground. I heard the little thud which each gave on the turf. Then he - sprang to the ground; but his feet made no sound in alighting. I stood on - the terrace and watched him and his model move away across the garden as - silently as they had come, and disappear among the trees at the entrance - to the glen. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - The next morning when I had breakfasted I sought my friend Dr Barnett, and - told him my experience of the night. He did not smile. But he was strictly - scientific. We were smoking together on one of the paths bordered by - laurels, and when I had told him all that I had to tell, he put his hand - on my arm, saying— - </p> - <p> - “My dear boy, the phenomena of ghosts are invariably interesting, and, on - the whole, not more perplexing than other natural phenomena. Sometimes - they are due to one cause, sometimes to another. Most frequently they must - be attributed to the projection of an image upon the eye from within, not - from without. Now, in your case—but we had better stroll round to - the scene of your illusion.” - </p> - <p> - We went together across the lawn in the direction of the companion cedars, - and he continued his discourse. - </p> - <p> - “All that you have told me interests me greatly, showing as it does how, - under certain conditions, the most admirably balanced brain may become - what I may call sensitised—susceptible as a photographic plate to an - image——” - </p> - <p> - At this point his speech was arrested. We had passed between the cedars, - and the statue was facing us. The doctor was gazing up at it. - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens!” he said in a whisper; “he has finished it!” - </p> - <p> - I looked up and saw that the head of the figure was covered with curls. - </p> - <p> - “He has finished it—he has finished it,” the doctor whispered again. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” I said, “he has finished it. I saw him do it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he houses which - constitute the town of Picotee—in the Gambia region a commendable - liberality of spirit prevails as to the requisite elements of a town—were - glistening beneath the intolerable rays of the afternoon sun. To the eyes - of all aboard the mail steamer <i>Penguin</i>, which had just run up a - blue-peter in the anchorage, the town seemed of dazzling whiteness. It was - only the inhabitants of Picotee who knew that the walls of the houses were - not white, but of a sickly yellow tinge; consequently, it was only the - inhabitants who knew how inappropriate it was to allude to their town as - the “whited sepulchre”—a term of reproach which was frequently - levelled against it rather on account of the appalling percentage of - mortality among its inhabitants than by reason of the spotlessness of the - walls, though they did appear spotless when viewed from the sea. In the - saloon of the <i>Penguin</i> the thermometer registered 95°, and when the - passengers complained to the captain of the steamer respecting the - temperature, holding him personally responsible for every degree that it - rose above 70°, he pointed across the dazzling blue waters of the - anchorage to where the town was painfully glistening, and asked his - complainants how they would like to be there. - </p> - <p> - It was universally believed that when the captain had put this inquiry, - the last word had been said regarding the temperature: he, at any rate, - seemed to fancy that he had relieved himself from all responsibility in - the matter. - </p> - <p> - At Picotee things were going on pretty much as usual. But what is progress - at Picotee would be regarded as stagnation elsewhere. - </p> - <p> - There was a fine suggestion of repose about the Kroomen who were dozing in - unpicturesque attitudes in the shade of the palms on the ridge nearest to - the beach; and even Mr Caractacus Brown, who, being one of the merchants - of the place,—he sold parrots to the sailors, and would accept a - contract for green monkeys from the more ambitious collectors of the fauna - of the West Coast,—was not supposed to give way to such weaknesses - as were exhibited by the Kroomen—even Mr Caractacus Brown wiped his - woolly head and admitted to his neighbour, Mr Coriolanus White, that the - day was warm. Having seen Coriolanus selling liquid lard by the spoonful, - he could scarcely do otherwise than admit that the temperature was high. - Devonshire cream was solid in comparison with the lard sold at Picotee. - But, in spite of the heat, a pepper-bird was warbling among the bananas, - and its song broke the monotony of the roar of the great rollers that - broke upon the beach—a roar that varies but that never ends in the - ears of the people of Picotee. - </p> - <p> - Dr Claude Koomadhi, who occupied a villa built on the lovely green slope - above the town, opened the shutters of the room in which he sat, and - listened to the song of the pepper-bird. Upon his features, which seemed - as if they were carved out of black oak and delicately polished, a - sentimental expression appeared. His eyes showed a large proportion of - white as he sighed and remarked to his servant, who brought him a glass of - iced cocoanut milk, that the song of the pepper-bird reminded him of home. - </p> - <p> - “Of ‘ome, sah?” said the old woman. “Lor’ bress yah, sah! dere ain’t no - peppah-buds at Ashantee.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi’s eyes no longer wore a sentimental expression. They flashed - when the old woman had spoken, but she did not notice this circumstance. - She only laid down the tumbler on the table, hitched up her crimson shawl, - and roared with negress’ laughter. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t understand, Sally. I said home—England,” remarked the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, beg pardung, sah; thought yah ‘looded to Ashantee,” said the old - woman as she rolled out of the room, still uttering that senseless laugh. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi did not seem to be greatly put out by that reminder of the - fact that Ashantee was his birthplace. He threw himself back in his cane - chair and took a sip from the tumbler. He then resumed his perusal of the - ‘Saturday Review’ brought by the <i>Penguin</i> in the morning. - </p> - <p> - He did not get through many pages. He shook his head gravely. He could not - approve of the tone of the political article. It suggested compromise. It - was not Conservative enough for Dr Koomadhi. He began to fear that he must - give up the ‘Saturday.’ It was clearly temporising with the enemy. This - would not do for Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - He took another sip of cocoanut milk, and then began pacing the room. He - was clearly restless in his mind; but, perhaps, it would be going too far - to suggest that he was perturbed owing to the spirit of compromise - displayed in the political article which he had just read. No; though a - staunch Conservative, he was still susceptible of a passion beyond the - patriotic desire to assist in maintaining the integrity of the Empire. - This was the origin of his uneasiness. He had been awake all the previous - night thinking over his past life, and trying to think out his future. The - conclusion to which he had come was that as he had successfully overthrown - all the obstacles which had been in his path, to success in the past, - there was no reason why he might not overthrow all that might threaten to - bar his progress in the future. But, in spite of having come to this - conclusion, he was very uneasy. - </p> - <p> - He did not become more settled when he had gone to a drawer in his - writing-desk and had taken out a cabinet portrait—the portrait of a - lady—and had gazed at it for several minutes. He laid it back with - something like a sigh, and then brought out of the same receptacle a - quantity of manuscript, every page of which consisted of a number of - lines, irregular as to their length, but each one beginning with a capital - letter. This is the least compromising way of referring to such - manuscripts. To say that they were poetry would, perhaps, be to place a - fictitious value upon them; but they certainly had one feature in common - with the noblest poems ever written in English: every line began with a - capital letter. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi’s lips—they constituted not the least prominent of his - features—moved as he read to himself the lines which he had written - during the past three months,—since his return to Picotee with - authority to spend some thousands of pounds in carrying out certain - experiments, the result of which would, it was generally hoped, transform - the region of the Gambia into one of the healthiest of her Majesty’s - possessions. Then he sighed again and laid the manuscripts over the - photograph, closing and locking the drawer of the desk. - </p> - <p> - He walked fitfully up and down the room for another hour. Then he opened - his shutters, and the first breath of the evening breeze from the sea came - upon his face. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll do it,” he said resolutely. “Why should I not do it? Surely that old - ridiculous prejudice is worn out. Surely she, at least, will be superior - to such prejudice. Yes, she must—she must. I have succeeded hitherto - in everything that I have attempted, and shall I fail in this?” - </p> - <p> - The roar of the rollers along the beach filled the room, at the open - window of which Dr Koomadhi remained standing for several minutes. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi - belonged to a race who are intolerant of any middle course so far as dress - is concerned. They are either very much dressed or very much undressed. - But he had lived long enough in England to have chastened whatever - yearning he may have had for running into either extreme. Only now and - again—usually when in football costume—he had felt a strange - longing to forswear the more cumbersome tweeds of daily life. This - longing, combined with the circumstance of his being extremely fond of - football, might be accepted as evidence that the traditions of the savages - from whom he had sprung survived in his nature, just as they do in the - youth of Great Britain, only he had not to go so far back as have the most - of the youth of Great Britain, to reach the fountain-head. - </p> - <p> - The evening attire which he now resumed was wholly white,—from his - pith helmet down to his canvas shoes, he was in white, with the exception - of his tie, which was black. He looked at himself in a glass when at the - point of leaving his house, and he felt satisfied with his appearance; - only he should have dearly liked to exchange his black tie for one of - scarlet. He could not understand how it was that he had never passed a - draper’s window in London without staring with envious eyes at the crimson - scarves displayed for sale. No one could know what heroic sacrifices he - made in rejecting all such allurements. No one could know what he suffered - while crushing down that uncivilised longing for a brilliant colour. - </p> - <p> - Just before leaving the house he went to his desk and brought out of one - of the drawers a small ivory box. He unlocked it and stood for some time - with his face down to the thing that the box contained—a - curiously-speckled stone, somewhat resembling a human ear. While keeping - his head down to this thing his lips were moving. He was clearly murmuring - some phrases in a strange language into that curiously shaped stone. - </p> - <p> - Relocking the ivory box, he returned it to the drawer, which he also - locked. Then he left his house, and took a path leading to a well-built - villa standing in front of a banana-jungle, with a tall flag-pole before - its hall door—a flag-pole from which the union-jack fluttered, - indicating to all casual visitors that this was the official residence of - her Majesty’s Commissioner to the Gambia, Commander Hope, R.N. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo, Koomadhi!” came a voice from the open window to the right of the - door. “Pardon me for five minutes. I’m engaged at my correspondence to go - to England by the <i>Penguin</i> this evening. But don’t mind me. Go - through to the drawing-room and my daughter will give you a cup of tea.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, sir,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Don’t hurry on my account. I was - merely calling to mention that I had forwarded my report early in the day; - but I’ll wait inside.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” came the voice from the window. “I’m at the last folios.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi was in the act of entering the porch when his pith helmet was - snatched off by some unseen hand, and a curious shriek sounded on the - balcony above the porch. - </p> - <p> - “The ruffian!” said Koomadhi, with a laugh. “The ruffian! He’s at his - tricks again.” - </p> - <p> - He took a few steps back and looked up to the balcony. There sat an - immense tame baboon, wearing the helmet and screeching with merriment. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll have to give you another lesson, my gentleman,” said the doctor, - shaking his finger at the creature. “Hand me down that helmet at once.” - </p> - <p> - The baboon made a grimace and then raised his right hand to the salute—his - favourite trick. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the doctor produced a sound with his lips, and in an instant the - monkey had dropped the helmet and had fled in alarm from the balcony to - the roof of the house, whence he gazed in every direction, while the - doctor went into the house with his helmet in his hand. He had merely - given the simian word of alarm, which the creature, understanding its - mother tongue, had promptly acted upon. - </p> - <p> - “‘You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, but the scent’—you - know the rest, sir,” remarked Mr Letts, the Commissioner’s Secretary, who - had observed from his window the whole transaction. - </p> - <p> - “What was that, Letts?” asked the Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - “Koomadhi spoke to the baboon in its own tongue, sir, and it took the hint - of a man and a brother and cleared off.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but where does the shattering of the vase come in?” asked the - Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - “I mean to suggest that a nigger remains a nigger, and remains on speaking - terms with a baboon, even though he has a college degree and wears - tweeds,” said Mr Letts. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said the Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - He had heard the same opinion expressed by various members of his staff - ever since he had anything to do with the administration of affairs on the - West Coast. He had long ago ceased to take even the smallest amount of - interest in the question of the exact depth of a negro’s veneer of - civilisation. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut while Mr Letts - was quoting Thomas Moore’s line—in a corrupt form—to the - Commissioner, Dr Koomadhi was accepting, with a certain amount of dignity, - the greeting which was extended to him by Miss Hope, the Commissioner’s - daughter, in the drawing-room. She had been trying over some songs which - had just arrived from England. Two of them were of a high colour of - sentimentalism, another belonged to that form of poetic composition known - as a coon song. It had a banjo obbligato; but the pianoforte accompaniment - of itself gave more than a suggestion of the twanging of strings and the - banging of a tambourine. Had Dr Koomadhi arrived a few minutes sooner it - would have been his privilege to hear Gertrude Hope chant the chorus— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Jes’ winkie mid y o’ eye, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier— - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Say, how am dat for high?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - But Gertrude had, after singing the melody, pushed the copy under a pile - of music, and had risen from the piano to receive her visitor, at the same - time ringing for tea. - </p> - <p> - He apologised for interrupting her at the piano. - </p> - <p> - “If I had only known that you were singing, I should certainly have—well, - not exactly, stayed away; no, I should have come sooner, and remained a - worshipper in the outer court.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I wasn’t singing—not regularly singing,” said she, with a - laugh. “Trying over stupid songs about lovers’ partings is not singing, Dr - Koomadhi.” - </p> - <p> - “Lovers’ partings?” said he. “They seem particularly well adapted to - lyrical treatment.” - </p> - <p> - “The songs at any rate are heart-breaking,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “They represent the most acute stage of the lovers’ feelings, then?” said - he. - </p> - <p> - “I daresay. I suppose there are degrees of feelings even of lovers.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure of it, Miss Hope.” - </p> - <p> - He was seated in a wicker chair; she had thrown herself into another—a - seat that gave her the appearance of lying in a hammock. He scanned her - from her white forehead down to the dainty feet that crossed one another - on the sloping support of cane-work. She would have been looked on as a - very pretty girl in a London drawing-room; and even a girl who would be - regarded as commonplace there would pass as a marvel of loveliness on the - West Coast of Africa. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” continued Dr Koomadhi, “I’m sure there are degrees of feeling even - among lovers.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a doctor, and so doubtless have had many opportunities of - diagnosing the disease in all its stages,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am a doctor,” said he. “I am also a man. I have felt. I feel.” - </p> - <p> - She gave another laugh. - </p> - <p> - “A complete conjugation of the verb,” said she. “Past and present tenses. - How about the future?” - </p> - <p> - There was only a little pause before he said— - </p> - <p> - “The future is in your hands, Miss Hope. I have come here to-day to tell - you that I have never loved any one in all my life but you, and to ask you - if you will marry me.” - </p> - <p> - There was now a long pause—so long that he became hopeful of her - answer. Then he saw the blank look that was upon her face change—he - saw the flush that came over her white face when she had had time to - realise the import of his words. - </p> - <p> - She started up, and at the same instant the baboon came in front of the - window and raised his right hand to the salute. - </p> - <p> - “You are mad—mad!” she said, in a whisper that had something fierce - about it. Then she lay back in her chair with a laugh. “<i>I</i> marry you—<i>you</i>. - I should as soon marry——” - </p> - <p> - She had pointed to the baboon before she had checked herself. - </p> - <p> - “You would as soon marry the baboon as me?” said he in a low and laboured - voice. - </p> - <p> - “I did not say that, although—Dr Koomadhi, what you have told me has - given me a shock—such a shock as I have never had before. I am not - myself—if I said anything hurtful to you I know that you will - attribute it to the shock—I ask your pardon—sincerely—humbly. - I never thought it possible that you—you—oh, you must have - been mad! You——” - </p> - <p> - “Give me a cup of tea, my dearest, if you don’t want to see me perish - before your eyes.” The words came from outside a window behind Dr - Koomadhi, and in another second a man had entered from the verandah, and - had given a low whistle on perceiving that Miss Hope had a visitor. - </p> - <p> - “Come along,” said Miss Hope, when she had drawn a deep breath—“Come - along and be introduced to Dr Koomadhi. You have often heard of Dr - Koomadhi, I’m sure, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, this is Major Minton.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you do?” said the stranger, giving his hand to the doctor. “I’m - glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and how clever you are.” - </p> - <p> - “You flatter me,” said Dr Koomadhi, shaking hands with the new-comer. “I - must now rush away, Miss Hope,” he added. “I only called to tell your - father that I had forwarded some reports by the <i>Penguin</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Jolly old tub, the <i>Penguin</i>—glad I’ve seen the last of her,” - said Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - “Major Minton arrived by the <i>Penguin</i> this morning,” said Gertrude. - “Must you really go away, Dr Koomadhi?” - </p> - <p> - “Not even the prospect of a cup of your tea would make me swerve from the - path of duty, Miss Hope,” said the doctor, with a smile so chastened as to - be deprived of all its Ethiopian character. - </p> - <p> - He shook hands gracefully with her and Major Minton, and passed out by the - verandah, the baboon standing to one side and solemnly saluting. The Major - was the only one who laughed, and his laugh was a roar. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi found - waiting for him at his house his old friend Mr Ross, the surgeon of the <i>Penguin</i>. - He had been unable to leave the steamer earlier in the day, and he had - only an hour to spend ashore. No, he did not think that anything was the - matter with a bottle of champagne, provided that it was large enough and - dry enough, and that it had been plunged into ice, not ice plunged into - it. - </p> - <p> - These essentials being guaranteed by Dr Koomadhi, Mr Ross’s hour passed—as - he thought—pleasantly enough. The two men sat together on cane - chairs on the balcony facing the sea. It is at such a time, and under such - conditions, that existence on the Gambia becomes not merely endurable, but - absolutely delightful. Mr Ross made a remark to this effect, and expressed - the opinion that his friend was in luck. - </p> - <p> - “In luck? Oh yes. I’m the luckiest fellow in the world,” responded - Koomadhi grimly. “I’ve everything that heart can wish for.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you’re well paid, you don’t mind the climate, and you’re honoured - and respected by the whole community,” said Ross. - </p> - <p> - “Of course—honoured and respected—that’s the strong point of - the situation,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “The only drawback seems to me to be the rather narrow limits of the - society. Still, the Commissioner is a decent enough sort of old boy, and - Letts has a good deal to recommend him. By the way, you’ll not be so badly - off in this matter during the next six months as you have been. We brought - out a chap named Minton—a chap that any one could get on with. He’s - just chucked the service and is going to marry Miss Hope.” - </p> - <p> - “I have just met him at the Residency,” said Koomadhi, filling up with a - steady hand the glass of his guest. “And so he’s going to marry Miss Hope, - is he?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; he confided a lot in me—mostly on the bridge toward the hour - of midnight. The young woman has been engaged to him for a year past. They - met just before the Commissioner got his berth, but the daughter being a - good daughter, and with a larger sense of duty than is possessed by most - girls, swore—in her own way, of course—that nothing should - tempt her to desert her father for at least a year. Much to Minton’s - disgust, as you can understand, she came out here, telling him that if he - still was anxious to marry her, he might follow her at the end of a year. - Well, as he retained his fancy, he came out with us, and I believe you’ll - be in a position to add an official wedding to your other experiences, - Koomadhi.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s something to look forward to,” said Koomadhi. “But how will that - incident improve society in this neighbourhood? I suppose Minton and his - wife will get off to England as soon as possible?” - </p> - <p> - “Not they. Although they are to get married at once, they are to remain - here for six or seven months—until, in fact, the Commissioner gets - his leave, and then they all mean to go home together. Minton has a trifle - of six thousand a-year and a free house in Yorkshire, so Miss Hope is in - luck—so, for that matter, is Minton; she’s a fine young woman, I - believe. I only met her once.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not so certain about her constitution,” said Koomadhi. “Her lungs - are, I believe, all right, but her circulation is defective, and she - suffers from headaches just when she should be at her best.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hang it all! a girl’s a girl for a’ that!” cried Ross. “Your - circulation’s defective, Koomadhi, if you’re capable only of judging a - girl by the stethoscope. You’re too much absorbed in your profession, - that’s what’s the matter with you.” - </p> - <p> - “I daresay you are right,” Koomadhi admitted after a pause of a few - seconds. - </p> - <p> - In the course of the next half-hour, several other topics in addition to - the matrimonial prospects of Major Minton and the constitutional - shortcomings of Miss Hope were discussed on the verandah, until, at - length, the sound of the steam-whistle of the <i>Penguin</i> was borne - shore-wards by the breeze. - </p> - <p> - “That’s a message to me,” said Ross, starting up. “Come down to the shore - and see the last of me for three months at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi put on his helmet, and saw his friend safely through the surf - on his way to where the steamer was swinging at her anchor. The sun had - set before he returned to his house to dinner; and before he had risen - from the table a message came to him that one of the officers of the - Houssas was anxious to see him, being threatened with an attack of fever. - The great stars were burning overhead before he returned from the barrack - of the Houssas, and was able to throw off his coat and lie back in his - chair in his own sitting-room. - </p> - <p> - He had a good deal to think about before going to his bedroom, and he - seemed to find the darkness congenial with his thoughts. In fact, the - negro acknowledged a sort of brotherhood in the night, and he remained for - some hours in that fraternal darkness. It was just midnight when he went, - with only a small amount of groping, to his desk, and took out of its - drawer the ivory box containing the earshaped stone, into whose orifice he - had spoken some words before leaving for the Commissioner’s house in the - afternoon. He unlocked the box and removed the stone. He left his villa, - taking the stone with him, and strolled once more to the house which he - had visited a few hours before. - </p> - <p> - Lights were in the windows of the Residency, and certain musical sounds - were coming from the room where he had been. With the twanging of the - banjo there came the sound of a light bass voice of no particular timbre, - chanting the words of the latest plantation melody— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Jes’ winkie mid yo’ eye, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier— - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Say, how am dat for high?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi listened while three stanzas of the doggerel were being sung - by Major Minton; then he raised the ear-shaped stone that was in the - hollow of his hand, and whispered some words into it as he had done in the - afternoon. In a second the song stopped, although the singer was in the - middle of a stanza. - </p> - <p> - “Confound it all!” cried Major Minton—Koomadhi heard his voice - distinctly. “One of my strings is broken. I suppose it was the sudden - change of atmosphere that made it give way. It’s a good bit drier here - than aboard the <i>Penguin</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “The concert is over for to-night,” came the voice of the Commissioner. - “It’s about time for all of us to be in our beds.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s my notion too,” said Letts. “Those who object can have their money - returned at the doors.” - </p> - <p> - “It was strange—that breaking of the string without warning,” Dr - Koomadhi heard Gertrude say. - </p> - <p> - He smiled. - </p> - <p> - It was only at midnight in the open air, and when he was alone, that he - allowed himself the luxury of an unbridled smile. He knew the weaknesses - of his race. - </p> - <p> - He put the stone into the pocket of his coat and returned to his house. - </p> - <h3> - V. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he marriage of - Major Minton to Miss Hope took place in another week. Of course the - ceremony was performed by the Lord Bishop of Bonny, who was also - Metropolitan of the Gambia and Senegal. The gunboat that was at the - anchorage displayed every available rag of bunting, and the lieutenant who - commanded her said he would gladly have fired a salute in honour of the - event, only for the fact that the Admiralty made him accountable for every - ounce of powder that he burned, and, in addition, for the wear and tear on - every gun. The guns didn’t bear much tampering with, and there was nothing - so bad for them as firing them: it wore them out, the Admiralty stated, - and the practice must be put a stop to. - </p> - <p> - But if there was no official burning of powder to mark the happy event, - there was a great deal of it that was unofficial and wholly irregular. Dr - Koomadhi spent several hours of the afternoon amputating fingers of - Krooboys that had been mutilated through an imperfect acquaintance, on the - part of the native populace, with the properties of gunpowder when - ignited. An eye or two were reported to be missing, and in the cool of the - evening the Doctor had brought to him, by a conscientious townsman, a - human ear for which no owner could be found. - </p> - <p> - The happy pair went to the Canary Islands for their honeymoon, and - returned radiant at the end of six weeks; and the Commissioner’s <i>ménage</i>, - which had suffered materially through the absence of the Commissioner’s - daughter, was restored in all its former perfection. Every night varied - strains of melody floated to the ears of such persons as were in the - neighbourhood of the Residency; and it was a fact that Major Minton’s - banjo never twanged without attracting an audience of from ten to five - hundred of the negro population of Picotee. The pathway was every night - paved with negroes, who listened, shoulder to shoulder, and kneecap to - kneecap—they sat upon their haunches—to the fascinating songs. - They felt that if the Commissioner had only introduced a tom-tom obbligato - to the tom-tom melodies, the artistic charm of the performance would be - complete. - </p> - <p> - The native evangelist, who occasionally contrived to fill a schoolhouse - with young Christians by the aid of a harmonium,—a wheezy asthmatic - instrument, which, in spite of a long lifetime spent on the West Coast, - had never become fully acclimatised,—felt that his success was - seriously jeopardised by the Major’s secular melodies. When the flock were - privileged to hear such fascinating music unconditionally, he knew that it - was unreasonable to expect them to be regular in their attendance at the - schoolhouse, where the harmonium wheezed only after certain religious - services had been forced on them. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if the Bishop might be approached on the subject of - introducing the banjo into the schoolhouse services. He believed that with - such auxiliaries as the banjo, and perhaps—but this was optional—the - bones, a large evangelistic work might be done in the outlying districts - of Picotee. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi had always been a frequent visitor at the Residence, but for - some time after the marriage of the Commissioner’s daughter he was not - quite so often to be found in the drawing-room of an evening. Gradually, - however, he increased the number of his weekly visits. He was the only - person in the neighbourhood who could (occasionally) beat Major Minton at - billiards, and this fact helped, in a large measure, to overcome the - prejudice which Major Minton frankly admitted (to his wife) he entertained - against the native races of West Africa. Major Minton was becoming a - first-class billiard-player, as any active person who understands the game - is likely to become after a few months’ residence at a West Coast - settlement. - </p> - <p> - “Dr Koomadhi is a gentleman and a Christian,” Mrs Minton remarked one day - when Mr Letts, the Secretary, had challenged discussion upon his favourite - topic—namely, the thinness of the veneer of civilisation upon the - most civilised savage. - </p> - <p> - “He’s a negro-gentleman, I admit,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - “A man who plays so straight a game of billiards can’t be far wrong,” - remarked Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - “I have reasons—the best of reasons—for knowing that Dr - Koomadhi is a forgiving Christian gentleman,” said Gertrude. “Yes, he - shall always be my friend.” - </p> - <p> - She had not forgiven herself for that terrible half-spoken sentence, “I - would as soon marry——” - </p> - <p> - She had not forgiven herself for having glanced at the baboon as she - checked the words that sprang from her almost involuntarily. - </p> - <p> - But Dr Koomadhi was showing day by day that he had forgiven them. - </p> - <p> - And thus it was she felt that he was worthy to be regarded by all men as a - gentleman and a Christian. - </p> - <h3> - VI. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> few days later Dr - Koomadhi was visited by Major Minton. The Major was anxious to have some - shooting at big game, and he was greatly disappointed at being unable to - find in the neighbourhood of Picotee any one who could put him on the - right track to gratify his longing for slaughter. The ivory-hunters did - not find an outlet for their business at Picotee, and the majority of the - inhabitants were as unenterprising, Major Minton said, as the chaw-bacons - of an English village; nay, more so, for the chawbacons were beginning to - know the joy of a metropolitan music hall, and that meant enterprise. He - wondered if Koomadhi would allow him to accompany him on his next - excursion inland. - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi said that no proposal could give him greater pleasure. He would - be going up again in a week or two, and he could promise Major Minton some - first-class sport. He could show him some queer things. - </p> - <p> - Talking of queer things, had Major Minton ever seen a piece of the famous - African sound-stone? - </p> - <p> - It was supposed that the famous statue of Memnon had been carved out of - that stone. - </p> - <p> - Major Minton had considered all that had been written on the subject of - the talking statue utter rot, and he believed so still. Could any sane man - credit a story like that, he was anxious to know? - </p> - <p> - “I suppose not,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “But anyhow, I have now and again come upon pieces of the sound-stone. - I’ll show you a couple of bits.” - </p> - <p> - He produced the roughly cut stone ear, and then an equally rough stone - chipped into the form of a mouth—a negro’s mouth. - </p> - <p> - “They are rum things, to be sure,” said Minton. “I don’t think that I ever - saw stones just the same. Is the material marble?” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t the least idea,” said Koomadhi. “But just put that stone to - your ear for a few moments.” - </p> - <p> - Minton had the mouth-stone in his hand. Koomadhi retained the ear-stone - and put it to his lips the moment that the Major raised his hand. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the Major. “I hear nothing. That sound-stone myth isn’t good - enough for me. I’m not exactly a lunatic yet, and that’s why I’m going to - climb up to your roof to enjoy the sea-breeze. Take your marvellous - sound-stone, and I’ll show you what it is to be a gymnast.” - </p> - <p> - He opened the shutters, got out upon the verandah, and began climbing one - of the supports of the verandah roof. He was a pretty fair athlete, but - when the thermometer registers 97° is not, perhaps, the most favourable - time for violent exercise. Still, he reached the roof with his hands and - threw one leg up; in another moment he was sitting on the highest part of - the roof, and was inviting Koomadhi to join him, declaring that only a - fool would remain indoors on such a day. - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi smiled and shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You must have some refreshment after your exertions,” said he. “What - would you like—a brandy-and-soda, with a lump of ice clinking the - sides of the tumbler?” - </p> - <p> - “That sounds inviting,” said Major Minton, scratching his chest with a - forefinger—it had apparently been chafed in his ascent of the roof. - “Yes; but if you chance to have a banana and a few nuts—by Jingo I - should like a nut or two. Has no dietist written a paper on the dietetic - value of the common or garden nut, Koomadhi?” - </p> - <p> - “Come down and I’ll give you as many nuts as you can eat,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’ll come down this way,” said the Major. He swung himself by one - arm from the side of the roof to the bough of a tree. There he hung - suspended by the other arm, and swinging slowly backward and forward. Even - then he scraped the breast of his shirt, uttering a number of sounds that - might have meant laughter. Then he caught a lower branch with his loose - arm and dropped to the ground. Again he scraped at his chest and laughed. - </p> - <p> - “How about those nuts?” he said. “I think I’ve earned them. How the - mischief is it that I neglected my gymnastics all these months? What a - fool I was! Walking along in the open day by day, when I might have been - enjoying the free life of the jungle!” - </p> - <p> - “Come inside and try a bit of cocoanut,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “I’m your man,” said the Major. - </p> - <p> - “My man—man?” laughed the Doctor. “Oh yes, you’ve earned the - cocoanut.” - </p> - <p> - The soft flesh of a green cocoanut lay on the table of the sitting-room, - and Major Minton caught it up and swallowed it without ceremony. The - Doctor watched him with a curious expression on his face. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the most refreshing tiffin I’ve had for a long time,” said the - Major. “Now, I’ll have to get back to the Residency. Will you drop in for - a game of billiards?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I may,” said the Doctor. “Take that sound-stone again, and try if - you really cannot hear anything when you put it to your ear.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear fellow, I’m not the sort of a chap to become the victim of a - delusion,” said the Major, picking up the stone and holding it to his ear. - “Not a sound do I hear. Hang it all, man, I’d get more sound out of a - common shell. <i>Au revoir</i>.” - </p> - <p> - He had his eyes fixed upon the ink-bottle that stood on the desk beside a - blotter and a sheet of writing-paper. Dr Koomadhi noticed the expression - in his eyes, and turned to open the door. The very instant that his back - was turned, Major Minton ran to the ink-bottle, upset it upon the blotter, - and then rushed off by the open window, laughing heartily. - </p> - <p> - And yet there was no human being who so detested the playing of practical - jokes as Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi put away the stones, and called his servant to wipe up the - ink, which was dripping down to the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Lorramussy!” cried the old woman. “How eber did yo’ make dat muss?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t know that it was on the blotter until too late,” said he. And - yet Dr Koomadhi was a most truthful man—for a doctor. - </p> - <h3> - VII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ullo!” said Letts, - “what have you been doing to yourself?” - </p> - <p> - Major Minton had thrown himself into the Secretary’s cosiest chair on his - return from visiting Dr Koomadhi, and was wiping his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been doing more to myself than I should have done,” replied Minton. - “For heaven’s sake, ring for a brandy-and-soda!” - </p> - <p> - “A brandy-and-soda? That’s an extreme measure,” said Letts. “But you look - as if you needed one.” He went to his own cupboard and produced the - brandy, and then rang the bell for the soda-water, which was of course - kept in the refrigerator. Then he looked curiously at the man in the - chair. “By the Lord Harry! you’ve been in a fight,” he cried, when his - examination had concluded. “You’re an ass to come between any belligerents - in this neighbourhood: you forget that Picotee Street is not Regent - Street. You got your collar torn off your coat for your pains; and, O - Lord, your trousers!” - </p> - <p> - “I did not notice how much out of line I had fallen until now,” said - Minton, with a laugh. “By George, Letts, that tear in my knee does suggest - a free-and-easy tussle.” - </p> - <p> - “But how on earth did it come about?” asked Letts. “Surely you should know - better than to go for a nigger as you would for a Christian! Why the - mischief didn’t you kick him on the shins, and then put your knee into his - face?” - </p> - <p> - “Give me the tumbler.” - </p> - <p> - The Secretary handed him the tumbler, containing a stiff “peg,” and he - drained it without giving any evidence of dissatisfaction. - </p> - <p> - “Now, how did it come about?” inquired Letts. “I hope you haven’t dragged - us into the business. If you have, there’ll be a question asked about it - in the House of Commons by one of those busybodies who have no other way - of proving to their constituents that they’re in attendance. ‘Mr Jones - asked the Secretary of State for the Colonies if he had any information to - give to the House regarding an alleged outrage by a white man, closely - associated with the family of her Majesty’s Commissioner at Picotee, upon - a native or natives of that colony.’ That’s how it will read. Then - there’ll be puppy leaders in those papers that deal with ‘justices’ - justice’: the boy who gets a month’s imprisonment for stealing a turnip—you - know that sort of thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep your hair on,” said Minton; “there’ll be no show in the House about - this. There has been no row. I went round to Koomadhi’s, and when we were - talking together I suddenly fancied that the day was just one for a - gymnastic display. I don’t know whether it was that polite manner of - Koomadhi’s or something else set me off, but I felt an irresistible - impulse to bounce. Without waiting to take off my coat I went out on the - verandah and hauled myself up to the roof: I don’t know how I did it. I - might have managed it ten years ago, when I was in condition; but, - considering how far off colour I am just now, by George! I don’t know how - I managed it. Anyhow, I did manage it.” - </p> - <p> - “At some trifling cost,” said Letts. “And what did you do on the roof when - you got there?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I swung myself down again. But I seemed to have a notion in the - meantime that that nice, well-groomed nigger would try to climb up beside - me, and I know that I had an impulse to catch him by the tail—the - tail of his coat, of course—and swing him through the shutters.” - </p> - <p> - “But he didn’t make such an ass of himself as to go through some - gymnastics, and the thermometer standing a degree or two under a hundred. - Well, you’ve got off well this time, Minton; but don’t do it again, that’s - all.” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you it was an impulse—a curious——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, impulses like that don’t come to chaps who have their wits about - them.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it was a bit of bounding, after all. But, somehow—well, - you wouldn’t just call me a bounder, would you, Letts?” - </p> - <p> - “Why shouldn’t I call you a bounder, I’d like to know? A bounder is one - who bounds, isn’t he?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I suppose—but I give you my word, I felt at that moment that - it was the most natural thing I could have done—climbing up to the - roof of the verandah, and then——” - </p> - <p> - “And then?” - </p> - <p> - “Swinging down again, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - He was afraid to tell Letts of that practical joke which he had played off - on Koomadhi, when he found that the Doctor did not lend himself to that - subtle piece of jocularity which Minton said he had conceived when sitting - on the roof of the verandah. Letts had been pretty hard on him for having - gone so far as to climb up to the roof; but what would he have said if he - had been told about that ink-bottle incident? - </p> - <p> - Minton thought it would, on the whole, be doing himself more ample justice - if he were to withhold from Letts all information regarding that - ink-bottle business. He said nothing about it, and when Letts mumbled - something when in the act of lighting a cigar—something about - fellows, who behave like idiots, going home and giving the whole West - Coast a bad name, whereas, properly treated, the climate was one of the - most salubrious, he remarked confidentially— - </p> - <p> - “I say, old chap, you needn’t mind jawing to the missus or the Governor - about this business; it’s not worth talking about, you know; but they’re - both given to exaggerate the importance of such things—Gertrude - especially. I’m a bit afraid of her still, I admit: we’ve only been - married about three months, you’ll remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Duke! here’s a chap who fancies that as time goes on he’ll get less - afraid of his wife,” cried Letts. “Well, well, some chaps do get - hallucinations early in life.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say a word about it, Letts. Where’s the good of making a poor girl - uneasy?” - </p> - <p> - “Where, indeed? But why ‘poor girl’?” - </p> - <p> - “Because she’s liable to be made uneasy at trifles. You’re not—only - riled. But I don’t blame you: you’ve been on this infernal coast for three - years.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s nothing the matter with the coast: it’s only the idiots——” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so: I seem somehow to feel that I’ve heard all that sort of thing - before. I’m one of the idiots.” - </p> - <p> - “Far be it from me to contradict so able a diagnosis of——” - </p> - <p> - He caught the cushion which Minton hurled at him, and laughed. Then he - became curiously thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - “By the way,” he said, “wasn’t it a bit rum that Koomadhi didn’t try to - prevent your swinging out to that roof? He’s a medico, and so should know - how such unnatural exertion is apt to play the mischief with a chap in - such a temperature as this. Didn’t he abuse you in his polite way?” - </p> - <p> - “Not he,” said Minton; “on the contrary, I believe I had an idea that I - heard him suggest... no, no; that’s a mistake, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s a mistake?” - </p> - <p> - “That idea of mine—I don’t know how I came to have it.” - </p> - <p> - “You were under the impression, somehow, that he suggested your climbing - to the roof? That was a rummy notion, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “A bit too rummy for general use. Oh no: he only said—now, what the - mischief did he say? Oh, no matter.” - </p> - <p> - “If he said ‘no matter’ when he saw that you were bent on gymnastics in - the middle of a day with the temperature hovering about a hundred, he - should be ashamed of himself.” - </p> - <p> - “He didn’t say ‘no matter.’ I’ve just said it. Let me say it again. You - should be a cross-examiner at the Bailey and Middlesex Session, Letts. - Now, mind, not a word to the missus. Don’t let her cross-examine you: - evade her as I’m evading you. I’ll see you after dinner: maybe we’ll have - a billiard together—I’m too tired now.” - </p> - <p> - He went off, leaving Letts trying to find out the place where he had left - off in a novel of George Eliot’s. George Eliot is still read on the West - Coast of Africa. - </p> - <p> - But when Minton had left the room Letts did not trouble himself further - with the novel. He tossed it away and lay back in his Madeira chair with a - frown, suggesting perplexity, on his face. - </p> - <p> - Some five minutes had passed, and yet the frown, so far from departing, - had but increased in intensity. - </p> - <p> - “I should like very much to know what his game is,” he muttered. “It - wouldn’t at all be a bad idea to induce sunstroke by over-exertion on a - day like this. But why can’t he remember if the nigger tried on that game - with him? P’chut! what’s the good of bothering about it when the game - didn’t come off, whatever it was?” - </p> - <p> - But in spite of his attempted dismissal of the whole matter from his mind, - he utterly failed to give to the confession of the youth in ‘Middlemarch’ - (it was to the effect that his father had been a pawnbroker, and it was - very properly made to the young woman to the accompaniment of the peals of - a terrific thunderstorm) the attention which so striking an incident - demanded. - </p> - <h3> - VIII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f it’s a command, - sir, I’ll obey; if not, well——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nonsense, Letts!” said the Commissioner. “There’s no command to a - dinner with my daughter, her husband, and another man.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that other man,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - “Now, I hope I’ll hear nothing more about your absurd objection to that - other man,” said the Commissioner. “I tell you that it’s not only - ridiculous, that old-fashioned prejudice of yours, it’s prejudicial to the - Service—it is, upon my soul, Letts. You know as well as I do that - the great thing is to get in touch with the natives, to show them that, as - common subjects of the Sovereign, enjoying equal rights wherever that flag - waves, we are, we are—well, we must show them that we’ve no - prejudices. You’ll admit that we must do that, Letts.” - </p> - <p> - (As Letts had not written out this particular speech for him, the - Commissioner was a trifle shaky, and found it to his advantage to abandon - the oratorical in favour of the colloquial style.) - </p> - <p> - “I don’t feel called on to show that I’m not prejudiced against the whole - race, sir—the whole race as a race, and Dr Koomadhi as an - individual,” said Letts. “Therefore I hope that you and Mrs Minton will - excuse me from your dinner.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my soul, I’m surprised at you, Letts,” said Commander Hope. “I - didn’t expect to find in these days of enlightenment such old-fashioned - prejudices as regards race. Great heavens! sir, is the accident of a man’s - being a negro to be looked on as debarring him from—from—well, - from all that you would make out—the friendship of the superior - race, the——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, there you are, sir; the superior race. In matters of equality there’s - no superior.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t some difference - between the two races. Don’t they say it was the effects of the curse, - Letts—the curse of Ham? If a race was subject to the disabilities of - an early curse duly recorded, you can’t quite expect them to recover - themselves all in a moment: it wouldn’t be reasonable—it wouldn’t be - Scriptural either. But I think that common charity should make us—well, - should make us do our best to mitigate their unfortunate position. That - appeal of yours to Scripture, Letts, was used as an argument in favour of - slavery. It’s unworthy of you.” - </p> - <p> - “I agree with you, sir; and I do so the more readily as I don’t recollect - ever having made use of such an authority as Scripture to bear out my - contention that the polish of a nigger is no deeper than the polish on a - mahogany table,—a thin and transparent film of lacquer. You see I’ve - had the advantage of living in Ashantee for six months, and when there I - got pretty well grounded on the negro as a man and a brother. A man—well, - perhaps; a brother, yes, own brother to the devil himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense, Letts! Can’t you keep Scripture out of the argument?” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you, sir, I saw things in the Ashantee country that made me feel - certain that the archfiend made that region his headquarters many years - ago, and that he has devoted himself ever since to the training of the - inhabitants. They are his chosen people. If you had seen the unspeakable - things that I saw during my six months in Ashantee, you would hold to my - belief that the people have been taught by Satan himself, and that they - have gone one better than their instructor. No, sir, I’ll not dine with - Koomadhi.” - </p> - <p> - Commander Hope shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You’re very pig-headed, Letts,” he remarked; “but we won’t quarrel. I’ll - see if I can make Gertrude understand how it is you refuse her - invitation.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope to heaven that she’ll never get a glimpse of the real negro, sir—the - negro with his lacquer scratched off.” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner laughed. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not tell her that, Letts,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Letts did not laugh. - </p> - <p> - It was really Gertrude who had suggested inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner at - the Residency. He had frequently partaken of the refreshment of tea in her - drawing-room, but she knew that tea counts for nothing in the social scale - even at Picotee: it conferred no more distinction upon one than a - presentation at the White House does upon a citizen of the United States, - or a citizen’s wife or sister. He had never been asked to dine at the - Commissioner’s table, and that she knew to be a distinction, and one which - he would be certain to value. - </p> - <p> - But when she suggested to her father that there would be a certain - gracefulness in the act of inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner, she found her - suggestion treated with that form of contumely known as the snub. Her - father had looked at her sternly and walked away, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Impossible! What! a nig———Oh, my dear, you don’t - understand these things. Impossible—impossible!” - </p> - <p> - Gertrude Minton, being a woman, may not have understood some things, but - she thoroughly understood how her father (and all other men) should be - treated upon occasions. She took her snubbing meekly, as every clever - woman takes a snubbing, when administered by a father, or a husband, or a - brother; and of course, later on, she carried her point—as any - clever woman will; for a properly sustained scheme of meekness, if - persisted in, will accomplish anything, by making the man who snubs - thoroughly ashamed of himself, and the man who is thoroughly ashamed of - himself will be glad to come to terms, no matter how disadvantageous to - himself, in order to avert a continuance of that reproachful meekness. - </p> - <p> - It was the Commissioner himself who, a few days later, went to his - daughter and told her that if she had her heart set upon inviting Dr - Koomadhi to dinner he would not interfere. It had at first seemed to him a - monstrous proposal, he admitted; but on thinking over it calmly, and with - the recollection of the circumstances (1) that the present day was one of - innovations; (2) that the negroes were treated on terms of the most - perfect equality by the people of the United States of America,—he - had come to the conclusion that it was necessary even for a British naval - officer to march with the times; consequently he was prepared to do - anything that his daughter suggested. He added, however, that up to the - date at which he was speaking he had got on very well without once asking - a nig——that is, a negro gentleman, to dine at his table. - </p> - <p> - “I knew you would consent, papa,” said Gertrude, throwing off her mask of - meekness in a moment, much to the satisfaction of her father. “I knew you - would consent: it would be quite unlike you not to consent. You are so - broad-minded—so generous—so reasonable in your views on all - native questions. I feel that I—that we—owe some amends—that - is, we should do our best to give him to understand that we do not regard - a mere accident of colour as disqualifying him from—from——” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so,” said her father. “We’ll ask Letts: he won’t come, though.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should he not come?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Letts is full of prejudice, my dear. He has more than once made - disparaging remarks regarding Koomadhi. You see, he lived for some months - in the Ashantee country, and saw the human sacrifices and other - barbarities.” - </p> - <p> - “If you speak to him with due authority, he will be compelled to come,” - said Gertrude warmly. “You are the head here, are you not?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her and assented, though he knew perfectly well that it was - not he who was the head of the Residency. Would he ask a nigger to dine at - his table if he was at the head of it? he asked himself. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, just tell Letts that you expect him to dine here on Wednesday - next, and he is bound to come. He is only secretary here.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Gertrude, you know as well as I do what it is to be secretary - here,” said the Commissioner. “Letts can do what he pleases. I shall - certainly not coerce him in any way: I know it would be no use trying.” - </p> - <p> - “But you must try,” cried Gertrude. She had, undoubtedly, quite got rid of - her meekness. “You must try; and you must succeed too.” - </p> - <p> - Well, the Commissioner had tried, and the result of his attempt has just - been recorded. - </p> - <p> - He told his daughter of the firm attitude that Letts had assumed—it - was just the attitude which he himself would like to assume if he had the - courage; but of course he did not suggest so much to Gertrude. - </p> - <p> - “The foolish fellow! I shall have to go to him myself,” said she. - </p> - <p> - And she went to him. - </p> - <h3> - IX. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>he had at one time - fancied that Letts was fond of her, and she had thought that her liking - for him was no mere fancy. A young woman with good looks and a pleasant - manner and a young man with a career before him are very apt to have - fancies in respect to each other on the West Coast of Africa, where good - looks and pleasant manners are not to be met with daily. Of course when - Gertrude had gone home for some months, and had met Major Minton, she - became aware of the fact that her liking for Letts was the merest fancy; - and perhaps when she returned with the story of her having promised (under - certain conditions) to marry Major Minton, Letts had also come to the - conclusion that his feeling towards Miss Hope was also a fancy. This is, - however, not quite so certain. At any rate, Letts and she had always been - very good friends. - </p> - <p> - For half-an-hour she talked to him quite pleasantly at first, then quite - earnestly—didactically and sarcastically—on the subject of his - foolish prejudice. She called it foolish when she was pleasant, and she - called it contemptible when she ceased to be pleasant, on a matter which - she, for her part, thought had been long ago passed out of the region of - controversy. Surely a man of Mr Letts’ intelligence and observation could - not be serious in objecting to dine with Dr Koomadhi simply because he - chanced to be a negro. - </p> - <p> - But Mr Letts assured her that he was quite serious in the matter. He - didn’t pretend, he said, to be superior in point of intelligence or power - of observation to men who made no objection to meet on terms of perfect - equality the whole Ethiopian race; but he had had certain experiences, he - said, and so long as he retained a recollection of these experiences he - would decline to sit at the same table with Dr Koomadhi or any of his - race. Then it was that Mrs Minton ceased to be altogether pleasant as to - the phrases which she employed in order to induce Mr Letts to change his - mind. - </p> - <p> - “You are not the only one with experiences,” she said. “I have had - experience not merely of negroes generally, but of Dr Koomadhi in - particular, and, as I told you some time ago, I have reason to believe him - to be a generous, Christian gentleman. That is why I wish to do all that - is in my power to make him understand that I regard his possession of the - characteristics of a gentleman and a Christian as more than placing him on - a level with us. I feel that I am inferior to Dr Koomadhi in those - qualities which our religion teaches us to regard as noblest.” - </p> - <p> - “And I hope with all my soul that you will never have a different - experience of him,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - “I know that I shall have no different experience of him,” said she, with - confidence in her pose and in her tone. - </p> - <p> - He made no reply to this. And then she went on to ask him some interesting - questions regarding the general design of the Maker of the Universe, and - His intention in respect of the negro; and though Letts answered all to - the best of his ability, he was not persuaded to accept Mrs Minton’s - invitation to dinner. - </p> - <p> - She was naturally very angry, and even went so far as to assure Mr Letts - that his refusal to accept the invitation which she offered him might be - prejudicial to his being offered any future invitations to dine at her - table—an assurance which he received without emotion. - </p> - <p> - She told her father of her failure, and though he shook his head with due - seriousness, yet he refrained from saying “I told you so.” But when her - husband heard that Letts would not be persuaded, he treated the incident - with a really remarkable degree of levity, declaring that if he himself - were independent, he would see Koomadhi and all the nigger race sent to a - region of congenial blackness before he would sit down to dinner with the - best of them. He thought Letts, however, something of an ass for not - swallowing his prejudices in a neighbourhood where there were so few - decent billiard-players. For himself, he said he would have no objection - to dine with bandits and cut-throats if they consented to join in a good - pool afterwards. - </p> - <p> - When Dr Koomadhi received his invitation to dine at the Residency—it - was in the handwriting of Mrs Minton—he smiled. His smiles worked at - low pressure in the daytime; he felt that he could not be too careful in - this respect; he might, if taken suddenly, be led on to smile naturally in - the presence of a man with a kodak, and where would he be then? - </p> - <p> - He smiled. He went to the drawer where he kept the curious stones, and - looked at them for some time, but without touching them. Then he went to - the drawer in which he kept the verses that he had written expressive of - the effect of Miss Hope’s eyes upon his soul. By a poetic licence he - assumed that he had a soul, and he liked to write about it: it gave him an - opportunity of making it the last word in a line following one that ended - with the word “control.” He read some of the pages, and honestly believed - that they were covered with poetry of the highest character. He felt - convinced that there was not another man in the whole Ashantee country who - could write as good poetry; and perhaps he was not wrong in his estimate - of his own powers, and the powers of his Ashantee brethren. - </p> - <p> - As he closed the door with a bang his face would have seemed to any one - who might have chanced to see it one mass of ivory. This effect, startling - though it was, was due merely to an incidental change of expression. He - had ceased to smile; his teeth were tightly closed, and his lips had - receded from them as a tidal wave recedes from the strand of a coral - island, disclosing an unsuspected reef. His lips hid in their billowy - depths the remainder of his face, and only that fearful double ridge of - locked teeth would have been visible to any one, had any one been present. - </p> - <p> - The words that Dr Koomadhi managed to utter without unlocking his teeth - were undoubtedly suggestive of very strong feeling; but no literary - interest attaches to their repetition. - </p> - <p> - He seated himself at his desk—after an interval—and wrote a - letter which was rather over than under the demands made by politeness - upon a man who has been asked to dinner in a rather formal way. He said it - would give him the greatest pleasure to accept the most kind invitation - with which he had been honoured by the Commissioner and Mrs Minton; and - then he added a word or two, which an ordinary gentleman would possibly - have thought superfluous, regarding the pride which he felt at being the - recipient of such a distinction. - </p> - <p> - It could not be said, however, that there was anything in his mode of - conducting himself at the dinner-table that suggested any want of - familiarity on his part with the habits of good society. He did not eat - with his knife, though he might have done so without imperilling in any - degree the safety of his mouth, nor did he make any mistake regarding his - ice-pudding or his jelly. He also drank his champagne out of the right - glass, and he did not take it for granted that the water in his - finger-bowl was for any but external use. - </p> - <p> - As he lay back in his chair, with his serviette across his knees and a - cigarette between his fingers, discussing with the Commissioner, with that - mild forbearance which one assumes towards one’s host, the political - situation of the hour, when Mrs Minton had left the room, he looked the - picture of a model English gentleman—a silhouette picture. He hoped - that the Conservatives would not go to the country without a programme. - What were the leaders thinking of that they hadn’t familiarised the - country with the policy they meant to pursue should they be returned to - power? Home Rule for Ireland! Was there ever so ridiculous a demand - seriously made to the country? Why, the Irish were, he assured his host, - very little better than savages: he should know—he had been in - Ireland for close upon a fortnight. He had some amusing Irish stories. He - imitated the brogue of the peasantry. He didn’t say it was unmusical; but - Home Rule!... the idea was too ridiculous to be entertained by any one who - knew the people. - </p> - <p> - His political views were sound beyond a doubt. They were precisely the - views of the Commissioner and his son-in-law, and the green chartreuse was - velvety as it should be. - </p> - <p> - For this evening only Major Minton sang to his wife’s accompaniment a - sentimental song which dwelt upon the misery of meeting daily with smiles - a certain person, while his, the singer’s, heart was breaking. He sang it - with well-simulated feeling. One would never have thought that there was a - banjo in the house. - </p> - <p> - Then Mrs Minton sang a lovely Scotch song about a burn; but it turned out - that the burn was water and not fire, and the Commissioner dozed in a - corner. - </p> - <p> - At last Major Minton suggested a game of billiards, and the suggestion was - acted on without delay. - </p> - <p> - After playing a game with Dr Koomadhi, while her husband looked on and - criticised the strokes from the standpoint of a lenient if discriminating - observer, Mrs Minton said “goodnight”; she was tired, she said, and she - knew that her husband and Dr Koomadhi meant to play all night, so she - thought she might as well go soon as late. - </p> - <p> - Of course Dr Koomadhi entreated her not to leave them. They would, he - assured her, do anything to retain her; they would even play a four game—abhorred - of billiard-players—if she would stay. Her husband did not join in - the entreaties of their guest. He played tricky cannons until she had left - the room. - </p> - <h3> - X. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>hall I break?” - Minton asked. “I’ll play with spot for a change.” - </p> - <p> - Before he had completed his second break of twenty-eight the Commissioner - had fallen asleep with his cigar between his fingers. When they had - commenced he had been critical. But he broke down under the monotony of - the second moderate break. - </p> - <p> - For about a quarter of an hour the game went on, and all the variations - from “Hard lines!” to “Dammitall!” were indulged in by the players. Minton - had scored eighty against Koomadhi’s seventy-one, and was about to play a - hazard requiring great judgment, when his opponent came behind him, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see how it can be done: a cannon is the easier game.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’ll try the hazard anyway, and try to leave the red over the - pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll need to do it very gently,” said his opponent, almost leaning over - him as he took his aim at the red ball. - </p> - <p> - For quite half a minute Minton hung over his cue, and in that space of - time Koomadhi had taken out of his pocket the curious stone shaped like a - broad ear, and had put it to his own mouth for a second or two while he - stood behind the player, returning it quickly to his pocket before the cue - had struck the ball. - </p> - <p> - “What a stroke!” cried Minton. “It would disgrace our friend Jacco.” - </p> - <p> - “I said the cannon was the easier game,” remarked Koomadhi, chalking his - cue. “Hallo! what are you going to do?” - </p> - <p> - “Who the mischief could play billiards a night like this in such a suit of - armour as this?” laughed Minton. He was in the act of pulling his shirt - over his head, and he spoke from within its folds. In another second he - was stripped to the waist. “Now, my friend,” he chuckled, “we’ll see - who’ll win this game. This is the proper rig for any one who means to play - billiards as billiards should be played.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” said Koomadhi. “Come; you had - much better put on your shirt. The Commissioner may object.” - </p> - <p> - “Let him object,” laughed the half-naked man; “he’s an old fogey anyway. - Like most naval men, he has no heart in anything beyond the shape of a - button and the exact spot where it should be worn. How was it we had no - nuts for dinner, I should like to know?” - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi had made a cannon. He walked half-way round the table to get the - chalk, and in a second Major Minton had picked up the red ball and slipped - it into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - When Koomadhi turned to play the screw back, which he meant to do - carefully, only the white balls were on the table, and Minton denied all - knowledge of the whereabouts of the red. - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi laughed, and put his cue into the stand. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I say, a joke’s a joke!” chuckled Minton, producing the ball from, - his pocket. “You won’t play any more? Oh, yes; we’ll have another game, - only for a change we’ll play it with our feet. Now, why the mischief - people don’t play it with their feet I can’t understand. It stands to - reason that the stroke must be far surer. I’ll show you what I mean. Oh, - confound those things!—I’ll have them off in a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said the Doctor firmly, as Major Minton - kicked off his shoes and hastened to get rid of the only garments that he - was wearing. “For God’s sake, don’t make such a fool of yourself!” - </p> - <p> - He had caught his hands, preventing his carrying out his singular design - of illustrating the prehensile character of the muscles of the human foot. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then, put on your shirt and finish your soda-water. I must be off.” - </p> - <p> - Major Minton grinned, and, turning suddenly, caught Dr Koomadhi by the - tail of his dress-coat—he had just put it on—and with a quick - jerk upset him on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “God bless my soul!” cried the Commissioner, waking up. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi was brushing the dust off his waistcoat; Major Minton was - swinging halfway up one of the ropes that controlled the ventilator of the - roof. - </p> - <p> - “What in the name of all that’s ridiculous is this?” said the - Commissioner. “By the Lord! I seem to be still dreaming—a nightmare, - by George, sir!” - </p> - <p> - “I really must ask your pardon, sir,” said Koomadhi; “I had no idea that - the thing would go on so far as it has. Major Minton and I were having a - rather funny trial of strength. He was on one rope, I was on the other. I - let go my hold. Come down, man—come down—the game is over.” - </p> - <p> - “And a most peculiar game it seems to have been,” said the Commissioner. - “Great heavens! it can’t be possible that he took off his shirt!” - </p> - <p> - “It was very foolish, sir,” said Koomadhi. “I think I’ll say good-night.” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner paid no attention to him; all his attention was given to - his son-in-law, who was swinging negligently with one hand on the - ventilator rope. When he at last dropped to the floor, Minton rubbed his - eyes and looked around him in a dazed way. - </p> - <p> - “My God!” he muttered. “How do I come to be like this—this? Where’s - my shirt?” - </p> - <p> - “You should be ashamed of yourself, sir,” said the Commissioner sternly. - “What have you been drinking in your soda-water?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing,” said Minton, putting on his shirt. “I drank nothing but - soda-water. What possessed me to make such an ass of myself I can’t tell. - I beg your pardon, Koomadhi. I assure you I didn’t mean to—why, it - all appears like a dream to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, a dream! Good night, Dr Koomadhi,” said the Commissioner. “I’m sorry - that anything should happen——” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried Koomadhi. “I fear - that I was, after all, the most to blame. I should have known where this - sort of horse-play was likely to land us. Good night, sir; I really feel - that an apology should come from me. Good night, Minton. No, no; don’t say - a word. I feel that I have disgraced myself for ever.” - </p> - <p> - Minton, now clothed and in his right mind, saw him off, and then returned - to the presence of his father-in-law. He knew that the Commissioner was - desirous of having a word or two with him, and he was not the man to run - away from such an interview. In fact, he himself was anxious to have the - first word; and he had it. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, sir,” he said; “I want to say that I know I made an infernal - fool of myself. Why I did it I can’t tell; I touched nothing but - soda-water all night.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there is the less excuse for your behaviour,” said the Commissioner - drily. “I don’t want to say anything more about this unhappy business. - Only, I will point out to you that Koomadhi could easily make things very - disagreeable for us if he were so minded. You threw him on the floor. - Heavens above!” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I did throw him; but why?—why?—why?—that’s - what I want to know.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps an explanation may come to you in the course of a day or two. You - had better go to bed now.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I’ll go to bed. Only—of course there’s no reason why you - should let the matter go farther.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly, for my own sake and yours, will keep it as secret as - possible. I only hope that Koomadhi——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Koomadhi is all right. But I don’t see that Gertrude or Letts should - hear anything of it.” - </p> - <p> - “They don’t hear anything of it from me, I promise you. Will you ring for - the lamps to be turned out?” - </p> - <p> - Dick Minton pulled the bell. His father-inlaw went to his bed without a - word. - </p> - <p> - But an hour had passed before Dick went to his room. He lit a cigar and - strolled away from the Residency to the brink of the sea; and there, on - the low scrub, looking out to the enormous rollers that broke on the - shallow beach two miles from where he stood, spreading their white foam - all around, he tried to think how it was he had been led to behave more - foolishly than he had ever behaved since the days of his youth. - </p> - <p> - He was not successful in his attempts in this direction. - </p> - <p> - And Dr Koomadhi also remained thinking his thoughts for fully half an hour - after reaching that pleasant verandah of his, which got every breath that - came inland from the sea. - </p> - <p> - “I can do it easily enough—yes, in his presence; but what good is - that to me?” he muttered. “No good whatever—just the opposite. I - must have the Khabela—ah, the Khabela! That works miles apart.” - </p> - <p> - Two days later he paid his visit to the Residency and drank tea with Mrs - Minton. He told her that he found it necessary to go up country for ten - days or so. He knew of a nice miasma tract, and he hoped to gain in a few - days as much information regarding its operations on the human frame as he - could obtain in as many years in the comparative salubriousness of the - coast. - </p> - <p> - Her husband did not put in an appearance while Koomadhi was in the - drawing-room. His wife reproached him for that. - </p> - <p> - He took her reproach meekly. - </p> - <h3> - XI. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>oonlight was - flooding the forest beyond the native village of Moumbossa on the Upper - Gambia, but where Dr Koomadhi was walking no moonbeam penetrated. The - branches formed an arch above him as dense with interwoven boughs and - thick leaves as though the arch was a railway tunnel. Only in the far - distance a gleam of light could be seen. - </p> - <p> - At times the deep silence of the night was broken by the many sounds of - the tropical jungle. Every sound was familiar to Dr Koomadhi, and he - laughed joyously as one laughs on recognising the voice of a friend. The - wild shriek of a monkey pounced upon by some other creature, the horrible - laugh of a hyena, the yell of a lory, and then a deep silence. He felt at - home in the midst of that forest, though when he spoke of home within the - hearing of civilised people, he meant it to be understood that he referred - to England. - </p> - <p> - When he emerged from the brake he found himself gazing at a solitary - beehive hut in the centre of a great cleared space, A quarter of a mile - away the moonlight showed him the village of Moumbossa, with its lines of - palms and plantains. - </p> - <p> - He walked up to the hut without removing his rifle from his shoulder, and - stood for some moments at the entrance. Then he heard a voice saying to - him in the tongue of the Ashantees— - </p> - <p> - “Enter, my son, and let thy mother see if thy face is changed.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot enter, mother,” he replied in the same language. “But I have - come far and in peril to talk with you. We must talk together in the - moonlight.” - </p> - <p> - He retained among his other memories a vivid recollection of the interior - of a native hut. He could not bring himself to face the ordeal of entering - the one before him. - </p> - <p> - “I will soon be beside you,” came the voice; and in a few moments there - crawled out from the entering-place a half-naked old negress, of great - stature, and with only the smallest perceptible stoop. She walked round Dr - Koomadhi, and then looked into his face with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, “it is indeed you, my son, and I see that you need my - services.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right, mother,” said he. “I wondered if you still retained your - old powers. That is why I stood for some minutes outside the hut. I said, - ‘If my mother has still her messengers in the air, and in the earth, they - will tell her that her son has come to her once more. - </p> - <p> - “You should not have doubted,” she said. “Do you fancy that such powers as - have come to me by the possession of the Sacred Khabela can decay by - reason of age or the weight of days?” - </p> - <p> - “If that had been my belief, should I have come to you this night?” he - asked. “I have need of all your powers. I have need of all the powers of - the Khabela.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall have all that I can command: are you not my son?” said the old - woman. “But have you found the Sacred Ear to fail you?” - </p> - <p> - “Never, mother,” said Dr Koomadhi. “You told me what it could do, and it - has never failed me within its limits. But I must have the more powerful - charm of the Sacred Mouth. My need is extreme.” - </p> - <p> - “It must be extreme, and I will not deny it to you,” said his mother. “You - know what it can do. No man or woman can withstand it. If any offspring of - woman should hold that Sacred Mouth to his ear, or her ear, as the case - may be, the words which you whisper into the Sacred Ear will seem the - truth, whatever those words may be. You know that. But the magic of the - Khabela is far greater. It will work at a distance. But if it is lost you - know what the consequences will be. You know the decree of the great - Fanshatee, the monkey-god?” - </p> - <p> - “I know it. The stone Khabela shall not be lost. I accept the - responsibility. I must have command over it until the return of the moon.” - </p> - <p> - “And thou shalt have control of it, whether for good or evil. It told me - that thou wert nigh to-night, so that thou must have the Ear charm in thy - possession even now.” - </p> - <p> - “It is here, mother, in this pocket. I have shown it to no mortal whose - colour is not as our colour, whose hair is not as our hair.” - </p> - <p> - “The white men laugh at all magic such as ours, I have heard.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they laugh at it. But some of them practise a form of it themselves. - I have seen one practise it in a great room in England. Without the aid of - a mystic stone he told sober men that they were drunk, and they acted as - drunk men; he told rough fellows that they were priests, and they preached - sermons as long and as stupid as any that we have heard missionaries - preach.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet they say that our magic is a thing accursed.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; that is the way with the white men. When they have said their word - ‘damn’ on any matter, they believe that the last word has been said upon - it, and all that other men may say they laugh at.” - </p> - <p> - “They are fools, my son; and thou art a fool to dwell among them.” - </p> - <p> - “They are wise men up to a certain point. They are only fools on the - subject of names. They say that magic is accursed; but they say that - hypnotism is science, and science is the only thing in which they - believe.” He had some trouble translating the word hypnotism into the - native speech. “Enough about them. Let me have the mystery, and then let - me have a cake that has been baked in the earth with the leaves of the - betel.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou shalt have both, ray son, before the morning light. Enter my hut, - and I will dream that thou art a child again.” - </p> - <p> - But that was just where Dr Koomadhi drew the line. He would not crawl into - the hut even to make his venerable mother fancy that his youth was renewed - like the eagles. - </p> - <p> - He returned to Picotee the next day, and as he walked through the forest - each side of the bush track was lined with monkeys. They came from far and - near and put their faces down to the ground, their fore-hands at the back - of their heads. - </p> - <p> - He talked to them in simian. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. “Ye know that I am the holder of the Khabela, intrusted to - me by my brother Fanshatee; but if I lose it your attitude will not be the - same.” - </p> - <h3> - XII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo days had - passed, after his return to Picotee, before Dr Koomadhi found time to call - at the Residency. He found Major Minton lying on the cane settee in a - condition of perspiration and exhaustion. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure Dr Koomadhi will bear me out in what I say,” said Mrs Minton, as - the Doctor entered the room. “I’ve been lecturing my husband upon the - danger of taking such violent exercise as he has been indulging in,” she - continued. “Just look at the state that he is in, Doctor. The idea of any - sane man on a day like this entering into a climbing contest with a - monkey!” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! Is that what he has been about—and the thermometer - nearer a hundred than ninety?” cried the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I admit that I was an ass,” muttered the Major. “But somehow I felt that - I should show Jacco that I could lick him on his own ground,—not - exactly his ground—we were never on the ground.” - </p> - <p> - “And when I went out I found them swinging on the topmost bough of one of - the trees,” said Mrs Minton. “Upon my word, my father will feel - scandalised. Such a thing never occurred at the Residency before.” - </p> - <p> - “Apart from the social aspect of the incident, I am bound to say that it - was most indiscreet,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Nothing precipitates sunstroke - like over-exertion in a high temperature. Major, this must not occur - again.” - </p> - <p> - “All right: don’t make a fuss, or you’ll soon be as hot as I am,” said the - Major, rising with difficulty and crossing the room—he was bent - almost double—to his wife’s tea-table. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo,” said the Doctor, “what have you been doing to yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “It is not what I have been doing but what I’ve left undone that you - notice,” laughed the Major. “The fact is that I couldn’t be bothered - shaving for the last few mornings. That’s what you notice.” - </p> - <p> - That was precisely what the Doctor did notice. He noticed the tossed hair - of the Major’s head and such bristles of a beard and whiskers as had - completely altered the appearance of his face. He also noticed that when - Mrs Minton turned away for a moment her husband deftly abstracted two - lumps of sugar from the bowl and began eating them surreptitiously. - </p> - <p> - “No nuts,” he heard him mutter contemptuously some time afterwards. - </p> - <p> - “Nuts?” said Mrs Minton. “You’ll ruin your digestion if you eat any more - nuts, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, will you join your voice with mine in protest - against this foolish boy’s fancy for nuts? You speak with the recognised - authority of a medical man. I can only speak as a wife, and I am not so - foolish as to fancy that that constitutes any claim to attention. If you - continue rubbing your chest in that absurd way, Dick, you’ll certainly - make a raw.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi did not fail to observe that the Major was rubbing his chest - with his bent-up fingers. - </p> - <p> - “I’m quite surprised at your imprudence,” said he, shaking his head. “You - told me some time ago that though you had been for seven years in India, - you never had a touch of fever, and you attributed this to the attention - you paid to your diet. Now you know as well as I do that if a man requires - to be careful in India, there is double reason for him to be careful on - the West Coast of Africa. How can you so disregard the most elementary - laws of health?” - </p> - <p> - Major Minton laughed. - </p> - <p> - “There’s nothing like exercise,” he said, “and the best of all exercise is - climbing. Why, my dear Koomadhi, haven’t the greatest intellects of the - age taken to climbing? Wasn’t Tyndall a splendid mountaineer? I don’t - profess to be superior to Tyndall. Now, as I can’t get mountains to climb - in this neighbourhood I take naturally to the trees. I think sometimes I - could pass the rest of my life pleasantly enough here. Man wants but - little here below. Give me a branch to swing on, a green cocoa-nut, and a - friend who won’t resent a practical joke—I want nothing more. By the - way, it’s odd that I never saw until lately—in fact, until two days - ago—what good fun there is in a practical joke.” - </p> - <p> - “His perception of what he calls good fun deprived me of my brushes and - comb this morning,” said Mrs Minton. “I must confess I fail to see the - humour in hiding one’s brushes and comb.” - </p> - <p> - “It was the most innocent lark in the world, and you had no reason to be - so put out about it,” said her husband, leaning over the back of her - chair. Dr Koomadhi saw that he was tying the sash of her loose gown to the - wickerwork of the table at which she was sitting, so that she could not - rise without overturning the tray with the cups. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Major,” said the Doctor, “a jest is a jest, but your wife’s china——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you have given me away; but I’ll be equal to you, never fear,” said - the Major, shambling off as his wife prepared to loose the knot of her - sash from the table. - </p> - <p> - She did not speak a word, but her face was flushed, and it was plain that - she was greatly annoyed. The flush upon her face deepened when her husband - went out to the verandah and uttered a curious guttural cry. - </p> - <p> - “How has he learned that?” asked Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “Learned what?” asked Mrs Minton. - </p> - <p> - “That cry.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s some of his foolishness.” - </p> - <p> - “I daresay; but——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I thought I could bring you here, my friend,” cried the Major, as - Jacco the baboon swung off his usual place over the porch into his arms. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi watched the creature run its fingers through the Major’s - disordered hair. He heard the guttural sound made by the baboon, and he - heard it responded to by the Major. - </p> - <p> - He found that Major Minton was on a level with himself in his acquaintance - with the simian language. - </p> - <p> - He rose and took leave of Mrs Minton, and then, with a word of warning in - regard to his imprudent exercises, of the Major, left the Residency. - </p> - <p> - It was not until he had reached his own house that he discovered that upon - the back of his spotless linen coat there had been executed in ink the - grinning face of a clown. He recollected that he had seen Major Minton - toying with a quill pen behind him as he sat drinking tea. - </p> - <h3> - XIII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> few days later Dr - Koomadhi was visited—unofficially—by Commander Hope. The poor - Commissioner was as grave as if an impetuous French naval officer had just - been reported to have insulted the British flag on some part of the coast - protected (nominally) by that variegated bunting. He was anxious to - consult the Doctor regarding the condition of Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed?” said the Doctor. “What do you suppose is the matter with him, - sir?” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner tapped his forehead significantly. - </p> - <p> - “A slight touch of sunstroke, I fancy,” he replied. “He has been behaving - strangely—giving us a great deal of uneasiness, Koomadhi. Oh yes, - it’s clearly a touch of sunstroke.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s bad—but not sufficiently bad to be very grave about, sir,” - said the Doctor. “You know how these attacks pass away, leaving scarcely a - trace behind, if properly treated. You have, of course, applied the ice?” - </p> - <p> - “We’ve applied nothing,” said the Commissioner. “He’s beyond our control, - Koomadhi. He left the Residency last evening and has not turned up since.” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens!” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a fact. Oh, he must be stark, staring mad”—the Commissioner - was walking up and down the Doctor’s room in a state of most unofficial - perturbation. “I found it necessary to speak to him pretty plainly a - couple’ of days ago. It was bad enough for him to climb up the mast and - nail the flag to the pole so that it could not be hauled down at sunset, - but when it conies to dropping the keys of the despatch-boxes into the - water-tank, the thing ceases to be a joke. I gave him a good slating, and - he sulked. He had an idea, his wife told me, that he understood the simian - language, and he was for ever practising his knowledge upon our tame - baboon. What on earth does that mean, if not sunstroke—tell me that, - Koomadhi?” - </p> - <p> - “It looks very like sunstroke, indeed,” said the Doctor. “But where can he - have disappeared to?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s the question that makes me feel uneasy,” said the Commissioner. “I - don’t like to make a fuss just yet, but—I’ll tell you what it is, - Koomadhi,”—he lowered his voice to a whisper,—“the man has a - delusion that he is an ape—it’s impossible to keep it a secret any - longer. God help us all! God help my poor girl—my poor girl!” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner broke down completely, and wept with his face bowed down - to his hands. He was very unofficial—tears are not official. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sir, you must not give way like this,” said the Doctor. “This coast - is the very devil for men like Minton, who will not take reasonable - precautions. But there’s no reason to be alarmed just yet. The <i>Penguin</i> - will be here in a few days, and the instant the steamer drops her anchor - we’ll ship him aboard. He’ll be all right, take my word for it, when he - sails a few degrees northward.” - </p> - <p> - “But where is he now?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s probably loafing around the outskirts of the jungle; but he’ll be - safe enough, and he’ll return, most likely, within the next few hours.” - </p> - <p> - “You are of that opinion?” - </p> - <p> - “Assuredly. Above all things, there must be no talk about this business,—it - might ruin him socially; and your daughter——” - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl! poor girl! I agree with you, Koomadhi,—it must be kept a - secret; no human being must know about this shocking business.” - </p> - <p> - “If he does not return before to-night, send a message to me, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not fail. Poor girl! Oh, Koomadhi, her heart will be broken—her - heart will be broken!” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner went away, looking at least ten years older than when he - had last been seen by Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - The Doctor watched him stumbling down the pathway: then he laughed and - opened a bottle of champagne, which he drank at a gulp—it was only - when he was alone that he allowed himself the luxury of drinking champagne - in gulps. - </p> - <p> - Shortly before midnight he paid a visit to the barracks of the Houssas, - and found that the officer who was on the sick list was very much better. - Returning by the side of the jungle, he heard the sound of steps and a - laugh behind him. It might have been the laugh of a man, but the steps - were not those of a man. - </p> - <p> - He looked round. - </p> - <p> - A shambling creature was following him—a creature with a hairy face - and matted locks—a creature whose eyes gleamed wildly in the - moonlight. - </p> - <p> - “How the mischief can you walk so fast along a path like this?” came the - voice of Major Minton from the hairy jaws of the Thing. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not walking so fast, after all,” said the Doctor. He had not given - the least start on coming face to face with the Thing. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care much about walking on roads; but I’ll back myself to cross a - forest without leaving the trees,” said the Thing. “That would beat you, - Koomadhi. Oh, by the way——” Here he emitted some guttural - sounds. - </p> - <p> - The simian language was recognised by the Doctor, and replied to with a - smile, and for some time the two exchanged remarks. The Doctor was the - first to break down. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t understand that expression,” said he, when the other had repeated - some sounds. - </p> - <p> - “Why, you fool, that means, ‘Is there anything to drink handy?’” said the - voice of Major Minton. “Why, I know more of the language than you. We’ve - been talking nothing else for the past day or two.” - </p> - <p> - “Where have you been?” - </p> - <p> - “In the jungle. Where else would you have me be?” - </p> - <p> - “Where, indeed? You’d better stay with me to-night. I’ll give you - something to drink.” - </p> - <p> - “That will suit me nicely. I’m a bit thirsty, and——” Here he - lapsed into the simian jabber. - </p> - <p> - He curled himself up in a corner of the sofa, and took the tumbler that Dr - Koomadhi offered to him, drinking off the contents pretty much after the - style of the Doctor when alone. He then began talking about the sense of - freedom incidental to a life spent in the jungle, and every now and again - his words became what was long ago known as gibberish; but nearly every - utterance was intelligible to the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - After some time had passed, the Doctor took the carved stones out of the - desk drawer, and, handing one to his companion, said— - </p> - <p> - “By the way, I wonder if you are still deaf to the sound of this thing. - Try it again.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the good? I’m not such a fool as to fancy that any sound can come - from a stone.” - </p> - <p> - “Doesn’t Shakespeare say something about ‘sermons in stones’?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Shakespeare? He could hear things and see things that no one else - could. Well, give me the stone.” - </p> - <p> - He put the roughly carved lips to his ear, while the Doctor raised the - other to his own mouth. - </p> - <p> - “You can hear no murmur?” said the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing whatever. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll go asleep.” - </p> - <p> - “I can give you a bed.” - </p> - <p> - “A bed? What rot! No, thank you, I’ll be comfortable enough here.” - </p> - <p> - He curled himself up and went asleep before the Doctor’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - When the Doctor entered his sitting-room the next morning the apartment - was empty. - </p> - <h3> - XIV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> was a fool for - not detaining him by force,” said Dr Koomadhi, in telling the - Commissioner, a few hours later, that his son-in-law had paid a visit to - his (the Doctor’s) house. “But there really is nothing to be alarmed - about. He has a whim, but he’ll soon tire of it.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope to heavens he’ll return by to-morrow evening,” said the Commander. - “The <i>Penguin</i> will be here in the morning, and we must get him - aboard by some means. What a pity you didn’t lock him in.” - </p> - <p> - “To tell you the truth, I was afraid to do so—if he had made a row - in the morning on feeling himself a prisoner the thing would be over the - town before noon. Oh, you may be certain that he’ll turn up again either - to-day or tomorrow.” - </p> - <p> - That night one of the officers of the Houssas gave Dr Koomadhi a - circumstantial account of a strange chimpanzee which one of the men had - seen on the outskirts of the jungle at daybreak. If the thing wasn’t a - chimpanzee it certainly was a gorilla, the officer said, and he meant to - have a shot at it. Would the Doctor join him in the hunt? he inquired. - </p> - <p> - The Doctor said he would be delighted to do so, but not before the next - evening, he had so much on hand. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Penguin’s</i> gun was heard early in the morning, and Dr Koomadhi - had the privilege of reading his ‘Saturday Review’ at breakfast. - </p> - <p> - He went to the Residency before noon. The Commissioner was not there. He - had gone aboard the <i>Penguin</i>, Mr Letts, the Secretary, said, without - looking up from his paper. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you know anything about Minton, Mr Letts,” whispered - Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you know anything about him, Dr Koomadhi,” said Mr Letts. - </p> - <p> - “He has not been near me since the night before last,” said the Doctor. - “Has he been here?” - </p> - <p> - Before the Secretary could reply a servant knocked at the office door - conveying Mrs Minton’s compliments to Dr Koomadhi, and to inquire if he - would be good enough to step into the breakfast-room until the - Commissioner returned from the mail steamer. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi said he would be pleased to do so, and he left the office and - followed the servant into the breakfast-room—an apartment which - occupied one end of the Residency, and had windows opening upon the - verandah, and affording a view of that portion of the jungle which was - nearest Picotee. - </p> - <p> - He scarcely recognised Gertrude Minton. The deadly pale, worn woman who - greeted him silently, had nothing in common with the brilliant daughter of - the Commissioner who, a few months before, had been as exquisite as a lily - in the midst of a jungle. - </p> - <p> - “What are we to do—what are we to do?” she whispered. “You have seen - him since we saw him. What did he say? Will he return in time to be put - aboard the steamer? Oh, for God’s sake, give me a word of hope—one - word to keep me from going mad too!” - </p> - <p> - “Mrs Minton,” said Dr Koomadhi, “you have asked me a great many questions. - May I remind you that I never asked but one question of you?” - </p> - <p> - “One question? What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I asked you if you thought you could marry me. What was your answer?” - </p> - <p> - “Why do you come here to remind me of that? If you are thinking of that - fault of mine—it was cruel, I know, but I did not mean it—if - you are thinking of that rather than of the best way to help us, you had - much better have stayed away.” - </p> - <p> - “You said you would as soon marry a baboon as marry me.” - </p> - <p> - “I checked myself.” - </p> - <p> - “When you had practically said it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what then?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing; you did not marry me, and the alternative was your own choice.” - </p> - <p> - “The alternative?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; you married a baboon. You know it. Is there any doubt on your mind? - Come to this window.” - </p> - <p> - He had suddenly crossed the room to a window facing the jungle. She - staggered to his side. He threw open the shutter and pointed out. - </p> - <p> - What Mrs Minton saw was a huge ape running on all fours across the cleared - space just outside the jungle. The creature ran on for some distance, then - stopped and turned round gibbering. Then from the jungle there came - another ape, only in a more upright posture. With a yell he caught the - hand of the first, and the creature stood upright. Then, hand in hand, in - a horribly grotesque dance, they advanced together until they were within - a hundred yards of the Residency. - </p> - <p> - “You see—you see,” laughed Dr Koomadhi. “You may still be able to - recognise some of his features in spite of the transformation. You have - had your choice. A baboon is your husband, and your child——” - </p> - <p> - The shriek that the woman gave before falling to the floor frightened even - Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - In a second the room door was opened. Mr Letts appeared. He rushed at Dr - Koomadhi, and had his hands on his throat before the Doctor could raise - Mrs Minton. He forced the negro backward into the porch, and flung him out - almost upon the Commissioner and Mr Ross, the surgeon of the <i>Penguin</i>, - who were in the act of entering. - </p> - <p> - “For heaven’s sake, Letts!” cried the Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - “You infernal nigger!” shouted Letts, as Dr Koomadhi picked himself up. - “You infernal nigger! if ever you show your face here again, I’ll break - every bone in your body!” - </p> - <p> - “What the blazes is the matter?” asked. Ross. - </p> - <p> - “I believe that that devil has killed Mrs Minton,” said the Secretary. “If - he has, by God! I’ll kill him.” - </p> - <h3> - XV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi went to - his house in dignified silence. He put a couple of glasses of brandy into - a bottle of champagne and gulped down the whole. Then he wrote a short - note to the officer of the Houssas, mentioning that he would be happy to - help him to shoot the great ape at daybreak. - </p> - <p> - He sent off the letter, and before he closed his desk he thought he would - restore the carved stones to their receptacle. He had put them into his - pocket before starting for the Residency; but now when he felt for them in - his pocket he failed to find them. He was overcome with the fear that he - had lost them. It suddenly occurred to him that they had been thrown out - of his pocket by the violence of the man who had flung him into the road. - If so, they would be lying on the pathway, and they would be safe enough - there until dark, when he could go and search for them. - </p> - <p> - At moonrise he went out and walked down the road to the “Residency, but - when just at the porch he was confronted by Ross, who was leaving the - house. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo!” cried the surgeon. “I was just about to stroll up to you.” - </p> - <p> - “And I was determined not to miss you,” said Koomadhi. “How is Mrs Minton? - It will be brain fever, I’m afraid.” - </p> - <p> - “It looks very like it,” said Ross. “She is delirious. How did the attack - come? That fool of a Secretary will give no explanation of his conduct to - you. The Commissioner says he will either apologise or leave the station.” - </p> - <p> - “The Secretary is a fool,” said Koomadhi. “Great heavens! to think that - there are still some men like that—steeped to the lips in prejudice - against the race to which I am proud to belong! We’ll not talk of him; but - I’ll certainly demand an apology. The poor woman—she is little more - than a girl, Ross! The breaking strain was reached when she was in the act - of telling me about her husband.” - </p> - <p> - “Sunstroke, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Undoubtedly. He has been behaving queerly for some time. Walk back with - me and have something to drink.” - </p> - <p> - “I can only stay for an hour,” said Ross. “Mrs Bryson, the wife of the - telegraphist, is nursing Mrs Minton; but it won’t do for me to be absent - for long.” - </p> - <p> - He remained chatting with Koomadhi for about an hour, and then left for - the Residency alone. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi determined to wait until midnight, when he might be pretty - certain that his search for the stones would not be interrupted. - </p> - <p> - The door of the Residency was opened for Mr Ross by Letts. - </p> - <p> - “Step this way, Ross,” said he, in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - Ross went into the Secretary’s room. Sitting on a cane chair with a cigar - in his mouth and a tall glass at his elbow was a man from whom came a - strong perfume of shaving-soap. The man had plainly been recently shaved. - His face was very smooth. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo, Ross, old chap!” said this man. - </p> - <p> - “My God, it’s Minton!” cried the surgeon. - </p> - <p> - “No one else,” said Minton. “What is all this about my poor wife? Don’t - tell me that it’s serious.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s serious enough,” said Ross. “But, unless a change for the worse - comes before morning, there is no reason for alarm.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God!” said Minton. “What a fool I was to set about investigating - that monkey language! I fancied that I had mastered a word or two, and I - ventured into the jungle and got lost. I returned here an hour ago in a - woful state of dilapidation. I’m getting better every minute. For God’s - sake let me know how my poor wife is now!” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll get your report, Ross, to save your leaving the room,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - The Secretary took the surgeon into an empty apartment. - </p> - <p> - “He returned three-quarters of an hour ago,” he said, in a low voice. “I - never got such a shock as when I saw him—luckily I was at the door. - He was practically naked; and with his hair tangled over his head, and his - face one mass of bristles, he was to all intents and purposes a baboon. - That nigger is at the bottom of it all. I followed him when he visited Mrs - Minton this morning, and I even brought myself to listen outside the door - of the breakfast-room, where they had an interview. I overheard enough to - convince me that the ruffian had made Minton the victim of some of his - hellish magic. I’ve been long enough on the West Coast to know what some - of the niggers can do in this way. I have questioned Minton adroitly, and - he admitted to me that Koomadhi had put a certain stone carved like a - human ear into his hand, and had induced him to place it at his own ear. - That was the famous Sacred Ear stone that the Ashantees speak of in - whispers.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ll talk more of this to-morrow,” said Ross. “I don’t believe much in - negro magic; but—my God! what is the meaning of that?” - </p> - <p> - A window was open in the room, and through it there came the sound of a - shot, followed by appalling yells: then came another shot, and such a wild - chorus of shrieking as far surpassed in volume the first series. - </p> - <h3> - XVI. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>etts ran to a - cupboard and whipped out a revolver. He rushed outside without a word. - Ross followed him: he felt that wherever a revolver was going he should go - also. - </p> - <p> - The two men ran in the moonlight toward Koomadhi’s house, for the yells - were still coming from that direction. When they got within sight of the - house Letts cried out in amazement. By the light of the full moon the - strangest sight that he had ever seen was before his eyes. Koomadhi’s - house was invisible; but where it should have been there was an enormous - pyramid of jabbering apes. They were so thick upon the roof and the - verandah as to conceal every portion of the building, and hundreds were on - the pathway around the place. The noise they made was appalling. - </p> - <p> - Letts and the surgeon crouched behind a cane-brake and watched that - strange scene; but they had not been long in concealment before the - creatures began trooping off to the jungle. Baboons, chimpanzees, and - gorillas, more horrible than had ever been depicted, were rushing from the - house yelling and gibbering with grotesque gestures beneath the light of - the moon. - </p> - <p> - Before the last of the monstrous procession had disappeared—while - the shrieks of the wild parrots were still filling the air—the two - men left their place of concealment and hurried toward the house. They had - to struggle through an odour of monkeys that would have overpowered most - men. A glance was sufficient to show them that the shutters of the room in - which Koomadhi slept had been torn away. Letts sprang through the open - window, and Boss heard his cry of horror before he followed him—before - he saw the ghastly sight that the moonlight revealed. The body of Dr - Koomadhi lay torn and mangled upon the floor, his empty revolver still - warm in his hand. Around him lay the carcases of four enormous apes, with - bullet-holes in their breasts. - </p> - <p> - “Ross,” said Letts after a long pause, “there is a stronger power still - than the devil even on the West Coast of Africa.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - “Women, I have often heard, have strange notions at times,” said Major - Minton, leaning over the deck-chair under the awning of the <i>Penguin</i>, - where his wife was sitting, “but that fancy which you say you had before - your attack beats the record. Still, I was greatly to blame. I’ll never - forgive myself. I had no business interesting myself in that simian - jabber. If at any time I feel a craving in such a direction I’ll get an - order for the Strangers’ Gallery of the House of Commons when a debate on - an Irish question is going on. Poor Koomadhi! Letts declared that, as he - lay among the dead apes, it was difficult to say whether he was an ape or - a man.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> wouldn’t make a - fuss about it if I were you,” said Charlie Craven, pursuing that search - from pocket to pocket which men, having no particular reputation for - tidiness to maintain, are accustomed to institute when they have filled a - pipe and are anxious to light it. - </p> - <p> - “A fuss about it?” cried his sister Madge. “A fuss—good gracious! - What is there to make a fuss about in all that I have told you? A dream—I - ask you candidly if you think that I am the sort of girl to make a fuss - over a dream?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t know,” said Charlie. He had succeeded in finding in one of - his pockets a match-box—an empty match-box. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you should know,” said Madge severely. - </p> - <p> - “There now, you are; making a fuss over something a deal flimsier than - your dream,” laughed her brother. “I wonder if that palace of your dream - was no better supplied than this house with matches: if it wasn’t, I - shouldn’t care to live in it for any length of time.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s so like a man to keep on bothering himself and every one about him - for a match, while all the time a fire is roaring on the hearth behind - him, and his pockets are full of bills—the usual Christmas bills, - the least of which would light all the pipes he smokes in a day, and - that’s saying a good deal.” - </p> - <p> - “How clever you are! I never thought of the fire. Well, as I was - remarking, I wouldn’t bother telling my dreams to any one if I were you. - Dreams—well, dreams are all rot, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not quite so sure of that as you seem to be, O wisest of brothers. - The wisest of people in the world—next to you, of course—have - thought that there was something in dreams, haven’t they?” - </p> - <p> - “They were wrong. My aunt! the rot that I have dreamt from time to time!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that settles the question.” - </p> - <p> - “It does, so far as I am concerned. Look here, Madge; don’t come to me - again with the story of your dreams, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. - Dreams, I say, are all——Of course, you saw that particular - house and that particular staircase in some picture, and they stuck - somewhere at the back of your brain. It’s a rummy thing the brain, you - know—a jolly rum thing!” - </p> - <p> - “It is. I am becoming more impressed every minute with the truth of that - discovery of yours.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if you are becoming sarcastic, I have nothing more to say. But please - to remember that sarcasm is no argument. I tell you, my dear girl, you - have seen a picture of that house at some period of your life—I - don’t say recently, mind you—and my theory is that the brain is like - a sensitized plate: it records an impression once and for all, and stores - it away, and you never know exactly when it means to bring it out again - before your eyes. Oh, believe me, it plays a lot of tricks upon even the - most commonplace people.” - </p> - <p> - “Among whom I suppose I must count myself? Well, I daresay you are right.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that I am right. Dreams! Did you ever hear the story of the old - woman who won a big prize in a lottery, the ticket being No. 26? Had she - chosen that number on chance or in accordance with some system? she was - asked, and she replied that she had dreamt it all out. Dreamt it all out? - What did she mean by that? they inquired. ‘Well, a week ago I dreamt that - I won the prize, and that the ticket I took was No. 9,’ said she. ‘The - next night I dreamt exactly the same, and the ticket was No. 9. The third - night the same thing happened, so, of course, I chose No. 26.’ ‘No. 26? - Why not No. 9 as you dreamt it?’ the people asked. ‘Oh, you fools!’ said - she; ‘didn’t I tell you that I dreamt it three times? the number was 9, - and doesn’t every one know that three times 9 are 26?’ Now that’s the - stuff that dreams are made of, as Shakespeare remarks, so don’t you bother - about this particular vision of yours; and if you take my advice you’ll - say nothing to Uncle Philip or the lot of them about it. They would only - laugh at you.” - </p> - <p> - “Why on earth should I go about proclaiming my dream to all our - relations?” cried the girl. “Dear Charlie, I’m not suffering just yet from - softening of the brain. Besides, I can recall many instances of disaster - following people who bored others with the story of their dreams. There - was the notable case of Joseph and his brethren, and later in history - there was the case of the Duke of Clarence. You remember how swiftly - retribution followed his story of his dream? Now, of course, my dream was - only a little insignificant thing compared to Joseph’s and Clarence’s, - still something might happen if I bored people with it—something - proportionate—the plum-pudding might come to the table in a state of - squash, or the custards might be smoked. Oh no, I’ll be forewarned, and - talk only of facts. I suppose a dream cannot, by even the most indulgent - of people, be called a fact.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m off to the stables,” said her brother, after a little pause. - </p> - <p> - Then he went off to the stables. He was an excellent fellow and the best - of brothers, although he was more at home in the stables than when engaged - in a discussion on a subject involving some exercise of the imagination. - There is not much room in a stable for a play of the imagination, - especially where the corn accounts are kept on a system. - </p> - <p> - When he had left the breakfast-room on this bright Christmas morning his - sister paused for a few moments in her morning duty of collecting a - breakfast for the birds which were loitering about the Italian balustrade - in front of the window, reminding her, in their own way, that they - expected an exceptionally liberal repast on this Christmas morning: she - paused and began to think once more upon this strange dream of hers, which - she had been rehearsing to her brother. - </p> - <p> - After all, it was not so strange a dream, she reflected. The only queer - thing about it was that it had come to her on every Christmas Eve for five - consecutive years—since she was seventeen—and that its details - did not differ in the least from one year to another. Perhaps it was also - different from the majority of dreams in its vividness, and in the fact - that, on awaking from it, she felt as exhausted as if she had just - returned from a long journey. Even now it required almost an effort on her - part to walk round the old oak table sweeping the crumbs on to a plate to - throw to the birds; and when she had discharged this duty she seated - herself with a sigh of relief in one of the arm-chairs that stood by the - side of the great wood fire. - </p> - <p> - She closed her eyes and once again recalled her dream. She had no - difficulty in doing so. She had fancied herself in the act of driving up - to a fine old house, standing in the middle of a well-timbered park of oak - and chestnut. The lawn extended across the full front of the mansion, and - in the centre she noticed a beautiful old fountain, composed of a great - marble basin with a splendid group of figures in the centre—Neptune - with his dolphins and a Naiad or two. She passed into the house through a - great hall hung with trophies of war and of the chase. In front of her was - the enormous head of a moose, and at one side there was a great grey skull - of some animal such as she had never seen before,—a fearful thing - with huge tusks—quite the monster of a dream. - </p> - <p> - Then she seemed to go from room to room, as if she had been a member of - the family living in the place, but—and this she felt to be a true - dream-touch—the moment she entered a room every one who was there - fled from her; but apparently this did not cause her any surprise, any - more than did the strange costume of the figures who fled at her approach—costumes - of the sixteenth century, mingled with those of the seventeenth and - eighteenth. Thinking of the figures hurrying from every room suggested to - her the family portraits of three centuries in motion. After visiting - several fine rooms she found herself walking up a broad oaken staircase of - shallow steps, until she came to a large lobby, where the staircase - divided to right and left. There she found a curious settee of some dark - wood, the long centre panel of which was carved with many figures. She saw - all this by the aid of the moonlight which flowed in through the panes of - coloured glass in a high window, painted with many coats of arms. - </p> - <p> - She remembered having rested in this seat for some time, feeling very - lonely, and then some one had come to her, sitting by her side and taking - her hand, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I have been waiting for you all these years. I am so glad that you are - here at last.” - </p> - <p> - She remembered that the sound of the voice and the touch of the hand had - banished her loneliness, and made her feel happier than she had ever felt - in all her life before. Even now she felt supremely happy, recalling this - incident of her dream, though she recollected that she had not yet seen - the face of the man who had come to her to banish her loneliness. She - wished that her dream had been less whimsical in this one particular. She - felt that she could have spared some of the other details that came before - her so vividly—the skull of that strange animal that hung in the - hall, for instance—if in their place she had been allowed to see - what manner of man it was who had sat with her. - </p> - <p> - Still, the recollection of him gave her pleasure even when the dream had - first come to her and he had come in the dream, and this pleasure had been - increasing year by year, until she knew that she had actually gone asleep - on the previous night, full of joy in the hope of hearing the sound of - that voice and feeling the touch of that hand as she had done in the past. - </p> - <p> - And that was the end of her dream, unless the feeling of happiness—happiness - mingled with a certain sadness—of which she was conscious while she - recalled its details should be accounted part of the dream. Her pleasure - was the same as one experiences in recalling the incidents of a visit to a - dear friend; her sadness was the same as one experiences on thinking that - a long time must elapse before one can see that friend again. - </p> - <p> - Madge actually found herself reflecting that a year must pass before she - could once more find herself wandering through the strange mansion of her - dream—find herself once more seated on that carved seat in the lobby - beneath the painted window. - </p> - <p> - She kept on thinking, and wondering as she thought, over the strange - features of this experience of hers. She knew that she was what people - would call a commonplace, practical girl—a girl without fads or - fancies of any sort. Since her mother’s death, three years before, she had - managed all the household affairs of Craven Court for her brother, who had - inherited the property before she had left the schoolroom. Every one was - bound to acknowledge that her management of the household had been - admirable, though only her brother knew exactly how admirable it was. - </p> - <p> - “There are no frills about Madge; she is the best woman of business in the - county, and we have none of the bothers of other people with our - servants,” he had frequently said. - </p> - <p> - And yet here was this embodiment of all that is practical in life, - dreaming upon a dream upon this bright and frosty Christmas morning, and - actually feeling sad at the thought that a whole year must elapse before - the same vision should return to her. - </p> - <p> - The chiming of the church bells startled her out of her reverie. - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw!” she cried, jumping up from her chair; “I am quite as great a - goose as Charlie believes me to be—quite! or I should not have told - him that that dream had come to me again. I should have had the sense to - know that he would have the sense to know that dreams are, one and all, - the utterest folly!” - </p> - <p> - She knew that she was trying to convince herself that there was nothing - more in this particular dream than in the many casual dreams that came to - her as well as to other people; but before she had reached the door of the - dining-room she knew that she had failed in her attempt. The curious - fatigue of which she was conscious, quickly told her that this - oft-recurring vision was not as others were. - </p> - <p> - She went to church with her brother, and in the afternoon their uncle, - Colonel Craven, and his wife duly arrived at the Court to spend their - annual week at the family mansion, and Madge took her brother’s advice and - refrained from saying a word to either of them on the subject of her - dream. Indeed, she had so much to think of and so much to do during the - week, she had no time to give to anything so immaterial as a dream, - however interesting it might be to herself. - </p> - <p> - On the last morning of the stay of Colonel and Mrs Craven at Craven Court, - the former received a letter which he tossed across the breakfast-table to - Charlie. - </p> - <p> - “Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “We were talking about wild-duck-shooting no - later than last night, and here’s a letter from Jack Tremaine telling me - that he is taking over his cousin’s place for six months and promising me - some good sport if I go to him for a week in January. You will see that he - suggests that you should be of the party: he asks if you are here. See - what he says about the ducks.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is his cousin?” inquired Charlie, “and where is his place?” - </p> - <p> - “His cousin is a chap named Clifford, and his place is in Dorsetshire—on - the coast—Barmouth Manor it is called, and I know that it’s famous - for its duck-shooting. Tremaine will no doubt write to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Where has the cousin gone, that the place is available for Jack - Tremaine?” asked Charlie. - </p> - <p> - “Turn over the page and you’ll see what he says about the Cliffords,” - replied Colonel Craven. - </p> - <p> - Charlie found on the last leaf half a dozen lines on the point in - question. Jack Tremaine said that Mrs Clifford was not satisfied as to the - health of her son, and was going abroad with him during the first week in - January. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to have a go at the ducks,” said Charlie Craven, handing - back the letter. “I suppose there is a duck-punt or two at the place?” - </p> - <p> - “You may be sure of that,” said his uncle. “Young Clifford is a good - sportsman, I believe, but I have never met him. I’ll write to Tremaine - to-day telling him that you are at home. I’m sure he means to invite you.” - </p> - <p> - All doubt on this point was removed by the arrival two days later of an - invitation from Mr Tremaine to Charlie Craven for a fortnight’s - duck-shooting at Barmouth Manor, and he enclosed a letter from his wife to - Madge expressing the hope that she would be able to accompany her brother. - </p> - <p> - Madge was delighted at the prospect of the visit, for she and Mrs Tremaine - were close friends. - </p> - <p> - The frost which had set in a few days before Christmas had not gone when - she and her brother were due at Barmouth Manor, so that there was a - likelihood of her having some skating on the lake. Mrs Tremaine had, in - her invitation, laid some stress upon the possibility of a week’s skating - on the lake which, she said, was within the Manor Park. - </p> - <p> - A carriage met them at Barmouth Station, for the Manor was quite five - miles from the picturesque little town; and it was late in the afternoon - before they passed through the spacious entrance gates to the Manor Park. - There was, however, quite enough light to enable Madge to see every detail - of the place, and it was observing some of the details that caused her to - make a rather startling exclamation of surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo!” said her brother, “what has startled you?” - </p> - <p> - There was a little pause before she had recovered herself sufficiently to - be able to make an excuse that would sound plausible. She pointed to a - group of deer looking over the barrier of their enclosure. - </p> - <p> - “One of the stags,” she said; “it seemed for a moment as if it were about - to jump the rail.” - </p> - <p> - “What matter if it did? They are as tame as cats at this time of the - year,” said Charlie. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I should have remembered,” she said. “I wonder in what - direction is the pond. Does the sunset look promising?” - </p> - <p> - “There may be no thaw before the end of the month,” said he. - </p> - <p> - That was the end of their conversation, and she flattered herself that he - had no notion how excited she was as the carriage reached that part of the - drive which was beside the lawn, and the red level rays of the sun - streaming through the naked trees stained the marble basin of an Italian - fountain, the central group of which was in every detail the same as the - figures in the fountain of her dream. In another minute the front of the - house was disclosed, and she saw that it was the house of her dream. She - would have been greatly disappointed had it been otherwise. - </p> - <p> - She entered the great hall, and could scarcely reply to the cordial - greeting of her aunt and Mrs Tremaine, for she found herself stared at by - the sleepy eyes that looked out from the head of a moose just as they had - stared at her in her sleep. She turned to the wall on her right. Yes, - there was the curious skull with the mighty tusks. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, we had a delightful journey,” she managed to say in reply to Mrs - Tremaine’s inquiry. “Thank you; I should like a cup of tea immensely. Do - you have it in the hall or in the tapestry room beyond?” - </p> - <p> - “What; you have been here before? I had no idea of that,” said Mrs - Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - For more than a moment Madge was confused. - </p> - <p> - Luckily for her, however, the lamps had not been lighted in the hall, and - the sudden flush that came over her face was unobserved by her friends. - </p> - <p> - She gave a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “What a good shot I made!” she cried. “Isn’t this just the sort of house - to have an old-panelled dining-room and a tapestry chamber beside it? I - think we should have tea here. What sort of prehistoric creature is that - on the wall?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe it is a skull that was found when they were digging the - foundations of one of the lodges,” said Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “I seem to have read some description of this very place,” said Charlie, - standing in front of the great skull. - </p> - <p> - Madge wondered if he would remember enough of her account of the house of - her dreams to enable him to recognise the details before him. - </p> - <p> - “It is fully described in Hall’s History, and in every guide-book of the - district. The animal that that skull belonged to lived some thousands of - years before the Flood, I understand.” - </p> - <p> - “What is the exact date b.c. carved on it?” laughed Charlie. “Yes, I - daresay I came upon a paragraph or an illustration of the place. No house - is safe from the depredations of the magazines nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - Tea was served in the hall to give Madge’s maid time to unpack; and then - the girl was shown to her room. She ran up the broad, shallow staircase to - the lobby; she had made up her mind to sit, if only for a moment, on the - carved settee; but a surprise awaited her,—no carved settee was - there. The painted window was there, but no settee was beneath it. - </p> - <p> - She was so surprised that she stood for some moments gazing at the vacant - place. - </p> - <p> - “That lobby looks quite bare without the settee, Miss Craven,” said the - housekeeper, who was beside her. “It’s a fine bit of carving—all - ebony.” - </p> - <p> - “Was there a settee here?” asked Madge innocently. - </p> - <p> - “It was only taken away to-day to be in a better light for Mrs Tremaine to - photograph it,” said the housekeeper. “Mrs Tremaine has done most of the - rare pieces in the house. This is your room, Miss Craven. It’s called the - Dauphin’s chamber, for it was here he slept fifty years ago when he was in - Dorsetshire.” - </p> - <p> - Madge entered the room, remarking that it was beautifully furnished and - that it seemed extremely comfortable. When the door was closed she threw - herself into a chair and had a good think. - </p> - <p> - What could it all mean? she asked herself. Why should this house become so - associated with her life? Was she going to die here? Was something going - to happen to her? Was she to meet here the man who had upon five different - occasions come to her side, telling her that he had been waiting for her? - </p> - <p> - For ten days she remained in the house, looking forward day by day to some - occurrence that would cause her to realise what her dream meant; but she - returned with her brother to Craven Court in disappointment. Nothing - particular happened all the time, and she came to the conclusion that her - dream was as meaningless as her brother had said it was. - </p> - <p> - Madge Craven and her brother were staying with the Tremaines at their own - place during the pheasant shooting the following October, and one morning - their hostess mentioned that her husband’s cousin, Mrs Clifford, had - returned to England from South America and was expected to join their - party that day. - </p> - <p> - She arrived before the shooters had come back from their day’s sport, and - she and Mrs Tremaine had a long chat in front of the fire before tea. Mrs - Clifford was a handsome old lady of the <i>grande dame</i> type; and being - a close observer and an admirable describer of all that she observed, she - was able to entertain Mrs Tremaine with an account of the adventures of - her son and herself in South America. - </p> - <p> - “I hope Rawdon’s health is more satisfactory now than it was,” said Mrs - Tremaine when her guest had declared that there was no more to be told. - </p> - <p> - “I can only hope for the best,” said Mrs Clifford, becoming grave. “Rawdon - is gone across the mountains to Chili, and will not be at home until the - middle of January.” - </p> - <p> - “He must be pretty robust to be able to undertake such a journey,” said - Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “He is not wanting in strength,” said Mrs Clifford. “Only—poor boy!” - </p> - <p> - “‘Poor boy!’ ‘Why poor boy’?” asked the other. - </p> - <p> - There was a pause before the elder lady said— - </p> - <p> - “It is rather difficult to explain. By the way, did any of your party at - the Manor House see the ghost?” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens! I did not know that your family was blessed with a ghost,” - laughed Mrs Tremaine. “No, I can assure you, we were not so lucky. What - sort of a ghost is it? A ghastly figure with rattling chains? Have you - seen it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I have seen it,” said Mrs Clifford in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “How interesting! Do tell me what it is like!” cried the other. - </p> - <p> - “Like? What is it like?” Mrs Clifford rose slowly from her chair, and - walked to another chair. She only remained seated for a moment, however: - with a sigh she began pacing the room slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I fear I have touched upon a forbidden topic,” said Mrs Tremaine. “I had - no idea that you were serious.” - </p> - <p> - “Serious—serious,” said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room, - and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had - uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window, - her hands grasping the back of a chair. - </p> - <p> - She was by her side in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, what is the matter?” she said. - </p> - <p> - “You are weak—overcome by———-Let me ring for - brandy.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm. - </p> - <p> - “Who is that—that—on the terrace?” she said in a fearful - whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven,” replied Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the - peacocks. - </p> - <p> - “She was with you when you were at the Manor House,” said Mrs Clifford. - “She was there, and yet you did not see the ‘ghost’?” - </p> - <p> - “What on earth do you mean?” said Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “I mean this: that girl out there is the ghost that appears at the Manor - House every Christmas Eve, and it is because my poor boy, as well as I - myself, saw it, that his mind has become unhinged.” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens! You mean to say——” - </p> - <p> - “The poor boy has fallen, in love with a shadow—a phantom! It comes - every Christmas Eve and walks from room to room. It comes up the stairs—I - tell you that I have seen it—and sits on the old carved settee, and - then suddenly vanishes into the air whence it came.... And that ghost is - as surely that girl as I am I.” - </p> - <p> - “This is terrible—quite uncanny! Are you quite sure?” - </p> - <p> - “Sure—sure!” - </p> - <p> - “It is awful to think upon. But—but—listen to me—I have - an idea. If Madge is the ghost, why not ask her down again to your place, - and give Rawdon a thing of flesh and blood to transfer his affections to?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you say?” - </p> - <p> - “Madge is the best girl in the world. Every eligible man in her county, - and quite as many ineligible, have wanted to marry her. You will find out - how nice she is.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Clifford sank into the chair. - </p> - <p> - “Oh that it were possible!” she whispered. “He is everything to me, my - dearest boy, and until this fancy————Oh, if it - were only possible!” - </p> - <p> - And at this point Madge entered the room, and was duly presented to Mrs - Clifford. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - If Madge was at first under the impression that the manner of Mrs Clifford - in regard to her was somewhat formal and constrained, before a week had - passed she had good reason to change her opinion on this point. The fact - was that Mrs Clifford had formed an attachment for her which she could - sincerely return; and that was why the girl was delighted to accept her - invitation to spend Christmas in Dorsetshire. It suited her brother’s - arrangements for her to do so, for he was anxious to join a big-game - expedition which was starting for India early in December. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Clifford said she was delighted to be able to have Madge all to - herself for at least a fortnight. - </p> - <p> - “My son cannot possibly be home until the middle of January,” said she, - “and then we shall probably have a large party at the Manor. But meantime - you and I shall be together.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not think that we shall quarrel,” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “Alas! alas!” said Mrs Clifford to Mrs Tremaine, after one of the many - whispered colloquies which they had together during the week. “Alas! - Rawdon cannot be home for Christmas. It was I who took the greatest pains - to arrange matters to prevent his spending another Christmas Eve at home - until he should have completely recovered from the effects of his strange - attachment, and yet now I would give worlds to be able to have him with us - on Christmas Eve.” - </p> - <p> - “Could you not send a cable?” suggested Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “I might send a dozen without being able to find him. Besides, it would be - impossible for me to tell him what has occurred.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you could hardly cable him ‘Come home at once. Ghost found,” - laughed Mrs Tremaine. “Never mind. He should be all the better pleased - when the Ghost of Christmas Eve becomes a creature of flesh and blood by - the middle of January.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was Christmas Eve at the Manor House. Madge’s maid had just left her - for the night, but the girl showed no inclination to go to bed. She - remained sitting by her fire thinking how strange it was that she should - be on this Christmas Eve in the flesh at the house which she had visited - in her dreams. And while she sat thinking over this, she found herself - overcome by that strange longing which she had had just a year ago, to be - again by the side of the man who had come to her side in her dream. - </p> - <p> - She clasped her hands, saying in a whisper—“Come to me. Come to me - again and tell me that you have been waiting for me.” - </p> - <p> - She began to undress with feverish haste, when suddenly her hands dropped - by her sides, for the terrible thought occurred to her— - </p> - <p> - “What if my dream will not come to me this year because I happen to be in - the midst of the real scene where it took place?” - </p> - <p> - The thought that it might be as capricious as other dreams oppressed her. - She now felt sorry that she had agreed to visit the place. She should have - remained at Craven Court, where her dream had always been faithful to her. - </p> - <p> - A sudden idea occurred to her: she would leave her room and sit in reality - on the carved settee under the painted window, and then, going to bed - immediately after, she might sink unconsciously into the kind embrace of - her dream. - </p> - <p> - She opened her door very gently and went along the silent corridor until - she reached the head of the staircase, and saw the moonlight streaming - through the coloured glass to the lobby beneath. She stole down, and in - another instant she was in the seat, the moonlight streaming over her and - throwing the coloured pattern of the glass upon her white dress. She - closed her eyes, feeling that perhaps she might fall asleep and find - herself in the midst of her dream. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she opened her eyes. She fancied that she heard the sound of a - footstep in the hall below. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Some - one was in the hall—some one was coming up the stairs. She sprang to - her feet, and was about to rush up to her room, when she heard a voice—the - voice that she had heard so often in that dream of hers, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not go now. You cannot go now that I have come to you—now - that I have been waiting for you for five years.” - </p> - <p> - She could not move from where she was standing. She saw a tall man with a - bronzed face coming up the stairs. She somehow had never seen his face in - her dream, but she recognised it from the photograph which his mother had - shown her: she knew that the man was Rawdon Clifford. - </p> - <p> - He stood before her on the lobby. - </p> - <p> - “They thought to separate us,” he said. “They thought that my love for you - was a form of madness. But I tell you, as I told them, I would rather - stand by your side for a few minutes once a-year than be for ever by the - side of another—a more real creature. That is why I have come over - land and sea to be here in time for your visit this Christmas Eve. I - promised my mother to stay away; but I could not—I could not keep my - promise, and I came to England a fortnight sooner than I expected, and - entered the house only this moment—like a burglar. But I am - rewarded.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not understand. I am Mrs Clifford’s guest. Madge Craven is my name,” - said Madge. - </p> - <p> - The man sprang back and raised his hands in surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! She is flesh and blood—at last—at last!” he - cried. - </p> - <p> - He put out his hand slowly—doubtfully. Madge put out hers to it. A - cry of delight came from him as he felt her warm hand, and he made it - still warmer by his kisses. She could not stop him. She made no attempt to - do so. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me that I was not mad—that I am not mad now,” he said in a - loving whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Oh no—only—is it not strange?—For five years I have - this dream—this very dream—and yet I never was in this house - until last January,” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “You have been with me every Christmas Eve for five years, and you will - remain here for ever,” said he. “Do not tell me that we have not met - before—do not tell me that you have not loved me as I have loved you - all these years. What did that dream of yours mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I think I know now—now,” whispered the girl. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Mrs Tremaine considers, herself the only survivor of the people who - professed to exorcise the ghosts in whom our grandfathers were foolish - enough to believe. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BLOOD ORANGES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>h, my friend,” - said the Marchesa, “you Englishmen are like to our mountain which we see - smoking over there.” She threw herself into the attitude of the ‘<i>prima - donna assoluta</i> in an impassioned moment preceding the singing of the - romanza, as she pointed across the blue Bay of Naples to where Vesuvius - was sending forth a delicate hazy fume. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know anything about Englishmen,” said Sir Percival morosely; “but - I know that when you are near me my heart is a volcano—my soul——” - </p> - <p> - The lady’s laugh interrupted him—one cannot make use of similes with - a poetical flavour about them when a violet-eyed lady is leaning back her - head in laughter, even though the action displays a beautiful throat and - the curves of a superb neck. The Marchesa del Grippo displayed a - marvellous throat and neck, and was fully aware of this fact. Her laugh - rang out like a soprano dwelling with delight on a high note and producing - it <i>tremolo</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she cried, “you are at pains to prove to me that I am right in the - way I judge you Englishmen: to-day you are volcanic, to-morrow we find not - the blaze and the thunder but only—<i>ecco!</i> a puff of smoke.” - </p> - <p> - Once again she pointed—but this time carelessly—in the - direction of the mountain. - </p> - <p> - The man frowned. - </p> - <p> - “For heaven’s sake do not say ‘You Englishmen’ when I am by!” he cried. “I - have nothing in common with Englishmen.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never met an Englishman who did not try to impress upon me that he - was not as other Englishmen,” said the Marchesa. “The last one to say so - to me was your wicked young Lord Byron. The Guicciola presented him to me - at Genoa. Heavens! the old Count is more like an Englishman than Lord - Byron! He can keep his eyes fast shut when it suits him. Enough; I said - ‘You Englishmen,’ and he became red with anger. Droll! I had to ask - forgiveness for having accused his lordship of being English. Oh, you are - a nation of patriots.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not mean to keep up the acquaintance of Lord Byron, I would fain - hope,” said Sir Percival with another frown. - </p> - <p> - Again the lady laughed. - </p> - <p> - “After that do not tell me that you are not an Englishman,” she said. “It - is so very English to frown when the name of Lord Byron is mentioned—to - give a young woman with a husband a solemn warning to beware of that - wicked young noble, while all the time the one that utters the warning is - doing his best to earn the reputation of the disreputable Byron. The - English detest Byron; but if you want to flatter an Englishman to the - farthest point, all you have to do is to tell him that you believe him to - be a second Lord Byron. Never mind: I like the Lord Byron, and I like—yes, - a little—another of his countrymen, though he is, I fear, very - wicked.” - </p> - <p> - “Wicked?—wicked?” cried Sir Percival—he was plainly flattered. - “What is it to be wicked?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not ask me to give it a definition: I might say that it was to be - you—you yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “If it is wicked to love—madly—blindly—then indeed I - admit that——” - </p> - <p> - “That you are <i>aut Diabolus, aut Byron?</i> I know not which of the two - the English regard as the worse. Well, suppose I do not admit your right - to tell me of your love: I suppose I dare not dispute your right to love, - but I can dispute your right to tell me of it—that is, if it - exists.” - </p> - <p> - “If it exists? Heavens! my beloved creature, would I have followed you - here from England if I did not love you to distraction?” - </p> - <p> - “It needs such extraordinary self-sacrifice on the part of an Englishman - to leave England for Italy! I think you were glad to make some excuse—even - so feeble a one as that of being in love with an Italian woman—to - make a journey to Naples. But I forgot; you were in Italy once before, - were you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I was in some parts,—the north—Tuscany—Florence—never - here—no, never here.” - </p> - <p> - “Never here? ah, yes; now I remember well. You said you had never been to - Sorrento. I wonder did I hold out any inducement to you to come to - Sorrento?—you must have been studying a map of our bay, for you knew - by name every landmark, every island, when I tried to be your cicerone - just now.” - </p> - <p> - The glance that he cast at her after giving a little start had something - of suspicion in it. - </p> - <p> - “Everyone knows the landmarks of the lovely Bay of Naples,” said he; “but - I—ah, my beloved, did you not tell me all its beauties when we first - met in London six months ago? Had you no idea that every word which fell - from your lips—even the words in which you described the scenery - around your home—should be burnt into my memory for evermore? Ah, - sweet one, will you never listen to me? Does my devotion count for nothing - with you?” - </p> - <p> - “My husband,” she whispered with a tremulous downward glance—the - glance of love’s surrender—he knew it well: he was a man of - considerable experience of woman in all her phases. He knew that he had - not been fooled by the Marchesa. - </p> - <p> - “Did not you tell me that you detested him?” he cried. “If a husband - treats a wife cruelly, as he has treated you, he has wilfully forfeited - all claim to her devotion. There are some acts so atrocious that it is - impossible to find an adequate punishment for them.” - </p> - <p> - “You think that even if the punishment were a crime in the eyes of the - world it would be sanctified by heaven if it were meted out to a monster - of cruelty?” The Marchesa was looking at him through half-closed eyes. He - saw that her hands were clenched tightly, and he did not fail to notice - how tumultuously her bosom was heaving. He was exultant. He had conquered. - That opportune word which he had thrown in regarding her husband’s cruelty - had overcome her last scruple. - </p> - <p> - She was his. - </p> - <p> - “My beloved—my beloved,” he whispered, “cruelty to such a woman as - you makes sacred the mission of avenging it. You will leave him—with - me you will never know aught save happiness.” - </p> - <p> - She gave a little laugh, and then put her hand in his, not doubtfully, but - with an expression of the amplest trustfulness. - </p> - <p> - “My last scruple is gone,” said she in the same low tone that he had - employed. “What you have said has made my mind easy.” - </p> - <p> - “You will come to me?” - </p> - <p> - “Till one of us dies.” - </p> - <p> - She spoke the words with the fire flashing from her eyes as she gazed into - his face. The force of that gaze of hers gave him a little shock. It was - only a momentary sensation, however; in a second he recollected that he - was talking to an Italian, not an Englishwoman. - </p> - <p> - “Till one of us dies—till one of us dies,” he whispered, poorly - imitating her intensity. “Ah, I knew that it would come, my darling. Would - I have travelled from England if I had not been certain of you—certain - of my own love for you, I mean? And you will come with me—you will - leave him? It is his punishment—his righteous punishment.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall leave him with you, I swear to you,” cried the Marchesa. - </p> - <p> - For a moment he failed to catch her exact meaning. He did not want the - Marchese to be left with him; but of course he perceived the next instant - that she meant to say that she would leave her husband and go with him, - her lover; and there was no tremor in his voice as he said— - </p> - <p> - “You will never repent it! Ah, what happiness will be ours, my soul! Shall - it be tomorrow? I can hire a vessel to take us to Malta,—there we - shall be safe.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, it is too sudden,” said she. “My husband could not fail to have his - suspicions aroused. Nay, we shall have to await our opportunity. If he - asks you to pay us a visit you must come. He will be going to Rome in a - day or two, and I shall contrive to be left behind.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that will be our chance,” he cried. “Fate is on our side, my dear - one.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Fate is on our side,” she said in a low tone that could not possibly - reach the ear of the tall and straight man who approached them as they - stood at the balustrade of the Villa Galeotto overlooking the lovely Bay - of Naples. - </p> - <p> - “It is such a great pleasure to me to meet you once again, Sir Percival - Cleave,” said the Marchese, with a smile. “I hope that the Marchesa has - offered you the hospitality of our humble home?” - </p> - <p> - “The Marchesa has been so very kind as suggest that I should visit your - castle for an hour or two before I leave this lovely neighbourhood,” said - Sir Percival. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, surely she made you name the day,” said the Marchese, turning to his - wife. “Is it possible, my dear, that you failed to be more specific?” he - asked with great gravity. - </p> - <p> - The lady gave a shrug in response, and her husband became still more - grave. - </p> - <p> - “The hospitality which I received in England can never be forgotten by me, - though my mission was an unpleasant one,” said he. “The King of Naples—but - we will avoid politics, as people must if they mean to remain good - friends. Enough; you will honour us by paying us a visit—but when? - What day will suit your convenience?” - </p> - <p> - “I am only remaining in this neighbourhood for a day or two,” said Sir - Percival. “I have, alas! some important business that will take me - northward; but—well, I have no engagement to-morrow, if that day - would suit your Excellency.” - </p> - <p> - “It will suit me better than any other day,” replied the Marchese. “I have - myself to go to Rome almost at once. I shall never cease to be thankful to - Fate for having so delayed my departure as to enable me to have the - pleasure of meeting Sir Percival Cleave. You will come in the afternoon - and eat a simple dinner at our table. You are already acquainted with the - road to the Castle?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes—that is, no; I do not know the road, but I do not suppose I - shall have any difficulty in finding it out.” - </p> - <p> - “What!” the Marchese had turned once more to his wife and had assumed the - tone of a reproof. “What! you did not make Sir Percival aware of the - direction to the Castle?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir Percival has been studying a map of the Bay,” said she. “Though he - has never before been here he shows a remarkable acquaintance with the - neighbourhood.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not right to take so much for granted,” said the Marchese. “Allow - me to repair the negligence of the Marchesa, Sir Percival.” - </p> - <p> - He then pointed out to the Englishman the direction to take in order to - reach the road leading to the cliffs a mile beyond Sorrento, where the - Castello del Grippo stood in the centre of its olive-groves. Sir Percival - thanked him, and said that having received such plain directions he would - not now carry out his intention of driving to the castle; he would ride - there instead. - </p> - <p> - Before the Marchese and his wife took their departure, the latter had - managed to whisper in the ear of Sir Percival as she returned the pressure - of his hand— - </p> - <p> - “Without fail.” - </p> - <p> - “Till one of us dies,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - How strange it all was! he thought that night as he stood at the door of - the inn where he was staying at Sorrento, and listened to the singing of - the fishermen putting out to sea. How strange it all was! The seven years - that had passed since he had last heard the hymn of the fishermen in that - Bay seemed no more than so many days. He had had his adventures since he - had been so foolish as to fancy himself in love with Paolina—poor - Paolina! A good many faces had interposed between the face of the Italian - girl of 1815 and the face of the Italian Marchesa in 1822. But what a - whimsical fate it was that had made him fall in love with the Marchesa del - Grippo more deeply than he had ever permitted himself to fall in regard to - other women! He had never known what it was to love before, though she was - the woman whom he should have avoided, even if there were no other woman - to love in the wide world. - </p> - <p> - Ah, it was fate—the Marchesa had said so that afternoon at the Villa - Galeotto. She had loved him from the first—he was ready to swear to - that. He remembered now certain indications of her passion which he had - noticed the first evening they had met, but which had escaped his memory. - It was at Lady Blessington’s in Kensington, and the Marchesa had expressed - the pleasure it gave her to meet with an Englishman who spoke such - excellent Italian. He had been very cautious at that time in replying to - her questions as to the length of time he had been in Italy and the places - that he had visited. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that, - after the lapse of seven years, any one might recognise him as the lover - of Paolina, so it was just as well, he thought, to be careful. He had not - mentioned a word about Sorrento, and not until the Marchesa had stood by - his side in the garden of the Villa Galeotto had he lapsed in his feigning - a complete ignorance of the locality. It was the force of his passion for - that lovely woman which had overwhelmed him, causing him to forget himself - and to refer by name to various landmarks. - </p> - <p> - But what did it matter now? The woman had responded to him, and in a day - or two would be by his side for—well, for as long as he pleased. A - short distance away Lord Byron was affording the Italians a new reading of - the cold-blooded Englishman; but Sir Percival Cleave would take very good - care that he was not made such a fool of by the Marchesa as Lord Byron was - by the Contessa Guicciola. Byron was practically a pauper, whereas he, Sir - Percival Cleave, was rich. He could therefore (the logic was his) prevent - himself from ever being made a fool of by any woman, Marchesa or Contessa - though she might be. - </p> - <p> - But he loved her—of that he was certain. He had asked her if he - would have faced the discomforts of a journey from England to Italy had he - not been in love with her; and now as he stood listening to the - fishermen’s hymns sung in the boats that were drifting out of the Bay, he - asked himself the same question. Oh yes, he loved her! and her husband was - cruel to her—she had told him so in England, and she had been - greatly comforted by his assurance—given in answer to her inquiry—that - the crime of being cruel to her was so great as to condone any act of hers—say, - running away with another man. - </p> - <p> - She was superstitious; she had some scruples. The priests, no doubt, were - in the pay of her husband, and they had probably exaggerated the crime of - a wife’s leaving a husband,—it would be so like a greasy Italian - priest to lay emphasis upon this one particular act; but he, an English - gentleman to the core, and properly sensible of the blessings of a - Protestant king and constitution, had succeeded in counteracting the - insidious teaching of the priests. She had listened to him. She had - readily accepted that great truth: a woman’s retaliation to her husband’s - cruelty is sanctified in the eyes of heaven. That was his point: the eyes - of heaven. It was immaterial in what light such an act of retaliation as - he suggested to her would appear in the eyes of the people of the world. - </p> - <p> - Before he slept he had brought himself to believe that he was actually the - lady’s honourable champion, boldly coming forward to rescue her from an - intolerable oppressor. - </p> - <p> - The Castello del Grippo was built on the summit of the headland that - sloped away from the sea at one side, but was very precipitous on the - other. For three hundred years the family of Del Grippo had been - accustomed to display a light in the tower nightly for the guidance of the - fishing-boats, for the Castle could be seen from the north as well as the - south. For more than a mile on the shoreward side of the Castle the - olive-trees grew mixed with lemons and oranges; and as Sir Percival rode - along the somewhat rough avenue on his way to accept the hospitality of - the man whose wife he had the previous day been instructing on some - interesting points in regard to her duty, he was entranced with the - perfumes of the fruits and flowers. The air was heavy with odours of the - citrons, and the gold of the luscious fruit gleamed among the glossy - leaves. Though he had never been on the avenue before, the gleam of the - fruit and the exquisite scents brought back to him the sweet memory of - Paolina. It was not at this side of the great garden that he had been - accustomed to meet her, but on the other side—that nearest the - cliff, a mile away. - </p> - <p> - It was a sweet sad memory, and it was so poignant that it even caused him - to sigh and murmur— - </p> - <p> - “Ah, la povera Paolina! la povera Paolina!” - </p> - <p> - And having thereby satisfied himself that his heart was as soft as the - heart of a little child, he urged his horse forward. - </p> - <p> - He soon reached the Castle, and it seemed gloomy enough, outlined against - the wonderful blue sky. He had seen numbers of the peasants working among - the olives, but close to the Castle none were in sight. It was not until - he had dismounted and pulled the handle of the old iron bell that a - servant appeared. In a few moments the Marchese himself came out of a room - at one side of the hall and welcomed his guest, giving instructions to - another servant to stable the horse. - </p> - <p> - “You have not met the Marchesa?” he inquired of Sir Percival. “She left - the Castle half-an-hour ago, trusting to meet you. Pray enter and we shall - have some refreshment.” - </p> - <p> - But Sir Percival declined to enter in the absence of the Marchesa. He felt - that to do so would be very gross—to say the least of it. The idea - of sitting down with the Marchese while the lady—his lady—was - wandering disconsolately around the grounds in search of him was very - repugnant to him. - </p> - <p> - “As you will,” said the Marchese with a shrug when he remarked that he - would like to go in search of the Marchesa. “As you will. She is not - likely to get lost. Oh yes; we shall go in search of her, and that will - serve me as an excuse for showing you some of the spots to which interest - attaches within our grounds.” - </p> - <p> - He picked up a hat and stick and left the Castle with his visitor. - </p> - <p> - “We shall first go to the grove where the historic duel was fought between - my ancestor and the two nephews of Pope Adrian,” said the Marchese. “You - have heard of that affair, no doubt.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall we be likely to find the Marchesa there?” asked Sir Percival. - </p> - <p> - “As likely as not we shall meet her as we go there,” replied the Marchese. - </p> - <p> - He led the way through an avenue of ilex, and they soon came upon a - cleared space at the foot of a terrace of rocks. The Marchese explained - the position occupied by the combatants in the famous duel that had so - consolidated the position of the family of Del Grippo. But all the time - the details of the incident were being explained to him Sir Percival was - casting his eyes around for the appearance of the lady. What did he care - about Pope Adrian or his nephews so long as his lady—he had come to - think of her as his lady—was roaming the grounds in search of him? - </p> - <p> - Then his host brought him to where the body of his grandfather had been - found by the side of the three men whom he had killed before receiving the - fatal blow from behind, dealt by that poltroon, Prince Roberto, who had - hired four of his bravos to attack the old man. At another part of the - grounds were the ruins of the ancient summer-house, where a certain member - of this distinguished family had strangled his wife, whom he had suspected - of infidelity, though, as the Marchese explained, the lady had saved him - more than once from assassination and was perfectly guiltless. - </p> - <p> - An hour had been passed viewing these very interesting localities, about - which the air of the middle ages still lingered, and still the Marchesa - was absent. - </p> - <p> - “Should we not return to the Castle? the Marchesa may be waiting for us,” - suggested Sir Percival. - </p> - <p> - “A thousand pardons,” cried the Marchese. “I fear I have fatigued you. You - are thirsty.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes; I am somewhat thirsty,” laughed the visitor. - </p> - <p> - “How discourteous I have been! We shall have the refreshment of an orange - before returning. There is a famous grove a short way toward the cliff.” - </p> - <p> - He strode onward, and then, suddenly turning down a narrow path made among - the olives, Sir Percival gave a start, for he found himself by the side of - the Marchese, at the one part of those grounds with which he was well - acquainted. They stood among the orange-trees at the summit of the cliff - which he had nightly climbed to meet Paolina. - </p> - <p> - “Here are our choicest fruits,” said the Marchese, plucking an orange and - handing it to his visitor. “Break it open and you will see how exquisite - the fruit is.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Percival broke the orange, but the moment he did so it fell from his - fingers and he gave a cry of horror, for out of the fruit had come a red - stream staining his hands. - </p> - <p> - The Marchese laughed loud and long. - </p> - <p> - “Your hands are embrued with blood,” he said. “Oh, a stranger might fancy - for a moment that Sir Percival Cleave was a murderer. Ah! pray pardon my - folly. That is only the refreshing juice of the orange. And yet you - fancied that it was blood! Come, my friend, take courage; here is another. - Eat it; you will find it delicious. I have heard that there are in the - world such strange monsters as are refreshed by drinking blood—we - have ourselves vampires in this neighbourhood. But you and I, sir, we - prefer only the heart’s blood of a simple orange. You will eat one.” - </p> - <p> - “I could not touch one,” said Sir Percival. “Nay; to do me the favour? - What! an Englishman and superstitious?” - </p> - <p> - Sir Percival took another orange and made a pretence of eating it. His - hands trembled so, however, they were soon dripping with the crimson - juice. - </p> - <p> - “You are caught red-handed in the act,” said the Marchese, “red-handed— - but the man who came here long ago was not so captured.” - </p> - <p> - “Another medieval story?” said Sir Percival. “Had your Excellency not - better reserve it for the evening?” - </p> - <p> - “This story is not a medieval one; and it can only be told on the spot,” - said the Marchese. “You have never been here before or you would not need - to be told that this orange-grove was until seven years ago an ordinary - one. It was not until blood was spilt here seven years ago that the fruit - became crimson when bruised, and blood—your hands are dyed with it——flowed - from it as you have seen—it is on your lips—you have drunk of - her blood—Paolina’s.” - </p> - <p> - “For Gods sake let us leave this place!” said Sir Percival hoarsely. “I - have heard enough stories of bloodshed.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay; this one is so piteous, you shall hear it and weep, sir—ah! - tears of blood might be drawn from the most hard-hearted at the story of - Paolina. She was a sweet girl. She lived with her sister, who is now the - Marchesa——” - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” - </p> - <p> - “What amazes you, sir? Is it remarkable that my wife should have had a - sister?’ - </p> - <p> - “No, no; of course not; I was only surprised to find those horrid marks - still on my hands. Pray let us return to the Castle and permit me to - remove the stains.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Paolina!—she lived at the Castle with our aunt seven years - ago. She was a flower of girlhood. I thought myself in love with her; but - when my brother Ugo—he was the elder—confided in me that he - loved her, I left the Castle. He loved her, and it seemed that she - returned his affection. They were betrothed, and one could not doubt that - their happiness was assured. But one evil day she met a man—a - scoundrel; I regret to say that he was an Englishman—do not move, - sir, you shall hear me out. This villain spoke to her of love. He tempted - her. She was accustomed to meet him every evening on this very spot—we - learned that he sailed from Sorrento and climbed the cliff. My brother - began to suspect. He followed her here one evening, and she confessed - everything to him. He was a passionate man, and he strangled her here—here—and - then flung himself headlong from the cliff.” - </p> - <p> - “A gruesome story, Marchese. Now, shall we return?” - </p> - <p> - “Villain!—assassin!—look at your hands—they are wet with - her blood—your lips—they have drunk her blood, but ‘tis their - last draught—for——” - </p> - <p> - Sir Percival sprang at the man and caught him by the throat, but in an - instant his hands relaxed. He had only strength to glance round. He saw - the woman who had stabbed him, before he fell forward. - </p> - <p> - “That one was for her—for her—my beloved sister. This one is - for our dear brother—the man whom you wronged. This——” - </p> - <p> - She stabbed him again. His blood mixed with the crimson stains on the - earth. - </p> - <p> - “Look at it—bear witness that I have kept my oath,” cried the - Marchesa. “Did not I swear that his blood should be drunk by the same - earth that drank hers?” - </p> - <p> - “Beloved one, you are an angel—an avenging angel!” cried the - Marchese, embracing his wife. - </p> - <p> - The next day Sir Percival Cleave’s horse was found dead at the foot of one - of the cliffs; but the body of the “unfortunate baronet”—so he was - termed by the newspapers (English)—was never recovered. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Arthur Jephson - wrote to me to join his Christmas party at Northavon Priory, I was set - wondering where I had heard the name of this particular establishment. I - felt certain that I had heard the name before, but I could not recollect - for the moment whether I had come upon it in a newspaper report of a - breach of promise of marriage or in a Blue-Book bearing upon Inland - Fisheries: I rather inclined to the belief that it was in a Blue-Book of - some sort. I had been devoting myself some years previously to an - exhaustive study of this form of literature; for being very young, I had - had a notion that a Blue-Book education was essential to any one with - parliamentary aspirations. Yes, I had, I repeat, been very young at that - time, and I had not found out that a Blue-Book is the <i>oubliette</i> of - inconvenient facts. - </p> - <p> - It was not until I had promised Arthur to be with him on Christmas Eve - that I recollected where I had read something about Northavon Priory, and - in a moment I understood how it was I had acquired the notion that the - name had appeared in an official document. I had read a good deal about - this Priory in a curious manuscript which I had unearthed at Sir Dennis le - Warden’s place in Norfolk, known as Marsh Towers. The document, which, - with many others, I found stowed away in a wall-cupboard in the great - library, purported to be a draft of the evidence taken before one of the - Commissions appointed by King Henry VIII. to inquire into the abuses - alleged to be associated with certain religious houses throughout England. - An ancestor of Sir Dennis’s had, it appeared, been a member of one of - these Commissions, and he had taken a note of the evidence which he had in - the course of his duties handed to the King. - </p> - <p> - The parchments had, I learned, been preserved in an iron coffer with - double padlocks, but the keys had been lost at some remote period, and - then the coffer had been covered over with lumber in a room in the east - tower overlooking the moat, until an outbreak of fire had resulted in an - overturning of the rubbish and a discovery of the coffer. A blacksmith had - been employed to pick the locks, which he did with a sledge-hammer; but it - was generally admitted that his energy had been wasted when the contents - of the box were made known. Sir Dennis cared about nothing except the - improvement of the breed of horses through the agency of race meetings, so - the manuscripts of his painstaking ancestor were bundled into one of the - presses in the library, some, however, being reserved by the intelligent - housekeeper in the still-room to make jam-pot covers—a purpose for - which, as she explained to me at considerable length, they were extremely - well adapted. - </p> - <p> - I had no great difficulty in deciphering those that came under my hand, - for I had had considerable experience of the tricks of early English - writers; and as I read I became greatly interested in all the original - “trustie and well-beelou’d Sir Denice le Warden” had written. The - frankness of the evidence which he had collected on certain points took - away my breath, although I had been long accustomed to the directness with - which some of the fifteenth-century people expressed themselves. - </p> - <p> - Northavon Priory was among the religious houses whose practices had formed - the subject of the inquiry, and it was the summary of Sir Denice’s notes - regarding the Black Masses alleged to have been celebrated within its - walls that proved so absorbing to me. The bald account of the nature of - these orgies would of itself have been sufficient, if substantiated, to - bring about the dissolution of all the order in England. The Black Mass - was a pagan revel, the details of which were unspeakable, though their - nature was more than hinted at by the King’s Commissioner. Anything so - monstrously blasphemous could not be imagined by the mind of man, for with - the pagan orgie there was mixed up the most solemn rite of the Mass. It - was celebrated on the night of Christmas Eve, and at the hour of midnight - the celebration culminated in an invocation to the devil, written so as to - parody an office of the Church, and, according to the accounts of some - witnesses, in a human sacrifice. Upon this latter point, however, Sir - Denice admitted there was a diversity of opinion. - </p> - <p> - One of the witnesses examined was a man who had entered the Priory grounds - from the river during a fearful tempest, on one Christmas Eve, and had, he - said, witnessed the revel through a window to which he had climbed. He - declared that at the hour of midnight the candles had been extinguished, - but that a moment afterwards an awful red light had floated through the - room, followed by the shrieks of a human being at the point of - strangulation, and then by horrible yells of laughter. Another man who was - examined had been a wood-cutter in the service of the Priory, and he had - upon one occasion witnessed the celebration of a Black Mass; but he - averred that no life was sacrificed, though he admitted that in the - strange red light, which had flashed through the room, he had seen what - appeared to be two men struggling on the floor. In the general particulars - of the orgie there was, however, no diversity of opinion, and had the old - Sir Denice le Warden been anything of a comparative mythologist, he could - scarcely fail to have been greatly interested in being brought face to - face with so striking an example of the survival of an ancient - superstition within the walls of a holy building. - </p> - <p> - During a rainy week I amused myself among the parchments dealing with - Northavon Priory, and although what I read impressed me greatly at the - time, yet three years of pretty hard work in various parts of the world - had so dulled my memory of any incident so unimportant as the deciphering - of a mouldy document that, as I have already stated, it was not until I - had posted my letter to Arthur Jephson agreeing to spend a day or two with - his party, that I succeeded in recalling something of what I had read - regarding Northavon Priory. - </p> - <p> - I had taken it for granted that the Priory had been demolished when Henry - had superintended the dissolution of the religious establishments - throughout the country: I did not think it likely that one with such a - record as was embodied in the notes would be allowed to remain with a - single stone on another. A moment’s additional reflection admitted of my - perceiving how extremely unlikely it was that, even if Northavon Priory - had been spared by the King, it would still be available for visitors - during the latter years of the nineteenth century. I had seen many - red-brick “abbeys” and “priories” in various parts of the country, not - more than ten years old, inhabited mostly by gentlemen who had made - fortunes in iron, or perhaps lard, which constitutes, I understand, an - excellent foundation for a fortune. There might be, for all I knew, a - score of Northavon Priories in England. Arthur Jephson’s father had made - his money by the judicious advertising of a certain oriental rug - manufactured in the Midlands, and I thought it very likely that he had - built a mansion for himself which he had called Northavon Priory. - </p> - <p> - A letter which I received from Arthur set my mind at rest. He explained to - me very fully that Northavon Priory was a hotel built within the walls of - an ancient religious house. - </p> - <p> - He had spent a delightful month fishing in the river during the summer,—I - had been fishing in the Amazon at that time,—and had sojourned at - the hotel, which he had found to be a marvel of comfort in spite of its - picturesqueness. This was why, he said, he had thought how jolly it would - be to entertain a party of his friends at the place during the Christmas - week. - </p> - <p> - That explanation was quite good enough for me. I had a week or two to - myself in England before going to India, and so soon as I recalled what I - had read regarding North-avon Priory, I felt glad that my liking for - Jephson had induced me to accept his invitation. - </p> - <p> - It was not until we were travelling together to the station nearest to the - Priory that he mentioned to me, quite incidentally, that during the summer - he had been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a young woman who - resided in a spacious mansion within easy distance of the Priory Hotel, - and who was, so far as he was capable of judging,—and he considered - that in such matters his judgment was worth something,—the most - charming girl in England. - </p> - <p> - “I see,” I remarked before his preliminary panegyric had quite come to a - legitimate conclusion—“I see all now: you haven’t the courage—to - be more exact, the impudence—to come down alone to the hotel—she - has probably a brother who is a bit of an athlete—but you think that - Tom Singleton and I will form a good enough excuse for an act on your part - which parents and guardians can construe in one way only.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, perhaps——Hang it all, man, you needn’t attribute to me - any motives but those of the purest hospitality,” laughed my companion. - “Isn’t the prospect of a genuine old English Christmas—the Yule log, - and that sort of thing—good enough for you without going any - further?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s quite good enough for me,” I replied. “I only regret that it is not - good enough for you. You expect to see her every day?” - </p> - <p> - “Every day? Don’t be a fool, Jim. If I see her more than four times in the - course of the week—I think I should manage to see her four times—I - will consider myself exceptionally lucky.” - </p> - <p> - “And if you see her less than four times you will reckon yourself - uncommonly unlucky?” - </p> - <p> - “O, I think I have arranged for four times all right: I’ll have to trust - to luck for the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “What! you mean to say that the business has gone as far as that?” - </p> - <p> - “As what?” - </p> - <p> - “As making arrangements for meetings with her?” - </p> - <p> - My friend laughed complacently. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see, old chap, I couldn’t very well give you this treat without - letting her know that I should be in the neighbourhood,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, indeed. I don’t see, however, what the——” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! You mean to say that you don’t see——Oh, you - will have your joke.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope I will have one eventually; I can’t say that I perceive much - chance of one at present, however. You’ll not give us much of your - interesting society during the week of our treat, as you call it.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll give you as much of it as I can spare—more than you’ll be - likely to relish, perhaps. A week’s a long time, Jim.” - </p> - <p> - “‘Time travels at divers paces with divers persons,’ my friend. I suppose - she’s as lovely as any of the others of past years?” - </p> - <p> - “As lovely! Jim, she’s just the——” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t trouble yourself over the description. I have a vivid recollection - of the phrases you employed in regard to the others. There was Lily, and - Gwen, and Bee, and—yes, by George! there was a fourth; her name was - Nelly, or——” - </p> - <p> - “All flashes in the pan, my friend. I didn’t know my own mind in those old - days; but now, thank heaven!—Oh, you’ll agree with me when you see - her. This is the real thing and no mistake.” - </p> - <p> - He was good enough to give me a genuine lover’s description of the young - woman, whose name was, he said, Sylvia St Leger; but it did not differ - materially from the descriptions which had come from him in past days, of - certainly four other girls for whom he had, he imagined, entertained a - devotion strong as death itself. Alas! his devotion had not survived a - single year in any case. - </p> - <p> - When we arrived at the hotel, after a drive of eight miles from the - railway station, we found Tom Singleton waiting for us rather impatiently, - and in a quarter of an hour we were facing an excellent dinner. We were - the only guests at the hotel, for though it was picturesquely situated on - the high bank of the river, and was doubtless a delightful place for a - sojourn in summer, yet in winter it possessed few attractions to casual - visitors. - </p> - <p> - After dinner I strolled over the house, and found, to my surprise, that - the old walls of the Priory were practically intact. The kitchen was also - unchanged, but the great refectory was now divided into four rooms. The - apartments upstairs had plainly been divided in the same way by brick - partitions; but the outer walls, pierced with narrow windows, were those - of the original Priory. - </p> - <p> - In the morning I made further explorations, only outside the building, and - came upon the ruins of the old Priory tower; and then I perceived that - only a small portion of the original building had been utilised for the - hotel. The landlord, who accompanied me, was certainly no antiquarian. He - told me that he had been “let in” so far as the hotel was concerned. He - had been given to understand that the receipts for the summer months were - sufficiently great to compensate for the absence of visitors during the - winter; but his experience of one year had not confirmed this statement, - made by the people from whom he had bought the place, and he had come to - the conclusion that, as he had been taken in in the transaction, it was - his duty to try to take in some one else in the same way. - </p> - <p> - “I only hope that I may succeed, sir,” he said, “but I’m doubtful about - it. People are getting more suspicious every day.” - </p> - <p> - “You weren’t suspicious, at any rate,” said I. - </p> - <p> - “That I weren’t—more’s the pity, sir,” said he. “But it’ll take me - all my time to get the place off my hands, I know. Ah, yes; it’s hard to - get people to take your word for anything nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - For the next two days Tom Singleton and I were left a good deal together, - the fact being that our friend Arthur parted from us after lunch and only - returned in time for dinner, declaring upon each occasion that he had just - passed the pleasantest day of his life. On Christmas Eve he came to us in - high spirits, bearing with him an invitation from a lady who had attained - distinction through being the mother of Miss St Leger, for us to spend - Christmas Day at her house—it had already been pointed out to us by - Arthur: it was a fine Georgian country house, named The Grange. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve accepted for you both,” said Arthur. “Mrs St Leger is a most - charming woman, and her daughter—I don’t know if I mentioned that - she had a daughter—well, if I omitted, I am now in a position to - assure you that her daughter—her name is Sylvia—is possibly - the most beautiful——But there’s no use trying to describe her; - you’ll see her for yourselves to-morrow, and judge if I’ve exaggerated in - the least when I say that the world does not contain a more exquisite - creature.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, one hour with her will be quite sufficient to enable us to pronounce - an opinion on that point,” laughed Tom. - </p> - <p> - We remained smoking in front of the log fire that blazed in the great - hearth, until about eleven o’clock, and then went to our rooms upstairs, - after some horse-play in the hall. - </p> - <p> - My room was a small one at the beginning of the corridor, Arthur Jephson’s - was alongside it, and at the very end of the corridor was Tom Singleton’s. - All had at one time been one apartment. - </p> - <p> - Having walked a good deal during the day, I was very tired, and had - scarcely got into bed before I fell asleep. - </p> - <p> - When I awoke it was with a start and a consciousness that something was - burning. A curious red light streamed into the room from outside. I sprang - from my bed in a moment and ran to the window. But before I had reached it - the room was in darkness once more, and there came a yell of laughter, - apparently from the next room. - </p> - <p> - For a moment I was paralysed. But the next instant I had recovered my - presence of mind. I believed that Arthur and Tom had been playing some of - their tricks upon me. They had burnt a red light outside my window, and - were roaring with laughter as they heard me spring out of bed. - </p> - <p> - That was the explanation of what I had seen and heard which first - suggested itself to me; and I was about to return to bed when my door was - knocked at and then opened. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth have you been up to?” came the voice of Arthur Jephson. - “Have you set the bed-curtains on fire? If you have, that’s nothing to - laugh at.” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of this room with your larking,” said I. “It’s a very poor joke - that of yours, Arthur. Go back to your bed.” - </p> - <p> - He struck a light—he had a match-box in his hand—and went to - my candle without a word. In a moment the room was faintly illuminated. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to say that you hadn’t a light here just now—a red - light?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I had no light: a red light floated through the room, but it seemed to - come from outside,” said I. - </p> - <p> - “And who was it laughed in that wild way?” - </p> - <p> - “I took it for granted that it was you and Tom who were about your usual - larks.” - </p> - <p> - “Larks! No, I was about no larks, I can promise you. Good Lord! man, that - laugh was something beyond a lark.” He seated himself on my bed. “Do you - fancy it may have been some of the servants going about the stables with a - carriage-lamp?” he continued. “There may have been a late arrival at the - hotel, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s not at all unlikely,” said I. “Yes, it may have been that, and the - laughter may have been between the grooms.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t hear any sound of bustle through the house or outside,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “The stables are not at this angle of the building,” said I. “We must - merely have seen the light and heard that laughter as the carriage passed - our angle. Anyhow, we’ll only catch cold if we lounge about in our pyjamas - like this. You’d best get back to bed and let me do the same.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t feel much inclined to sleep, but I’ll not prevent your having - your night’s rest,” said he, rising. “I wonder is it near morning?” - </p> - <p> - I held the candle before the dial of my watch that hung above my bed. - </p> - <p> - “It’s exactly five minutes past twelve,” said I. “We’ve slept barely an - hour.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the sooner I clear out the better it will be for both of us,” said - he. - </p> - <p> - He went away slowly, and I heard him strike a match in his own room. He - evidently meant to light his candle. - </p> - <p> - Some hours had passed before I fell into an uneasy sleep, and once more I - was awakened by Arthur Jephson, who stood by my bedside. The morning light - was in the room. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, come into Tom’s room!” he whispered. “He’s dead!—Tom - is dead!” - </p> - <p> - I tried to realise his words. Some moments had elapsed before I succeeded - in doing so. I sprang from my bed and ran down the corridor to the room - occupied by Tom Singleton. The landlord and a couple of servants were - already there. They had burst in the door. - </p> - <p> - It was but too true: our poor friend lay on his bed with his body bent and - his arms twisted as though he had been struggling desperately with some - one at his last moment. His face, too, was horribly contorted, and his - eyes were wide open. - </p> - <p> - “A doctor,” I managed to say. - </p> - <p> - “He’s already sent for, sir,” said the landlord. - </p> - <p> - In a few moments the doctor arrived. - </p> - <p> - “Cardiac attack,” said he. “Was he alone in the room? No, he can’t have - been alone.” - </p> - <p> - “He was quite alone,” said Arthur. “I knocked at the door a quarter of an - hour ago, but getting no answer, I tried to force the lock. It was too - strong for me; but the landlord and the man-servant who was bringing us - our hot water burst in the door at my request.” - </p> - <p> - “And the window—was it fastened?” asked the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “It was secure, sir,” said the landlord. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, a sudden cardiac attack,” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - There was, of course, an inquest, but as no evidence of foul play was - forthcoming, the doctor’s phrase “cardiac attack” satisfied the jury, and - a verdict of “Death from natural causes” was returned. - </p> - <p> - Before I went back to town I examined the room in which our poor friend - had died. On the side of one of the window-shutters there were four - curious burnt marks. They gave one the impression that the shutter had at - one time been grasped by a man wearing a red-hot gauntlet. - </p> - <p> - I started for India before the end of the year and remained there for - eight months. Then I thought I would pay a visit to a sister of mine in - Queensland. On my return at the end of the year I meant to stop at Cairo - for a few weeks. On entering Shepheard’s Hotel I found myself face to face - with Arthur Jephson and his wife—he called her Sylvia. They had been - married in August, but their honeymoon seemed still to be in its first - quarter. It was after Mrs Jephson had retired, and when Arthur was sitting - with me enjoying the cool of the night by the aid of a pretty strong cigar - or two, that we ventured to allude to the tragic occurrence which marked - our last time of meeting. - </p> - <p> - “I wish to beg of you not to make any allusion to that awful business in - the hearing of my wife,” said Arthur. “In fact I must ask you not to - allude to that fearful room in the Priory in any way.” - </p> - <p> - “I will be careful not to do so,” said I. “You have your own reasons, I - suppose, for giving me this warning.” - </p> - <p> - “I have the best of reasons, Jim. She too had her experience of that room, - and it was as terrible as ours.” - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens! I heard nothing of that. She did not sleep in that room?” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God, she didn’t. I arrived in time to save her.” - </p> - <p> - I need scarcely say that my interest was now fully aroused. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what happened—if you dare tell it,” I said. - </p> - <p> - “You were abroad, and so you wouldn’t be likely to hear of the fire at The - Grange,” said my friend, after a pause. - </p> - <p> - “I heard nothing of it.” - </p> - <p> - “It took place only two days before last Christmas. I had been in the - south of France, where I had spent a month or two with my mother,—she - cannot stand a winter at home,—and I had promised Sylvia to return - to The Grange for Christmas. When I got to Northavon I found her and her - mother and their servants at the Priory Hotel. The fire had taken place - the previous night, and they found the hotel very handy when they hadn’t a - roof of their own over their heads. Well, we dined together, and were as - jolly as was possible under the circumstances until bedtime. I had - actually said ‘Good night’ to Sylvia before I recollected what had taken - place the previous Christmas Eve in the same house. I rushed upstairs, and - found Sylvia in the act of entering the room—that fatal room. When I - implored of her to choose some other apartment, she only laughed at first, - and assured me that she wasn’t superstitious; but when she saw that I was - serious—I was deadly serious, as you can believe, Jim——” - </p> - <p> - “I can—I can.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, she agreed to sleep in her mother’s room, and I went away relieved. - So soon as I returned to the fire in the dining-room I began to think of - poor Tom Singleton. I felt curiously excited, and I knew that it would be - useless for me to go to bed,—in fact, I made up my mind not to leave - the dining-room for some hours, at any rate, and when the landlord came to - turn out the lights I told him he might trust me to do that duty for him. - He left me alone in the room about half-past eleven o’clock. When the - sound of his feet upon the oaken stairs died away I felt as fearful as a - child in the dark. I lit another cigar and walked about the room for some - time. I went to the window that opened upon the old Priory ground, and, - seeing that the night was a fine one, I opened the door and strolled out, - hoping that the cool air would do me good. I had not gone many yards - across the little patch of green before I turned and looked up at the - house—at the last window, the window of that room. A fire had been - lighted in the room early in the evening, and its glow shone through the - white blind. Suddenly that faint glow increased to a terrific glare,—a - red glare, Jim,—and then there came before my eyes for a moment the - shadow of two figures upon the blind,—one the figure of a woman, the - other—God knows what it was. I rushed back to the room, but before I - had reached the door I heard the horrible laughter once again. It seemed - to come from that room and to pass on through the air into the distance - across the river. I ran upstairs with a light, and found Sylvia and her - mother standing together with wraps around them at the door of the room. - ‘Thank God, you are safe!’ I managed to cry. ‘I feared that you had - returned to the room.’ ‘You heard it—that awful laughter?’ she - whispered. ‘You heard it, and you saw something—what was it?’ I - gently forced her and her mother back to their room, for the servants and - the landlord’s family were now crowding into the corridor. They, too, had - heard enough to alarm them.” - </p> - <p> - “You went to the room?” - </p> - <p> - “The scene of that dreadful morning was repeated. The door was locked on - the inside. We broke it in and found a girl lying dead on the floor, her - face contorted just as poor Singleton’s was. She was Sylvia’s maid, and it - was thought that, on hearing that her mistress was not going to occupy the - room, she had gone into it herself on account of the fire which had been - lighted there.” - </p> - <p> - “And the doctor said——?” - </p> - <p> - “Cardiac attack—the same as before—singular coincidence! I - need scarcely say that we never slept again under that accursed roof. Poor - Sylvia! She was overwhelmed at the thought of how narrow her escape had - been.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you notice anything remarkable about the room—about the - shutters of the window?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - He looked at me curiously for a moment. Then he bent forward and said— - </p> - <p> - “On the edge of the shutter there were some curious marks where the wood - had been charred.” - </p> - <p> - “As if a hand with a red-hot gauntlet had been laid upon it?” - </p> - <p> - “There were the marks of two such hands,” said my friend slowly. - </p> - <p> - We remained for an hour in the garden; then we threw away the ends of our - cigars and went into the hotel without another word. - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg’s The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - -***** This file should be named 51963-h.htm or 51963-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/6/51963/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Other World
-
-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51963]
-Last Updated: November 16, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
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-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- THE OTHER WORLD
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author of ‘The Jessamy Bride,’ ‘Nell Gwyn, Comedian,’ ‘The Original
- Woman,’ ‘Castle Omeragii,’ Etc. Etc.
- </h4>
- <h4>
- London: Eveleigh Nash
- </h4>
- <h3>
- MCMIV
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “<i>This Other World is indeed not so far distant from our own that is
- ruled by the sunne and moon. Therein the Prince of the Power of the Air
- hath his dominion, whose servants are the Witch and the Warlock,... the
- Night hagge,... and those that some, for want of a better name, term
- Ghosts, Ghouls (breeders of sadde dreams),... also the Hob Goblin (himself
- a foul fiend, albeit full of pranks),... Lyars all, but dangerous to
- trajfick with and very treacherous to Mankind. They lure to Perdition
- soone or late.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> “MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.” </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE BASELESS FABRIC </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE BLOOD ORANGES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he majority of the
- passengers aboard the steam yacht <i>Bluebottle</i> said that it was
- anybody’s game. In the smoking-room—when neither Somers nor Norgate
- was present of course—the betting varied daily according to the
- events of the day. At first the odds were slightly in favour of Teddy
- Somers—yes, she undoubtedly gave signs of enjoying the companionship
- of Mr Somers. She had been seen by trustworthy witnesses standing behind
- him while he sketched with a rapid pencil the group of Portuguese boatmen
- surrounding the solitary Scotchman, who had got the better of them all in
- a bargain, within the first hour of the arrival of the yacht in Funchal
- Bay. Afterwards she had been noticed carefully gumming the drawing upon a
- cardboard mount. Would a girl take all that trouble about a man unless she
- had a sincere regard for him? was the question which a sapient one put to
- a section of his fellow passengers, accompanying an offer of three to one
- on Somers.
- </p>
- <p>
- But after a pause, which somehow seemed to suggest an aggregation of
- thought—the pauses of a conscientious smoker are frequently fraught
- with suggestions—a youth who had been accused of writing poetry, but
- whose excellent cigars did much to allay that suspicion, remarked—“What
- you say about the drawing suggests that the girl takes an interest in him,
- and that would be fatal to her falling in love with him.” There was
- another long pause, during which the smokers looked at one another,
- carefully refraining from glancing at the speaker, until the man who had
- offered the odds said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to tell us that a girl’s being interested in a chap isn’t the
- first step to her falling in love with him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no hesitation in saying so much—I could say a good deal more
- on the same subject,” replied the propounder of the theory.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then it was that a number of the men glanced quickly toward him,—there
- was something of an appeal for mercy in the glance of most of them: it
- seemed as if they were not particularly anxious to hear a good deal more
- on the same subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is scarcely necessary to say, however, that the circumstance of their
- not wanting to hear a good deal more did not prevent the poet (alleged)
- from telling them a good deal more. It took him twenty-five minutes to
- formulate his theory, which was to the effect that it is impossible—impossible
- was the word he employed: there is no spirit of compromise on the part of
- a theorist, especially when he is young, and more especially when he has
- been suspected of writing poetry—<i>impossible</i> for a woman to
- love a man who has at first merely interested her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Love is a passion, whereas interest is—well, interest is merely
- interest,” said he, with that air of finality which a youthful theorist
- assumes when he is particularly absurd—and knows it. “Yes, when a
- woman hates a man thoroughly, and for the best of reasons,—though
- for that matter she may hate him thoroughly without having any reason for
- it,—she is nearer to loving him thoroughly than she is to loving a
- man who merely interests her, however deep may be the interest which he
- arouses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll give three to one in sovereigns on Somers,” said the man who had
- originally offered the same odds. He was clearly not amenable to the
- dictates of reason, the theorist said: he certainly was not amenable to
- the dictates of a theory, which, however, is not exactly the same thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s anybody’s game, just now,” remarked another of the sapient ones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anybody’s except the man’s in whom she has become interested,” said the
- theorist.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear young man,” said the professional cynic—he had scarcely
- recovered from a severe attack of <i>mal de mer</i>—“My dear young
- man, you’re not a very much greater ass than most boys of your age; but
- you will really not strike people as being much below the average if you
- only refrain from formulating any theory respecting any woman. The only
- thing that it is safe to say about a woman—any woman—every
- woman—is that no human being knows what she will do next.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but we were not talking about what a woman will do next, but what
- she will do first,” said the poet, who was not easily crushed. “Now I say
- that she——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, do dry up!” shouted a smoking man in a corner, who had just rung for
- a whisky-and-soda. “I’ve heard more nonsense within the past half-hour
- than I ever heard during an entire year of my life. There is no sense in
- arguing, but there is some sense in betting. If you believe in your
- theory, back it with a sovereign to show that you’re in earnest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the young man’s theory did not run into coin; though in other
- directions three to one on Teddy Somers was officially reported as offered
- and taken.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two days afterwards the layer of the odds tried to hedge. The fact was
- that the girl had shown such a marked inclination for the society of Jack
- Norgate in preference to that of Teddy Somers, it seemed as if the former
- would, to make use of an apt phrase, romp in. But before the steam yacht
- <i>Bluebottle</i> had crossed the equator the odds were even, as a
- passenger named Molloy—he was reputed to be of Irish descent—remarked.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a pleasant company that had left Gravesend on September 10th, for
- the six months’ cruise to cheat the winter (see advertisements) in the
- steam yacht <i>Bluebottle</i>, 3500 tons, Captain Grosvenor, R.N.R., in
- command. The passengers numbered sixty, and included singularly few
- disagreeable persons, in spite of the fact that the voyage was one that
- only people with money and leisure could afford. The vessel was well
- found, and her commander and officers were the pick of the Company’s
- fleet, and possessed innumerable resources in the way of deck games. The
- report found ready credence in the service that Captain Grosvenor had
- gained his position through being the originator of deck-golf. However
- this may be, he certainly recognised in the amplest way the
- responsibilities of the position of trust which he occupied, and he never
- allowed any duty to interfere with his daily exposition of the splendid
- possibilities of deck-golf. He had started a golf tournament before the
- yacht had left the Channel, and he hove to for three days in the Bay of
- Biscay, when the heavy sea that was running threatened to interfere with
- the playing off of the tie between Colonel Mydleton and Sir Edwin Everard.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cruise promised to be all that the advertisements had predicted it
- would be. But before Madeira was reached comments were made upon the
- extraordinary scarcity of young girls among the passengers. Among a
- certain section of the passengers the comments on this point had a highly
- congratulatory tone, but among another section the matter was touched upon
- with a considerable amount of grumbling. Old voyagers, who were
- accompanied by vigilant wives (their own), foresaw a tranquil voyage,
- undisturbed by those complications which their experience told them
- invariably arise when attractive young women are to be found in graceful
- attitudes on deck chairs. On the other hand, however, there were several
- men aboard who had just sufficient experience of going down to the sea in
- steam yachts to cause them to look askance, during their first day aboard,
- over the deck chairs, which were occupied mainly by fathers and matrons.
- Yes, there was, undoubtedly, a scarcity of girls.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fact is that such a pleasure cruise as that which had been mapped out
- for the <i>Bluebottle</i> differs essentially from the ordinary Indian or
- Australian voyage. On the two last-named, girls are to be found by the
- score going out or returning. It is not a matter of pleasure with them—though
- most of them contrive to get a good deal of pleasure out of it—but a
- matter of necessity. The majority of people who set out on a cruise in a
- steam yacht do so only because time hangs heavy on their hands, and they
- do not take their daughters with them, for the simple reason that their
- daughters decline to expatriate themselves for six or eight months at the
- most critical period of their lives.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only six young women were among the passengers, of the <i>Bluebottle</i>;
- of these only three were quite good-looking, and of these three the only
- really beautiful one was Viola Compton. It did not take the experienced
- voyagers long to perceive that Miss Compton would have an extremely good
- time aboard the yacht. With all their experience they knew no better than
- to suppose that a girl is having a good time when she has half a dozen men
- at her feet, and a reserve force of twenty others ready to prostrate
- themselves before her at a moment’s notice—when she is sneered at by
- her less pretty sisters, who tell one another that she gives herself
- insufferable airs—when she is frowned at by the wives of uncertain
- husbands, who call her (among themselves) a forward minx, and when she
- cannot snub the most odious of the men who disarrange her cushions for
- her, and prevent her from reading her novels by insisting on chatting to
- her on all the inanities which a long voyage fosters in men who on shore
- are alluded to as “genial.” If to be in such a position is to be having a
- good time, Viola had certainly the best time on record even before the
- yacht had crossed the Line. She had about a score of men around her who
- never allowed her to have a moment to herself; she was bored by Colonel
- Mydleton’s story of Lord Roberts’ mistakes when in India, the crowning one
- being—according to Colonel Mydleton—the march to Kandahar,
- which he assured her was one of the greatest fiascos of the century; she
- was rendered uncomfortable for a whole afternoon of exquisite sunshine by
- the proximity of the poet, who insisted on repeating to her a volume of
- lyrics that only awaited a publisher; she was awakened from a delightful
- doze after tiffin by the commonplace jests of the young man who fondly
- believed himself to be a humourist; she was sneered at by the other girls
- and frowned upon by the matrons, and she was made the subject of bets in
- the smoking-room,—in short, she was having, most people agreed, an
- uncommonly good time aboard.
- </p>
- <p>
- The captain knew better, however: he had kept his eyes open during a
- lifetime of voyages on passenger steamers, and he could see a good deal
- with his eyes without the aid of a binocular telescope.
- </p>
- <p>
- There could be no doubt that Miss Compton treated both Teddy Somers and
- Jack Norgate with a favour which she could not see her way to extend to
- the other passengers. It was only natural that she should do so, the
- captain saw at once, though he was too experienced to say so even to his
- chief engineer, who was a Scotchman. Norgate and Somers were both nice
- chaps, and had won distinction for themselves in the world. The former was
- a mighty hunter, and had slain lions in the region of the Zambesi and
- bears in the Rockies: the latter was well known as an artist; he was
- something of a musician as well, and he had once had a play produced which
- had taken a very respectable position amongst the failures of the season.
- Both men were very well off,—the one could afford to be a hunter,
- and the other could even afford to be an artist. They were both clearly
- devoted to Viola; but this fact did not seem to interfere with the
- friendship which existed between them. Neither of the two tried to cut out
- the other so far as the girl was concerned. When Somers was sitting by her
- side, Norgate kept apart from them, and when Norgate chanced to find
- himself with her, his friend—although the tropical moonlight was
- flooding the heaven—continued his smoking on the bridge with the
- captain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The captain was lost in admiration of both men; he reserved some for the
- girl, however: he acknowledged that she was behaving very well indeed—that
- is, of course, for the only really pretty girl aboard a ship. The captain
- was a strong believer in the advantages of a healthy competition between
- young women: the tyranny of the monopolist had frequently come within his
- range of vision. Yes, he saw that Miss Compton was behaving discreetly.
- She did not seek to play off one man against the other, nor did she make
- the attempt to play off a third man against both. For his own part, he
- utterly failed in his attempt to find out in what direction her affections
- tended. He saw that the girl liked both men, but he did not know which of
- them she loved—assuming that she actually did love one of them. He
- wondered if the girl herself knew. He was strongly inclined to believe
- that she did not.
- </p>
- <p>
- But that was just where he made a mistake. She did know, and she
- communicated her knowledge to Teddy Somers one night when they stood
- together watching the marvellous phosphorescence of the South Atlantic
- within ten days’ sail of the Cape. A concert was going on in the great
- saloon, so that there was an appropriate musical background, so to speak,
- for their conversation. Teddy had said something to her that forced from
- her an involuntary cry—or was it a sigh?
- </p>
- <p>
- Then there was a pause—with appropriate music: it came from a banjo
- in the saloon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that your answer?” he inquired, laying one of his hands upon hers as
- it lay on the brass plating of the bulwarks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My answer?” she said. “I’m so sorry—so very sorry, Mr Somers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” he said softly. “I tell you that I love
- you with all——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, do not say it again—for pity’s sake do not say it again,” she
- cried, almost piteously. “You must never speak to me of love; I have
- promised to love only Jack—Mr Norgate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What—you have promised?—you have——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It only happened after tiffin to-day. I thought perhaps he might have
- told you—I thought perhaps you noticed that he and I—oh yes,
- you certainly behaved as if you took it for granted that... ah, I am so
- sorry that you misunderstood.... I think that I must have loved him from
- the first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was another long pause. He looked down into the gleaming water that
- rushed along the side of the ship. Then she laid one of her hands on his,
- saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Believe me, Mr Somers, I am sorry—oh, so sorry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her hand tenderly, looking into her face as he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear child, you have no reason to be sorry: I know Jack Norgate well,
- and I know that a better fellow does not live: you will be happy with him,
- I am sure. And as for me—well, I suppose I was a bit of a fool to
- think that you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not say that,” she cried. “I am not worthy of you—I am not
- worthy of him. Oh, who am I that I should break up such a friendship as
- yours and his? I begin to wish that I had never come aboard this steamer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not flatter yourself that you have come between us, my dear,” he said,
- with a little laugh. “Oh no; ‘shall I, wasting with despair?’—well,
- I think not. Men don’t waste with despair except on the lyric stage. My
- dear girl, he has won you fairly, and I congratulate him; and you—yes,
- I congratulate you. He is a white man, as they say on the Great Pacific
- slope. Listen to that banjo! Confound it! I wonder shall I ever be able to
- listen to the banjo again.... Shall we join the revellers in the saloon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They went into the saloon together, and took seats on a vacant sofa. Some
- people eyed them suspiciously and said that Miss Compton was having an
- exceedingly good time aboard the yacht.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on, Somers congratulated his friend very sincerely, and his friend
- accepted his congratulations in a very tolerant spirit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose it’s what every chap must come to sooner or
- later. Viola is far better than I deserve—than any chap deserves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a very poor sort of girl that isn’t better than the best chap
- deserves, and although I think you are the best chap in the world, I
- should be sorry to think that Miss Compton has not made a wise choice. May
- you be happy together!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, old chap. I must confess to you frankly that some days ago I
- thought that you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that you had a certain tendresse for her yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I! Oh, your judgment must have been warped by a lover’s jealousy. ‘The
- thief doth think each bush an officer’—the lover fancies that every
- man’s taste must be the same as his own. May you both be happy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed that his prayer was granted so far at least as the next day was
- concerned, for certainly no two people could appear happier than the
- lovers, as they sat together under the awning, watching half a dozen of
- their fellow-passengers perspiring over their golf.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Compton—she was an invalid taking the cruise for her health’s
- sake—was compelled to remain in her berth all day, but Jack Norgate
- visited her with her daughter after tiffin and doubtless obtained the
- maternal blessing, for when he came on deck alone in the afternoon his
- face was beaming as Moses’ face beamed on one occasion. There was a slight
- tornado about dinner-time and the vessel rolled about so as to necessitate
- the use of the “fiddles” on the table. It continued blowing and raining
- until darkness set in, so that the smoking-room was crowded, and three
- bridge-parties assembled in the chief saloon as well as a poker-party and
- a chess-party. Four bells had just been made, when one of the stewards
- startled all the saloon by crying out of the pantries—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Coming, sir!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A moment afterwards he hurried into the saloon, putting on his jacket, and
- looked round as if waiting to receive an order. The passengers glanced at
- him and laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter?” asked the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t some one call me, sir?” the man inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that we heard,” replied the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought I heard some one sing out, sir,” said the steward, looking
- round.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must have been some one on deck,” suggested Colonel Mydleton. “Shall I
- cut the cards for you, doctor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The steward went on deck. He was met by Mr Somers, who, in reply to the
- man’s inquiry, said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Call you? No, I didn’t call you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The infant Samuel,” said one of the poker players, and the others at the
- table laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s raining cats and dogs, or whatever the equivalent to cats and dogs
- is in these parallels,” said Somers. “I got wet watching the <i>Bluebottle</i>
- show a clean pair of heels to a tramp. She’s in our wake just now. I think
- I’ll turn into my berth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to the bar and called for a brandy-and-soda, and then sang out
- “Good night,” as he hurried to his cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning Miss Compton appeared at the breakfast table, and so did
- Somers, but Norgate had clearly overslept himself, for he was absent. The
- captain inquired for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He must be on deck, sir,” said one of the stewards, “for he was not in
- his cabin when I went with his chocolate an hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he’ll turn up before we have finished breakfast,” said Somers,
- attacking his devilled kidneys.
- </p>
- <p>
- But his prediction was not realised. A pantry boy was sent on deck in
- search of Mr Norgate, but Mr Norgate was not to be found. A steward
- hurried to his cabin, but returned in a few minutes, saying that his bunk
- had not been slept in. The captain rose from the table with a
- well-simulated laugh. A search was organised. It failed to find him. The
- awful truth had to be faced: Mr Norgate was not aboard. Viola Compton was
- hysterical. Teddy Somers was silent; no one had ever seen him so deathly
- pale before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Theories were forthcoming to account for Norgate’s suicide—people
- took it for granted, of course, that he had committed suicide. Only one
- person suggested the possibility of his having fallen overboard, and of
- his cry being that which the steward had heard, for a part of the pantry
- was open on the starboard side. But against this it was urged that Mr
- Somers must have been on deck at the time the steward had heard, or had
- fancied he heard, that cry, and Mr Somers said he had heard nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a week the gloom hung over the whole party; but by the time the Cape
- was reached, Miss Compton was able to appear at the table once more. She
- looked heartbroken; but every one said she was bearing up wonderfully.
- Only the poet had the bad taste to offer her his sympathy through the
- medium of a sonnet.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- On leaving the Cape the bereaved girl seemed to find a certain plaintive
- consolation in the society of Mr Somers. He sat beside her in his deck
- chair, and they talked together about poor Jack Norgate; but after a week
- or two, steaming from Bombay to Ceylon, and thence through the Straits to
- Sydney, they began to talk about other subjects, and before long the girl
- began visibly to brighten. The passengers said she was a woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- And she proved that they were right, for when one lovely night Teddy
- Somers suggested very delicately to her that his affection for her was the
- same as it had always been, there was more than a little reproach in her
- voice as she cried—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, stop—stop—for Heaven’s sake! My love is dead—buried
- with him. I cannot hear any one talk to me of love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pressed her hand and left her without another word.
- </p>
- <p>
- She remained in her deck chair far removed from the rest of the passengers
- for a long time, thinking her thoughts, whatever they may have been. The
- moon was almost at the full, so that it was high in the sky before the
- quartermaster made six bells, and those of the passengers who had not
- already gone to their berths arose from their chairs, murmuring that they
- had no notion it was within an hour of midnight. A few of them, passing
- the solitary figure of the girl on her chair, said “Good night” to her in
- a cheery way, and then shook their heads suggestively together with such
- an exchange of sentiments as “Poor girl!—Poor girl!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very sad!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Melancholy affair!” but it is doubtful if their hearts were so
- overcharged with sympathy as to interfere to any marked degree with their
- slumbers.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl remained upon the deserted deck and watched the quartermasters
- collecting and storing away all the passengers’ chairs which lay scattered
- about, just as their owners had vacated them. When they had finished their
- job no one of the ship’s company remained on the quarterdeck. The sound of
- the little swish made by a leaping flying-fish had a suggestion of
- something mysterious about it as it reached her ears: it seemed like the
- faint whisper of a secret of the sea—it seemed as if some voice
- outside the ship was saying “Hist!” to her, to attract her attention
- before making a revelation to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she knew what the sound was, and she did not move from her chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas—alas!” she murmured, “you can tell me nothing. Ah! there is
- nothing for me to be told. I know all that will be known until the sea
- gives up its dead. He loved me, and the sea snatched him from me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tears with which her heart was filled began to overflow. She wept
- softly for a long time, and when at last she gave a sigh and wiped the
- mist from her eyes she found that the moon, previously so brilliant, had
- become dim. Its outline was blurred, so that, although the atmosphere was
- full of moonlight, it was impossible to say what was the centre of the
- illumination. It seemed to Viola as if a thin diaphanous silk curtain had
- fallen between the moon and the sea. Every object which an hour before had
- cast a black shadow athwart the deck—the spars of the mainmast, the
- quarterboat hanging in its davits—was clearly seen as ever, only
- without the strong contrasts of light and shade. The sea out to the
- horizon was of a luminous grey, which bore but a shadowy resemblance to
- the dark-blue carpet traversed by the glittering golden pathway to the
- moon, over which Viola had pensively gazed in the early night before
- Somers had come to her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- She now stood at the bulwarks looking across that shadowy expanse,
- marvelling at the change which had come about within so short a space of
- time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My life—it is my life,” she sighed. “A short time ago it was made
- luminous by love; but now—ah! now——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned away with another sigh and walked back to her deck chair. She
- was in the act of picking up her cushions from the seat when, glancing
- astern, she was amazed on becoming aware of the fact that she was not
- alone at that part of the ship. She saw two figures standing together on
- the raised poop that covered the steam-steering apparatus at the farthest
- curve of the stern.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was amazed. She asked herself how it was possible that she had failed
- to see them when she had looked astern a few minutes before. The figures
- were of course shadowy in the strange mistily luminous atmosphere, but
- they were sufficiently conspicuous in the place where they stood to make
- her confident that, had they been there five minutes before, she would
- have seen them.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood there wondering, the cushion which she had picked up hanging
- from her hand, who the men were that had come so mysteriously before her
- eyes an hour after the last of the passengers had, as she thought,
- descended to their berths.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not recognise either of them. They were separated from her by
- half the length of the stern.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she gave a little gasp. The cushion which she had held dropped
- from her hand, for one of the figures made a movement, turning his back to
- the low poop rail over which he had been leaning, and that moment was
- enough, even in the pale light, to allow of her recognising the features
- of Jack Norgate.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a little cry of mingled wonder and joy, but before she had taken
- even a step toward that tableau, she had shrieked out; for in the second
- that separated her exclamations, the figure whom she saw in front of the
- one she knew had sprung upon him, causing him to overbalance himself on
- the low rail against which he was leaning, and to disappear over the side.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrieked and sprang forward; at that moment the second figure seemed
- to fade away and to vanish into nothingness before her eyes. She staggered
- diagonally across the deck astern, but before she had taken more than a
- dozen blind steps her foot caught in the lashing of the tarpaulin which
- was spread over a pile of deck chairs, and she fell forward. One of the
- officers on watch, who had heard her cry, swung himself down from the roof
- of the deckhouse and ran to her help.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God! Miss Compton, what has happened anyway?” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There—there,” she gasped, pointing to the poop. “He went over the
- side—a minute ago—there is still time to stop the steamer and
- pick him up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who went over the side? No one was aft but yourself,” said the officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was Jack—Mr Norgate. Oh, why will you make no effort to rescue
- him? I tell you that I saw him go over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The officer felt how she was trembling with excitement. She tried to rush
- across the deck, but would have fallen through sheer weakness, if the man
- had not supported her. He brought her to the seat at the side of the cabin
- dome-light.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are overcome, Miss Compton,” he said. “You must calm yourself while I
- look into this business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not believe that I saw anything; but I tell you—oh, he will
- be lost while you are delaying,” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But for heaven’s sake sit here. Leave the
- thing to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He ran astern and made a pretence of peering into the distance of the
- ship’s seething wake. He was wondering what he should do. The poor girl
- was evidently the victim of a hallucination. Several weeks had passed
- since her lover had disappeared, and all this time her grief at his loss
- had been poignant. This thing that had happened was the natural result of
- the terrible strain upon her nerves. Of course he never thought of awaking
- the captain or of stopping the vessel.
- </p>
- <p>
- While he was still peering over the taffrail, her voice sounded beside
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here—it was just here,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned about.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Lord! Miss Compton, you should not have left your seat,” he cried.
- “Let me help you down to the cabin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you not seen him in the water?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no one in the water. In this light I would be able to see a
- man’s head a mile astern. I will put my arm under yours and help you to
- get below. Trust to me. We would all do whatever it was in our power for
- your sake. We all sympathise with you. Shall I send a quartermaster for
- the doctor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Viola had thrown herself down on the seat where he had placed her, and was
- sobbing with her hands before her face. The man did his best to soothe
- her. He made a sign to a quartermaster who had come aft to register the
- patent log, and told him to send the ship’s doctor aft. He had no notion
- of accepting the sole responsibility of soothing a young woman who was
- subject to disquieting hallucinations.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes the doctor relieved him of his charge. Miss Compton had
- become quite tranquil. Only now and again she gazed into the steamer’s
- wake and pressed her hand to her side. She allowed herself to be helped
- below in a short time, and did not refuse the dose of bromide which the
- doctor thought it his duty to administer to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day the doctor and the fourth officer had a whispered conference.
- They agreed that it would be better to say nothing to any of the other
- passengers respecting Miss Compton’s hallucination.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor girl—poor girl!” said the doctor. “I have been observing her
- for some time, and I cannot say that I was surprised at what occurred last
- night.. It is only remarkable that the breakdown did not happen sooner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad that none of the rest of the ship’s company heard her when she
- cried out,” said the officer. “Lord! you should have seen the look in her
- eyes when she stretched out her hand and insisted that she had seen the
- man topple over. I thought it well to do my best to humour her until I had
- a chance of sending for you. I felt that it was on the cards that she
- might throw herself over the side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was touch and go,” said the doctor. “Ah, poor girl!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A week had passed before Viola reappeared among the passengers. Her mother
- explained to kind inquirers that she had remained on deck quite too late
- one night and had caught a chill. The doctor bore out her unimaginative
- explanation of the girl’s absence, and added that it was much easier than
- most people suspected to catch a chill south of the Line. When Viola was
- at last permitted to come on deck she received many tokens of the interest
- which her fellow-passengers had in her progress toward recovery.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until the evening of her first day out of her cabin that Somers
- contrived to get a word or two with her alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was asking after her health when she turned upon him suddenly, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Somers, it was you who threw Jack overboard!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God!” he cried, starting back from her. “For heaven’s sake, Viola,
- do not say so monstrous a thing! What!—I—Jack———-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did it,” she said firmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear child, how on earth have you got hold of such a notion?” he asked
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was revealed to me that night—the night before I broke down,”
- she replied. “I had been sitting alone in my deck chair, and I was at the
- point of going below, when there—there on the poop at the side of
- the wheel astern, the whole dreadful scene was revealed to me. I tell you
- that I saw it all—Jack and you: I was not sure at first that the
- second figure was you, but I know now that it was you. I saw Jack turn
- round and lean against the rail, and that was the moment when you sprang
- at him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man took some steps away from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He returned to her in a few
- moments, and said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear child—oh, Viola! how is it possible for you to entertain so
- horrible a thought? Jack Norgate—my best friend!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You hoped to marry me—he is your rival—you murdered him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Somers flung up his hands with an exclamation and hurried down to his
- cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he came to her after tiffin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to speak a word to you apart,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went with him very far forward. Only a few passengers were on deck,
- and these were in their chairs astern.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to confess to you,” he said in a low voice. “I want to confess to
- you that it was I who threw Jack Norgate overboard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She started and stared at him. She could not speak for some time. At last
- she was able to say in a whisper—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you—murdered him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I murdered him. The temptation came over me. Oh, Viola, you do not know
- how I loved you—how I love you! My God!—should do it again if
- I thought it would give me a chance of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She continued staring at him, and then seated herself by his side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—threw him overboard?” she whispered again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were standing side by side on the poop deck far aft, watching the
- tramp steamer on that night; the yacht was rolling—he slipped—I
- gave him a push.... I have lost my soul for love of you, and you think the
- sacrifice worthless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it is too horrible—too terrible!” she said. “For me—for
- me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent. So was she. They sat together side by side for an hour. His
- terrible confession had dazed her. She was the first to break the silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Terrible—it is terrible!” she murmured. “Who could have told me
- that there was any love such as this in the world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is my love for you,” he said quietly. “It is the love that dares all—all
- the powers of time and eternity. I tell you that I would do it again; I
- would kill any other man who came between us. But my crime has been
- purposeless; we are to part for ever at Sydney in two days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said. “It is better that we should part.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave him her hand. He held it tightly for a moment, then dropped it
- suddenly, and left her standing alone on the deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was there ever such love in the world?” she murmured. “But it is terrible—terrible!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day she went to where he was sitting alone, far from the other
- passengers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr Somers,” she said, “you will not really leave the yacht at Sydney?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you tell me to stay, I will stay by the ship—I will stay by you,
- and you shall know what love means,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she said, “I think I have learned that already.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My beloved—you tell me to stay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that you love me,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My darling—my beloved! You are more to me than all the world—you
- are dearer to me than my hope of heaven!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes: you have shown me that you are speaking the truth. It is very
- terrible, but I know that it is the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is the truth. And I know that you love me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if I ever loved any one else,” said she, after a pause—“that
- is, I wonder if any one else ever loved me as you have done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was all that passed between them at the time; but two days later his
- hand was clasping hers as the steamer went past the Heads into the
- loveliest harbour of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was very early in the morning when he left his cabin to go on deck. The
- yacht was swinging at anchor. The sound of many voices came from the deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was waiting to receive him at the door of his cabin. He put both his
- hands out to her: she did not take even one of them. She stared at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you are the greatest scoundrel in the world,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Viola—dearest!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say you are the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, for you tried to
- obtain my love by telling me a lie—a lie—a horrible lie. You
- did not murder Jack Norgate. He fell overboard by accident that night,
- when no one was near him, and he was picked up by the ocean tramp which
- you had been watching—not beside him, but on the bridge. You are a
- wicked man. You told me that you murdered him, but you did nothing of the
- sort. There he is, coming toward us. I did not tell him how false you
- were, and I do not intend to tell him; but I know it for myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was you yourself who suggested the thing to me,” said he. “Did you not
- come to me accusing me of having murdered him? Did you not say that it had
- been revealed to you in a vision?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A vision? Oh, I was in need of a dose of bromide—that’s all,” said
- she.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Jack Norgate came up with the captain by his side. The hand that Mr
- Somers offered him was limp and clammy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here’s another of the ghost seers,” laughed Jack. “They all look on me as
- a ghost aboard this craft.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a marvellous escape,” said the captain. “Luckily the tramp was a
- fine old slow tub, and still more luckily she had a good look-out for one
- hour only. Why, you couldn’t have been in the water for more than ten
- minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seemed about a week to me, old man,” said Jack. “And as for the tramp—well,
- we arrived at Sydney before you any way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The captain laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a providential escape,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a providential escape,” said Viola, putting her arm through Jack’s
- and walking away with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- “MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.”
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> am so pleased
- that it has come about, my dearest Madge,” said Mrs Harland. “I always
- hoped that Julian would take a fancy—I mean that you—that you
- would come to think tenderly of Julian. It was the one hope of my life.
- What should I have done if he had come to me with a story of having fallen
- in love with one of those horrid modern young women—the sort who are
- for ever having their names in the papers about something or other—charities
- and things? Charity has become the most effective means of
- self-advertisement in these days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he had come to you saying that he loved such a girl, you—you
- would have loved her too, you dear old thing!” cried Madge, kissing her on
- both cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madge, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mrs Harland with dignity—the
- dignity of the lady with a grievance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is of yourself you would feel ashamed if your son came to you with a
- tale of loving a girl—any girl—and you failed to see her
- exactly with his eyes,” laughed Madge. “But I know you are glad that your
- duty in this respect is so easy: you have always loved me, haven’t you?
- How could you help it? When I think of how naughty I used to be; of the
- panes in the greenhouse I used to break, playing cricket with Julian—panes
- that involved no penalties; when I think of your early peas that I used to
- steal and eat raw out of the pods; when I think of all the mischief I used
- to put poor Julian up to, usually giving him a good lead over; and when I
- reflect that not once did I ever receive more than a verbal reproof from
- you, then I know that you could not help loving me,—it was not my
- fault that you did not think of me as the greatest nuisance in the
- county.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Harland laughed, though she had entered upon this interview with the
- girl who was to be her daughter-in-law very seriously, and in by no means
- a laughing spirit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I loved you always, because you were always a girl to be loved, and my
- prayer day and night, dear, was that Julian would come to think so in good
- time,” said she. “I was, I admit, slightly alarmed to find how very
- friendly you and he always were: every one knows that nothing is so fatal
- to falling in love as great friendliness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Madge. “How funny it was that I should never think about
- the matter at all! And yet I feel that I must always have loved him, just
- as I do now. How could any one help it, my dearest mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fond mother of Julian Harland made no attempt to answer so difficult a
- question. Some mothers may be able to formulate on economic grounds how it
- is that young men do not find it impossible to resist the charms of their
- numerous daughters; but the mother of an only son declines to entertain
- the notion that he may fail to attract any girl who has had the good
- fortune to appear attractive in his eyes. That was why Mrs Harland fully
- acquiesced in Madge’s view of the irresistible qualities of Julian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a good boy, he has never been otherwise than a good boy,” she said.
- “Still—well, I know that his future is safe in your keeping, my
- Madge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had heard of extremely good boys making extremely undesirable matches
- with young women in tobacconists’ shops. It would seem as if every
- university town must be overflowing with tobacconists’ shops, and as if
- every tobacconist’s shop must be overcrowded with attractive young ladies;
- one reads so much (in books written by ladies) of the undergraduate
- victims to tobacconists’ girls. She felt glad that her son Julian had not
- come to her from Oxford with a story of having made up his mind that he
- could only be entirely happy if married to one of these. She felt that he
- had been a really good son in choosing Madge Winston, the most beautiful
- girl in the county, rather than a snub-nosed, golden-haired girl from
- behind a tobacconist’s counter. Yes, he deserved great credit for his
- discrimination.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I am doubly glad that you have become engaged just now,” she
- continued. “You will keep him at home, Madge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has never shown any tendency to roam again,” said Madge, with an
- inquiring look into Mrs Harland’s eyes. “He has often said that having had
- his tiger-shooting in Kashmir, he is perfectly satisfied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was not that sort of shooting that was in my mind,” said Mrs Harland.
- “But his father was a soldier—my father was a soldier. Look round
- the hall, Madge—nothing but uniforms in every picture. That is why——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are afraid that if this war breaks out in earnest——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s it—that’s it. He belongs to a race of soldiers. There has
- not been a war since Blenheim between England and any other Power in which
- a Harland and a Severn have not fought.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a splendid thing to be able to say; and yet Julian was content
- with his Militia. Isn’t that strange?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was for my sake, dearest Madge. I saw in his face before he was
- sixteen the old racial longing to be a soldier, and I made an appeal to
- him. He put his career away from him for my sake, Madge. He promised to
- stay at home with me in my loneliness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were able to make such an appeal to him?” There was a suggestion of
- surprise in the girl’s voice, and it carried with it a curious suggestion
- of coldness as well.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it selfish of me—was it, Madge? Oh! I dare say it was. Yes, it
- must have been selfish; but think of my position, dear. He is all I have
- in the world now. What would life be worth to me if he were away, or if he
- were in danger? And then, think of his responsibilities. The property is
- not a large one, and it requires careful treatment. You don’t think that I
- was unreasonable, Madge?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no, no,” said the girl. “You were right, quite right; only——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only—only what, dear?” said Mrs Harland. “What is on my mind
- exactly at this moment,” said Madge, “is, that I—I would not have
- been strong enough to say that to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To say what to him, Madge?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What you said—to ask him to stay at home when he had his heart set
- on being a soldier, as his father and as his grandfathers were. Even now—but
- what’s the use of discussing a situation that cannot arise? Even if the
- war breaks out, he is only a Militia captain, so that he cannot be called
- on for duty in a campaign.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, the war will be over in a month or two, and there is no chance
- of the Militia being called out; but it is just for the next month or so
- that I have my fears—my fears, I should say. I have none now that I
- know that you have promised to make him happy—to make <i>me</i>
- happy. I had my fears that at the first sound of the trumpet in his ears
- all the instincts of his house... Look at those uniforms in every picture
- round the hall.... Ah, I was afraid that he might ask me to release him
- from his promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you knew that you would have released him without a word of demur,”
- said Madge. “You know that you would do so, for you belong to a fighting
- house, too. Bless me, I’m the only representative of civilianism among you
- all. Oh, it is high time that the fighting Severns and the fighting
- Harlands got a pacific element introduced among them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I feel,” said Mrs Harland. “Madge, you will not allow him
- ever to yield to that tradition of his house. I feel that so long as he is
- by your side he is safe. One campaign at least will take place without a
- descendant of the Harlands having anything to do with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before Madge had time to make a reply the gravel of the drive was sent
- flying against the lowest panes of the room by the feet of a horse reined
- in suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Julian has returned with some important news,” said Madge, glancing
- outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another instant a man’s step sounded in the porch, and Julian Harland
- entered the old oak hall with a newspaper in the same hand that held his
- hunting crop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has come at last!” he cried. “War! war! war!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “England has declared war against the Transvaal!” said Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the contrary, it is Mr Kruger, the Boer farmer, who has declared war
- against Great Britain!” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Mr Kruger!” said Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry—very sorry! War is terrible! I know what war means,”
- said Mrs Harland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sorry!—sorry!” cried her son. “Why, what is there to be grieved,
- about? You’re not a friend of Mr Kruger’s, mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what war means,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I don’t,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something in his voice that suggested a sigh, and it seemed that
- he was aware of this himself, for he threw his riding crop into a corner,
- and cried out quite cheerily—“I’m happy to feel all the springs of
- domesticity welling up within my bosom since you made me the happiest chap
- in the county, my Madge. I have no greater ambition than to sit in a chair
- at one side of the fire with you to look at, my Madge. How rosy you are,
- my dear. What is keeping the lunch, mother? We must drink together
- ‘Confusion to Kruger!’ His ultimatum—fancy a half-caste Dutch
- peasant having the impudence to write an ultimatum to Great Britain!—it
- expires to-day. We’ll not leave the hall till we are sure it has expired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He continued in this excited strain during lunch, and Madge found that she
- too was in the same vein. War was in the air, and while the crowds in
- London were cheering aloud and singing “God Save the Queen!” with flashing
- eyes, the little group of three at the table in that old Somerset hall
- stood up and drank to the success of the Queen’s soldiers in South Africa.
- Around them on the oak panels were the pictures of Harlands in red coats,
- Harlands in blue coats, Harlands in the demi-armour of the Stuarts,
- Harlands in the chain mail of the Lancastrians. Every man of them carried
- a sword and kept his eyes fixed on the living head of their house sternly,
- anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that was why Julian, after drinking to the toast which he had given a
- moment before, remained on his feet with his glass still in his hand, and
- with his eyes looking from picture to picture as though he had never seen
- one of them previously in his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother watched him, so did Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- The glass dropped from his hand and was smashed in pieces on the floor,
- and he fell back into his chair and gave a loud laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s Kruger!” he cried: “smashed!—smashed!—beyond recovery!—beyond
- coaguline—smashed—and without a Harland raising his hand
- against him,—that’s what they are saying—those Harlands that
- have had their eyes fixed on me, as if I needed their prompting. Come
- along, sweet womenfolk, and have a look at the sundial that Rogers
- unearthed when digging the new rose-bed, where the remains of the old maze
- were,—the date is carved on it, 1472 a.d. Just think of it, hidden
- for perhaps three hundred years and only unearthed yesterday, at the very
- hour that you promised to be my own Madge! A good omen! What does it mean
- except that a new era for the old house is beginning? Come along, my
- dearest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no great alacrity in Madge’s response to his challenge.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is father was
- killed in the Soudan, having inherited the property when his elder brother
- had been killed, a few years before, in Zulu-land. Four brothers, all of
- them men of splendid physique, had been slain in battle within a space of
- four years, and three widows and many children had been left desolate.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew the story of heroism associated with every one of the four, and he
- knew the stories of the heroism associated with the death of his
- grandfather at the Alma, and his greatgrandfather at Waterloo. That was
- why he had taken it for granted from his earliest years that he was to be
- a solder. It never occurred to him that there was any other destiny
- possible for a Harland of the Hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when his mother came to him one day and poured her plaint into his
- ear, entreating him for her sake to think of himself as associated with a
- happier fate, he had yielded to her, though he made no admissions in
- regard to the comparative happiness involved in the fate of dying on the
- field of battle, or as a senile fox-hunter after a protracted run to
- hounds. He showed himself to be a dutiful son, and he went to Oxford and
- then ate his dinners at the Temple, as he believed a reasonably aspiring
- country gentleman should do if he wished to retain his self-respect. He
- had also drilled every year with the Militia regiment in which he held a
- commission, and was rapidly qualifying for the rank of major.
- </p>
- <p>
- But during these years the country was engaged in no war that made any
- great demand upon its resources: he had no great temptation to go against
- the Afridis, and he felt sure that Khartoum could be reached by Kitchener
- without his personal supervision. But his mother noticed a change upon him
- as he read day by day of the probabilities of a war breaking out between
- England and the Transvaal. A strange uneasiness seemed to have come over
- him, and he talked of nothing except South Africa as a campaigning ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother became more uneasy than he was, and she was only in a measure
- relieved when one day he came to her, telling her that he had asked Madge
- Winston, the daughter of the Vicar of Hurst Harland, to marry him, and
- that she had consented. Mrs Harland told him that he had made her the
- happiest mother in the world; but from the chat, just recorded, which she
- had with Madge in the hall before Julian had returned with the news of the
- ultimatum, it will be gathered that she had still some misgivings.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were strengthened by observing Julian’s strange behaviour during the
- drinking of the toast. She saw the light that was in his eyes as he talked
- a little wildly about the coming campaign. She had seen such a light in
- the eyes of his father when talking of a coming campaign. She knew what it
- meant.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not accompany Julian and Madge when they went out together to look
- at the old pillar sundial which a gardener had dug up the day before. She
- was happily able to make a reasonable excuse for staying behind: a servant
- had just brought her a message to the effect that one of the lacemakers of
- the village had come by appointment to see her. She had interested herself
- for several years in the lacemaking, and was in the habit of getting old
- pieces of her own splendid collection repaired by one of the cleverest of
- the girls.
- </p>
- <p>
- This girl was still in the hall when Julian and Madge were driven indoors
- by a slight shower, and Mrs Harland showed them the piece of work which
- she had had mended. It was a delicate handkerchief bordered with rosebuds,
- and curiously enough, as Julian pointed out, the sprays arranged
- themselves so as to form a constant repetition of the letter M.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That stands for Madge, doesn’t it?” cried he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It stands for Medici,” said his mother. “This particular piece of lace
- belonged to Marie de’ Medici, though no one ever noticed that the rosebuds
- entwined themselves into the letter M.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will buy the handkerchief from my mother for you, Madge,” he cried.
- “Who knows what magic may be ‘in the web of it,’ like poor Desdemona’s!
- These Medici were uncanny folk. The earlier ones certainly understood the
- art of magic as practised by the highest authorities in the Middle Ages.
- Yes, the M stands for Madge. Take it, dear, I won’t be so ungracious as to
- add Othello’s charge to Desdemona about keeping it; and if I should find
- it in a railway carriage or anywhere else in years to come, you may make
- your mind easy. I’ll not strangle you on that account.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got it mended on purpose for you, Madge,” said Mrs Harland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are so good,” said the girl, spreading out the filmy thing
- admiringly. “You know that there is nothing I love so well as lace, and
- this design is the most perfect that could be imagined. A thousand thanks,
- dearest mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Julian seemed before the evening to have become quite resigned to staying
- at home; and during the next few weeks, though he followed the progress of
- the preparations for the campaign with great interest, pointing out what
- he believed would be the plans of each of the divisional commanders to his
- mother and Madge, yet he never semed to be unduly eager in the matter. He
- seemed to look on the campaign in a purely academic spirit—merely as
- a Kriegspiel,—and his mother’s fears vanished. She blessed the day
- that Madge had come to the Hall. It was Madge, and Madge only, who had
- succeeded in restraining his burning desire to be in the thick of the
- fight.
- </p>
- <p>
- But, then, following swiftly upon the news of the arrival of the First
- Army Corps and the successes of the sorties from Ladysmith, which elated
- the whole of England for some days, came like a thunderclap the news of a
- disaster—a second disaster—a third! It seemed as if the
- campaign was going to collapse before it had well begun. The change made
- itself apparent in every part of England—in every household in
- England, and in none more vividly than at Harland Hall. A change had come
- over Julian; he had no word for any one; he walked moodily about the house
- and the grounds, taking no interest in anything. He made an excuse for
- going up to London for a day or two, and he returned with a mass of news.
- The country had been taken by surprise in regard to the Boer preparations.
- The campaign was going to be a long one, and every available man was to be
- called out; he had it from good authority—the best authority in the
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother saw that the old light had come back to his eyes, and she
- shuddered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning when Madge came downstairs she saw her sitting in the
- hall, with her head bent down, her son standing over her with a paper in
- his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madge! Madge!” cried the mother, “you will tell him to stay; he is going
- to leave us, but you will tell him to stay. He will stay if you implore of
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said he, “I will stay if Madge asks me; but she will not ask me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will ask him—you will implore of him to stay, Madge, my
- daughter!” cried Mrs Harland.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence. The girl had become deathly pale. She stood at
- her chair at the table. She did not speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why are you silent?—why are you dumb?” cried the mother. “Will you
- see him go forth to die, as all the others of his family have done in the
- past? Cannot you understand what has happened? Oh! you have only just come
- down. You have not heard the news: the last of the Reserves have been
- called out, and volunteers are being called on from the Militia!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I have volunteered,” said Julian in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was still deathly pale. Her hands grasped the carved back of the
- chair. She did not speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Madge, you will tell him?” began Mrs Harland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said the girl, “I will tell him that I am proud of him—that
- if he had remained at home now I would never have married him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She walked steadily across the hall and put both her hands out to him. He
- took them in his own, and bent his head down to them, kissing each of
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he raised his head and looked round at the portraits in the panels,
- and laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He left the Hall in the evening.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the most
- dismal Christmas that any one in England could remember. Here and there a
- success had been snatched from the enemy; but the list of casualties
- published every day made the morning papers a terror to read. The British
- losses had passed the tenth thousand, and still Buller could not reach
- Ladysmith and Methuen could not cross the Modder. It seemed as if the last
- of the Egyptian plagues had fallen on England, and there was not a
- household in which there was not one dead!
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a dreary Christmas at Harland Hall. News had arrived a few days
- previously of Julian’s safe arrival at the Cape and of his having taken
- part in a skirmish on his way to the front. Every morning his mother and
- Madge—who had come to stay at the Hall for another month—picked
- up the newspaper and glanced with fearing eyes down the usual casualty
- list. When they failed to find his name there they breathed again. There
- was no thought of festivity in the Hall this Christmas Day, and it was a
- relief to Madge as well as to Mrs Harland when bedtime came. Before going
- to bed the girl sat for some time before the fire in her room, with
- Julian’s portrait in her hand, and on her lap some of the things which his
- hands had touched—a shrivelled November rose which he had discovered
- on the last stroll they had together through the garden—a swan’s
- feather which he had picked up and thrust with a laugh and a mock taunt
- into her hair—the lace handkerchief which had been given to her on
- the day of the outbreak of the war. She sat there lost in her own thoughts—praying
- her own prayers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she became aware of an unusual sound—a sort of tap at rare
- intervals upon her window-pane. At first she fancied that it was a twig of
- ivy which was being blown by the breeze against the window, but the next
- time the sound came she felt sure that it could only be produced by a tiny
- pebble flung up from the carriage drive.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a few moments she was slightly alarmed. She quickly extinguished her
- candle, however, and then went to the window, drawing the blind a little
- way to one side and peering out. There was no moon, but the sky was full
- of stars, and she knew that if any one was on the drive there was light
- enough to make her aware of the fact. For some time, however, her eyes,
- accustomed to the light of her room, were unable to make out any figure
- below; but after waiting at the window for a few minutes, it seemed to her
- that she could detect the figure of a man in the middle of the drive.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shut out all the light of the fire behind her and continued peering.
- Beyond a doubt there was a man outside. He was waving something white up
- to her. In another instant she knew him. A terrible fear took hold upon
- her, for she knew that she was looking out at a man in khaki uniform, and
- she knew that that man was Julian Harland. And now she saw him distinctly
- in the starlight: he was making signs to her, pointing to the porch and
- walking in that direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- She dropped the blind. There was no doubt whatever in her mind now: Julian
- had returned suddenly, and for some reason he wished to be admitted into
- the house secretly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stole down the broad shallow staircase into the hall, and by the light
- of the glowing logs which smouldered in the big grate she found her way to
- the oaken door that shut off the porch from the hall. She loosened its
- chains as silently as possible, and opened it. Then she went through to
- the porch and found herself standing opposite the studded hall door. There
- she paused for an instant, asking herself if she should open it.
- </p>
- <p>
- A low tap sounded on it from the outside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am here,” she said in a low voice; “am I to open the door for you,
- Julian?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Open, Madge, quick—quick, I am wounded,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- With trembling fingers she unfastened the bolt, opened the door, and
- allowed him to pass into the porch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “O, my darling, have you been wounded?” she cried. She had not put herself
- into his arms: she had a sense of his being wounded, and she was afraid of
- hurting him by coming in contact with the wound. She felt his hand on
- hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is really only a trifle, Madge,” said he; “you will be able to bind it
- up for me, and you must not awaken poor mother. The shock of seeing me
- might kill her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They went side by side into the hall, and he sank down with a sigh of
- relief on the big settee before the fire. She broke up one of the
- smouldering logs, and it glowed into a great flame which showed her that
- his face was very pale and that he had grown a beard.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was on her knees at his knees in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearest Julian!” she cried, with her arms about him, “how did you come
- without sending me word? Oh, where are you wounded?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The arm—the right,” he said rather feebly. “It is only a flesh
- wound, I know, but it was enough to knock me over, and it has been
- bleeding badly. If you wash it and bind it up a bit, however, it will be
- all right until the morning, when I can have it looked to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly and painfully he raised his right arm. He had apparently slit up
- the sleeve of his tunic, and the pieces fell away to the right and left of
- his arm, showing her a wound black with coagulated blood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor boy—my poor boy!” she said. “I shall do my best with it;
- but it is an ugly wound. Why should I not send a man to the surgery? Dr
- Gwynne will come at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” he said; “I don’t want to make a fuss at this hour. You can
- manage without outside help. Hadn’t you better light the candles?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sprang to her feet, and picking up one of the long chips from the log
- basket, lighted it in the fire and then transferred the flame to two of
- the old sconces at the side of the fireplace. As the light flickered on
- him she saw that his tunic was torn and splashed, and that his putties
- were caked with mire. No wayside tramp could be in a more dilapidated
- condition than Julian was in. He had clearly been walking some distance;
- and yet she could not recollect seeing any clay for miles around of the
- same tint as that which was caked upon his garments.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was about to ask him why he should not go upstairs to his own room
- where she could attend to him properly, but she restrained her nurse’s
- instinct to ask an irritated patient questions. She examined the wound and
- said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will wash it for you and bind it up till the morning. I shall get a
- basin in my own room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘A ministering angel thou!’” he said, with a very wan smile. “By the way,
- Madge, do you remember the lace handkerchief—the Medici
- handkerchief?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking at it only an hour ago,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘There’s magic in the web of it,” he said. “Fetch it and bind up my wound
- with that cobweb drawn over rosebuds and I shall be all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She hastened to her room, and in a few moments had picked out from a
- drawer some soft linen, a bottle of arnica, and a pair of scissors. She
- had attended ambulance classes, and had confidence in her own capacity to
- deal with any ordinary “case.” Then she put the lace Medici handkerchief
- with the other appliances, and, carrying a large china bowl with her water
- jug, came quietly down the stairs once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had fallen asleep on the settee, but in an instant he was awake. He was
- plainly vigilant at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is beginning to feel a bit stiff, but that is on account of the
- bleeding,” he said. “I knew I was doing wisely in awaking you only. I
- couldn’t stand a fuss.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will make no fuss,” she said, “and I shall hurt you as little as
- possible. I will even refrain from asking you any questions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s right; I feel so sleepy,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a deft and businesslike way she washed the clotted blood from the
- wound, and she quickly perceived that it was only a deep flesh wound, but
- it had bled a great deal and that had weakened him. She bandaged the arm
- with layers of linen, and when the bandage was secure he cried—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now for the handkerchief—that will make me all right in a moment.
- The earlier Medici were, I told you, wonderful folk, though the later——Ah,
- you are a good girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that he must be humoured. She made no protest against using her
- handkerchief in such a way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have no idea how relieved I feel,” said he. “My dearest girl, I knew
- that I would be safe in your hands. Now get me a big drink of water and I
- shall be all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She hastened to where a great cut-glass carafe and its goblet stood on the
- oak sideboard. He gave an exclamation that suggested more than
- satisfaction while the water was sobbing in the throat of the bottle, and
- when he had drunk a clear pint he gave a sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t had such a drink for weeks,” he said. “Now, dear girl, I’m
- dying with sleep, and so, I fancy, are you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not mean to sleep here?” she cried. “You will go to your own room,
- Julian, dear; a fire has been lighted in it every day to keep out any
- possible damp.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn’t think of such luxury when so many of my poor comrades are
- lying under the cold stars,” said he. “Don’t urge me, Madge; but go to
- your own bed and sleep well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Even while she was still looking at him, he laid his head back among the
- pillows of the settee and fell asleep. She waited by his side only for a
- few moments, and then went quietly up to her room. She threw herself on
- her knees by her bedside and wept tears of joy at the thought that he had
- come safe home again, with only a wound that a few weeks would heal.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when she had undressed and got into bed she could not help feeling
- that his homecoming was strange beyond imagination. He had sent no
- telegram, he had arrived with the stains of battle still on his uniform,
- and, strangest of all, his wound was not an old one. Not many hours had
- passed since he had sustained it.
- </p>
- <p>
- What on earth was the explanation of all this?
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt unequal to the task of working out the question. She felt that
- all other thoughts should give place to the glorious thought that he was
- safe at home. He would explain everything in the morning.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen she awoke this
- thought was dominant. He was at home—safe—safe!
- </p>
- <p>
- She listened at the door of his room to catch his cheery laughter with the
- first of the servants who might discover him. But no such sound came to
- her ears. She was nearly dressed when Mrs Harland entered her room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well!” she cried. “Well! you have seen him? Good heavens, why do you look
- at me in that way? Have you not seen him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Madge,” said Mrs Harland, “your eyes have a strange gleam in them.
- What do you mean by asking me if I have seen him—<i>him?</i> Is
- there more than one <i>him</i> for me and for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he came here late last night, he threw pebbles up at that window, and
- I let him into the hall and bound up a wound of his—a flesh wound
- only. I left him sleeping on the settee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Harland stared at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor Madge!” she said. “You have had a vivid dream. How could he
- possibly have been here when not a week has passed since we got a
- cablegram from him? It would take him a week to get back to Cape Town
- alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t try to explain anything,” said she. “Only he came into the hall
- as sure as we stand here together, and I bound up his wound—just
- below the elbow of the right arm. If I did not do so, where is the lace
- handkerchief? Here are all the things I was looking at before I heard the
- sound of the pebbles on the window, and the Medici handkerchief was there
- too. Where is it now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor child! Poor Madge!” cried Mrs Harland. “You must try to keep your
- thoughts away from him for a day or two. You and I need a change of scene
- badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; I am not going mad, I can assure you, my dearest mother,” said
- Madge. “I tell you that—where is the handkerchief?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is the breakfast gong,” said Mrs Harland. “I believe you, dear; you
- were with him in heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge laughed, and went downstairs. She gave a glance at the sconce in
- which she had lighted the candles; it contained four candles burnt down to
- the sockets.
- </p>
- <p>
- The papers had no special news; but later in the day two telegrams
- arrived. One was for Mrs Harland, the other for Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- They tore open the covers with palpitating fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- The first dispatch said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Flesh wound—very slight.</i>” The second—that addressed to
- Madge—said: “<i>Thank you, dearest</i>.” They exchanged telegrams,
- but not a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- He was invalided home after acting as escort to Cronje down to Cape Town,
- and saving a gun at Reddersburg (mentioned in despatches), but no one
- alluded to the wound which he had sustained on Christmas Day in a skirmish
- at the Modder.
- </p>
- <p>
- One evening, however, when he was able to sit outside the house, Madge
- turned to him, saying: “What did you mean by sending me that telegram, ‘<i>Thank
- you, dearest?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you have still by you that Medici handkerchief?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I must plead as Desdemona
- did about hers, it disappeared mysteriously. I cannot produce it for you,
- my lord.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, now I should get as mad as any Othello,” said he, “but on second
- thoughts I will refrain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen, dear Julian,” she said. “I am resolved to confess all to you,
- though you may think me a bit of a fool. Listen: on Christmas night I went
- to my room and seated myself before the fire, thinking of you, dearest,—your
- portrait was in my hands, and on the table were some of the treasures your
- hands had touched, the handkerchief among them. Then I heard—I
- seemed to hear—no, I prefer to tell the truth—I actually heard
- the sound of a pebble flung against my window. I looked out, I saw you on
- the drive, and I went downstairs and opened the hall door for you. You
- were wounded just where you were actually wounded—and I bound up
- your arm with the handkerchief and went to bed. In the morning there was
- no sign of your having been here, but—but—the handkerchief was
- gone. Don’t think me a goose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A goose? Heavens! a goose!” he cried. “Listen to my story, dear. When I
- was wounded in that scrimmage, I fainted through loss of blood, and when I
- recovered my senses I went in search of the ambulance tent. It was late
- before I came across a transport waggon, which had been disabled by a
- shell. I crept inside it, but found nothing there, and I was dying of
- thirst. And then—then—you came to me with bandages and water—plenty
- of water in the cut-glass carafe that stands on the sideboard. You lighted
- a candle, bound up my arm, and left me comfortably asleep, where I was
- found by our ambulance in the morning. Yes, that’s the truth, and that is
- why I sent you the telegram, and this is the handkerchief with the stains
- upon it still.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew the lace handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She
- gazed at it, but he only laughed and said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you ‘there’s magic in the web of it.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE BASELESS FABRIC
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>is sorry that
- you’ll be to hear that ould Denny Callan is dead, sir,” said the
- station-master—he was, strictly speaking, the junction-master—at
- Mallow, to whom I had confided my hopes of eventually reaching my
- destination at St Barter’s, in the same county. He had been courteously
- voluble, and sometimes even explicit, in giving me advice on this subject;
- he also took an optimistic view of the situation. All things considered,
- and with a moderate share of good luck, I might reasonably hope to reach
- St Barter’s House within a couple of hours. That point, which was becoming
- one of great interest to me, being settled, he thought that he was
- entitled to assume that I should be grieved to hear of the death of “ould
- Denny Callan.” He assumed too much. I had never heard the name of the
- lamented Mr Callan. I could not pretend to be overwhelmed with grief at
- the news that some one was dead whom I had never heard of being alive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tubbe sure, you’re a stranger, sir—what am I thinking of at all—or
- you’d know all about the road to St Barter’s,” said the official. “Oh, but
- you’d have liked ould Denny, sir, if you’d but have known him. A more
- harmless crayture you couldn’t find, search high or low. ‘Tis a great
- favourite that he was with the gentlemen—ay, and for that matter,
- the ladies—though I wouldn’t like to say a word against him that’s
- gone. Oh, they all come away from St Barter’s with a good word for Denny.
- Well, well, he’s at rest, and I don’t expect that you’ll have to wait much
- longer for your train, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When I had got out of my compartment in the express from Dublin an hour
- before, I was told that I should only have to wait for ten minutes to make
- the connection that would take me on to Blarney—the station for St
- Barter’s—but the train which was reputed to be able to perform this
- service for me had not yet been signalled. After the lapse of another
- twenty minutes I began to think that the stationmaster had taken too
- roseate a view of my future. It did not seem likely that I should, in the
- language of the ‘Manual,’ “attain my objective” that day.
- </p>
- <p>
- I had reached a stage of bewildering doubt, which was not mitigated by the
- arrival at the junction of a long train, and the announcement of the guard
- to the passengers, “Change here for Ameriky,”—it was explained to me
- that the train was full of emigrants bound for America via Queenstown,—when
- the station-master bustled up to tell me that the Blarney special had just
- been signalled from Kilmallock—the Blarney special was getting on
- very well, and with good luck should be available for passengers from
- Mallow within half an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- The good luck on which this estimate was founded was not lacking. My train
- crawled alongside the platform only five minutes over the half-hour, and
- the official wished me a continuance of good luck, adding—
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wouldn’t be like going back to the same place now that poor ould Denny
- is gone, if you had ever been there before, sir. Best his sowl! ‘Tis the
- harmless crayture that he was. You’ll be sorry that you didn’t know him,
- sir, when you find the place a bit lonesome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I was half-way to Blarney before my sluggish mind was able to appreciate
- the contingencies suggested by the station-master. I had never before been
- to St Barter’s, but if I had ever been there I should regret my returning
- to the place now that a certain person, of whose existence I had been
- unaware, was gone. That was how I worked out the matter, and before I had
- concluded the operation I had become quite emotional in regard to the
- demise of Denny. I shook my head mournfully at the thought that I should
- never see him—that I had come too late—too late! I had no idea
- that the local colour, which is associated by tradition with this
- neighbourhood, was so potent; but, indeed, when the obliging
- station-master at Blarney, who entered into conversation with me while the
- porter was looking after my luggage, remarked—
- </p>
- <p>
- “So poor ould Denny is gone at last, sir!” I shook my head sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Denny! poor old Denny!” I said with a sigh. “Ah, we’ll all miss
- poor old Denny. He was the most harmless man—St Barter’s will not be
- the same without him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The station-master did his best to comfort me for half an hour—that
- was the exact space that I had to wait for the car which was to carry me
- to St Barter’s. When it did arrive, the excuse given by the red-haired boy
- who had charge of the “wee mare” was that it was a grand wake entirely
- that Denny had last night.
- </p>
- <p>
- He told me more about it (with statistics of certain comestibles, mostly
- liquid) when driving along one of the loveliest roads possible to imagine,
- past the grey square tower of Blarney Castle, embowered among its trees,
- and on by the side of the greenest slopes I had ever seen, beneath the
- branches of one of the groves renowned in history and in song. A broad
- stream flowed parallel with the road, and every glimpse that I had through
- the trees on both sides was of emerald hills—some in the distance,
- others apparently sending their soft ridges athwart the road. I felt that
- at last I was in Ireland.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the side of a gracious slope, gradually approached by broad zigzag
- drives which follow the swelling curves of long grassy billows, the
- buildings of St Barter’s stand. They are neither venerable nor imposing—only
- queer. It seemed to me that everybody must have been concerned in their
- construction except an architect. But the compiler of a guide-book could,
- with every desire to be economical of his space, fill half a dozen pages
- with a description of the landscape which faces the windows of the front.
- The green terraces below the gardens dip toward the brink of a glen
- through which a trout stream rushes, and the woods of this sylvan hollow
- straggle up the farther slope, and spread over it in a blaze of autumnal
- gold that glows half through the winter. Where the wooded slopes and the
- range of green hills begin, undulating into a soft distance of pasturages,
- with here and there a white farmhouse shining out of the shadow of an
- orchard, and at the dividing line of the low slopes, the turret of Blarney
- Castle appears above the dark cloud of its own woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before I found myself facing this entrancing landscape, I could not for
- the life of me understand why my client, who might have lived where she
- pleased, should spend half the year at St Barter’s. But now I understood,
- and I took back the words which I had spoken more than once, when in
- mid-channel the previous night. A family solicitor may be pardoned for
- occasionally calling a client a fool. I had called several of my most
- valued clients by this name. I did so for the same reason that Adam gave
- for calling the fox a fox—because it was a fox. But I had never to
- retract until now. “Hydros” are horrors as a rule, but St Barter’s is a
- beatitude.
- </p>
- <p>
- A couple of hours after lunch—the water which was placed on our
- table was as exhilarating as champagne—sufficed for the transaction
- of the business which had brought me to Ireland, and I was free to return
- by the night train. I had, however, no mind to be so businesslike; for the
- scenery had clasped me tightly in its embrace, and in addition I found
- that the resident medico had been in my form at Marlborough, and I was
- delighted to meet him again. I had lost sight of him for nine or ten
- years.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was by the side of Dr Barnett that I strolled about the grounds and
- learned something of the history of the curious old place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rambling? I should think it is rambling,” he said, acquiescing in my
- remark. “How could it be anything else, considering the piecemeal way in
- which it was built? It was begun by a very brilliant and highly practical
- physician more than fifty years ago. When the house, as it was then, was
- fully occupied, and he got a letter from a person of quality inquiring for
- rooms, he simply put the inquirer off for a week, then set to, built on a
- few more rooms, and had them ready for occupation within the time stated.
- This went on for several years. If the Lord Lieutenant had written for a
- suite of apartments he would have had them ready in ten days. That sort of
- thing produces this style of architecture. St Barter’s is the finest
- example extant of the pure rambling. But it is the healthiest place in the
- world. People come here expecting to die within a fortnight, and they live
- on for thirty years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But now and again there is a death,” said I. “What about poor ould Denny?
- The most harmless crayture——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Barnett stared at me.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it in the London papers?” he cried. “Oh, I see; you have been talking
- to the driver of the car. Poor ould Denny! He was everybody’s friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet quite harmless? The place will never seem the same to me as it
- would have done if I had not arrived too late to see Denny. Was he your
- assistant, or what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doctor laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was simply ‘poor ould Denny!”’ he said. “That was his profession. It
- was pretty comprehensive, I can tell you. He was here when the house would
- be overcrowded with ten guests. He roofed a whole wing with his own hands.
- Then he dug the pit for the gasometer, thirty years ago, and he lived to
- dam the trout stream that works the dynamo for the electric light. He was
- also an accomplished <i>masseur</i>, and set up the hatchery that supplied
- the stream with trout.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His name should have been Crichton, not Callan. Anything else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He could do tricks on the billiard table, and he knew all that there is
- to be known about hair-cutting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all—no, stay! he was a sculptor’s model for some time. I can
- show you the result of his labours in this direction, if you would care to
- see it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I certainly should care to see it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come along, then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He led me half-way round the building, from where the two storeys of the
- centre block dwindled away to the single bedroom sheds of one wing. We
- passed by the side of the terrace garden, and I made a remark respecting
- the fine carving on some of the stone vases.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were the work of the sculptor who chose Denny for his model,” said
- the doctor. “Here we are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I followed him between two fine cedars, and in another instant we were
- face to face with a very striking colossal figure of a man holding aloft a
- goblet. The head and the torso were very powerful, but the latter was
- joined on to a conventional Greek pedestal, at the foot of which there
- peeped out four tiny hoofs of satyrs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you think of it? my friend inquired?” I told him that I thought
- there was a good deal of strength in the modelling of the figure, but I
- could not understand the satyrs’ hoofs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I take it for granted that the sculptor left the hair unfinished,’ I
- added; for one could not help remarking the roughness of the masses at the
- top of the head. The sculptor had merely blocked out the heavy locks of
- hair; he had made no attempt to define them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The story of the work is rather a sad one,” said the doctor. “The
- sculptor was a nephew of the man who built this place. He had worked in a
- good studio in Italy, and was, I believe, a pupil of the distinguished
- Irishman, Foley. He was devoted to his profession, and exhibited in some
- of the London galleries. But every one knows that it is very difficult to
- make a name—and a profit—as a sculptor, and he realised this
- truth only when he had spent the greater part of his small patrimony. He
- came here, and built for himself that cottage which you see at the other
- side of the terrace, and, in order to keep himself employed, he carved all
- these vases and urns which you have been admiring. Unfortunately, however,
- among the doctor’s patients at the house there was a wealthy linen
- merchant from Ulster—one of that vulgar crowd who had become
- suddenly prosperous when the American Civil War prevented the export of
- cotton from the southern ports; and this gentleman, meeting the sculptor
- daily, and feeling probably that he would like to pose before the world as
- a patron of Art, gave him a commission to execute a colossal figure to
- support a lamp at the entrance to the new house which he was building for
- himself. He made no stipulation as to the design, only the cost was not to
- exceed a thousand pounds, and the work was to be ready within a year. Of
- course, the poor sculptor was delighted. He accepted the commission, and,
- thinking of the artistic rather than the business side of the transaction,
- never dreamt of drawing up an agreement with his generous patron. Before a
- month had passed, he had obtained his material and made his clay sketches.
- Looking about for a model for the figure, he was struck by the fine
- proportions of Denny, and had no difficulty in inducing him to add to his
- other occupations the more restful one of a sculptor’s model. For several
- months the work progressed satisfactorily, and it was very near its
- completion, when the model contracted a malady which necessitated the
- shaving of his head and interrupted his sittings. The sculptor was not
- greatly inconvenienced, however. He turned his attention for some weeks to
- the carving of the pedestal, and got that completed before his model was
- able to resume his sittings. But even then the sculptor could only deal
- with the torso, for Denny’s crown was as bald as an egg. In a couple of
- months, however, the doctor assured him that he would have as luxuriant a
- crop as would qualify him to pose for one of the artists who produce the
- advertisements for hair-restorers. The work was now practically finished.
- As the model remarked, the edifice only needed the thatch to be put on the
- roof to make it presentable. Then the proud artist wrote to his patron,
- telling him that his commission was executed, and inviting him to come and
- see it. After the lapse of a week or two the patron arrived, and was
- conducted by the sculptor to view his masterpiece. The patron viewed it in
- silence for some minutes, and then burst into a fit of laughter. ‘Man,
- dear!’ he managed at last to gasp in the raucous accent of his native
- province—‘Man, dear! what’s that thing, anyway? Tell us what it is,
- if you can. A Greek figure? They must have had funny figures, them Greeks,
- if they had feet like yon. You must take me for a queer fool if you fancy
- that I’d let the like o’ yon stand fornenst my house. You may make a fool
- of yourself as much as you please, but I’ll take good care that you don’t
- make a fool of me!’ What could a refined man say to a brute like this?
- Well, he said nothing. He stood there in silence, with his eyes fixed upon
- the face that he had carved, and the patron left him staring at it. He
- stared at it all day, and the doctor, walking round the garden that night,
- saw him staring at it in the moonlight, and led him away to the cottage,
- and sent him to bed. He never rose from that bed, except once. Two days
- later, his housemaid entered his room and found him kneeling at his window—the
- statue could be seen where he had placed it—where it now stands—and
- he was quite dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I could not speak for some time after the doctor had told me the story,
- for I felt that it was the saddest I had ever heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His heart was broken,” I said. “But perhaps you will tell me that science
- has proved that such a rupture is impossible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will tell you nothing of the sort,” said he. “A broken heart is the
- best possible way to describe the effect upon a sensitive brain of such a
- shock as the sculptor sustained. His heart was broken. I am sorry that I
- hadn’t a livelier story for you. People come to Ireland expecting to be
- amused; but it seems to me that the history of the island from the
- earliest times is one prolonged lament. The finest music of the national
- melodies is to be found in the most mournful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I stood with my eyes fixed upon the statue.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Strange, isn’t it, that I should arrive here to be told that pitiful
- story within an hour or two of the death of the model?” said I. “The poor
- artist! I am sure that he felt that he was immortalising Denny; and yet—I
- suppose that in a year or two no one will know anything either of the
- sculptor or his model. Perhaps the vulgarity of the Ulster patron is,
- after all, the most enduring of all the qualities that went to the
- production of this work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The patron eventually became one of the most distinguished bankrupts of
- his generation,” said Dr Barnett. “He died a few years ago, but vulgarity
- did not die with him. Yes, I think you are right—vulgarity is
- immortal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if our friend Denny was proud to be reproduced in the stone, or
- was he mortified at the result of his first connection with art?” I
- remarked, while we were strolling back to the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He took an interest in the thing up to the very last,” replied the
- doctor. “I have often seen him take a surreptitious glance at it, and pass
- away from it, stroking his head mournfully. He confided in me once that
- his sorrow was that the sculptor had not lived to reproduce his fine head
- of hair; and I know that he believed that it was the unfinished state of
- the crown of the figure that brought about its rejection. His widow told
- me only yesterday that this was the greatest trouble of his last hours.
- You see, the figure was a record of his early manhood, but the pride that
- he had in looking at it must have been chastened by the feeling that it
- did not do justice to his curls—his one vanity was his curly head.
- He was nicknamed in Irish ‘The curly-headed boy.’ It was pathetic to hear
- his widow repeat the phrase over his body when I visited her in her
- trouble yesterday. ‘He was my curly-headed boy—my curly-headed boy
- will never know the touch of my comb again!’ she wailed in Irish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Denny!” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That seems by one consent to be his most appropriate epitaph,” said the
- doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- After dinner that night I played a very pleasant rubber of whist with my
- client, and the doctor and his wife. When the party separated I went to
- the billiard-room with Barnett, and we played a hundred up. Lighting a
- cigar then, I strolled out alone upon the terrace, the doctor having gone
- to his room. The night was a brilliant one, and the landscape lay bare and
- white beneath the moonlight, which flooded the far-off hills and spread a
- garment of filigree over the foliage of the glen and of the slope beyond.
- Beneath its brilliance the trout stream, whose voice came fitfully through
- the brooding silence of the night, flashed here and there among the trees.
- The square tower of the Castle shone like marble in the distance. From one
- of the farms of the hillside the faint sound of a dog’s bark reached my
- ears.
- </p>
- <p>
- I seated myself on one of the terrace chairs, languidly smoking my cigar
- and breathing the strong perfume of the stocks of the garden. I confess
- that my mind was dwelling upon the story of that queer piece of sculpture
- before which I had stood in the afternoon. It was as sad a story as that
- of the poet Keats, only the brutal criticism of the sculptor’s patron was
- more savage than the ‘Quarterly Review’ which had bludgeoned the fine poet
- to the death. But my sympathy was not given to the artist so fully as to
- leave no pity to bestow upon his model, who had lived on for thirty or
- forty years with his humble grievance. I could appreciate the feelings of
- poor old Denny all the years that he had laboured beneath the burden of
- being handed down in effigy to coming generations shorn of his greatest
- glory. The one who was known to all men as the curly-haired hoy was doomed
- to stand before the eyes of all comers as the possessor of shapeless,
- matted locks that were not locks at all!
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not made of the same fibre as the artist; he had not broken down
- beneath the weight of that reflection; but I knew it must have been a
- heaviness to him all his days.
- </p>
- <p>
- I remained seated in the moonlight for a long time, and just as I thought
- that I should turn in, I noticed a figure crossing the little grassy slope
- toward the garden. It was, I perceived, the figure of a man, and he was
- wearing what I took at first to be an ordinary night suit of light silk;
- but before he had gone a dozen steps I perceived that his garment was a
- painter’s blouse. He moved silently over the grass, and I could not help
- feeling, as I had often done before, how a glance of moonlight on a figure
- may produce such an effect of mystery as can never be gained in daylight.
- I assumed that the object which was passing away among the flower-beds was
- one of the household staff on duty—a watchman, it might be, or a
- gardener going to regulate the heating apparatus in a greenhouse. And yet,
- looking at him from my seat, he seemed as weird and unsubstantial as a
- whiff of mountain mist.
- </p>
- <p>
- I rose from my place, and was about to walk round to the entrance to the
- house and get to bed, when I became aware of another figure moving through
- the moonlight along the grassy terrace. I gave an exclamation of surprise
- when I saw that this one was half nude and white—white as the stone
- of the statue beyond the trees—there, it moved—<i>the statue
- itself</i>—-I saw it—the figure of the man with his hands held
- aloft—the features were the same—the proportions of the body—only
- this one was more perfect than the other, for he had a mass of curly locks
- clustering over his head like the curls of the Herakles of the Vatican.
- </p>
- <p>
- And even while I stood there watching him, the figure passed away among
- the trees.
- </p>
- <p>
- I waited in such a state of amazement as I had never experienced before. I
- had the sensation of being newly awakened; but I knew that I had not
- fallen asleep for a moment. I was not afraid; only, finding myself in a
- situation to which I was unaccustomed, I did not know what I should do. It
- took me some minutes to collect myself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the stillness I became aware of a curious dull tapping sound—there
- it went, tap, tap, tap; then a slight pause, and again tap, tap, tap, tap.
- </p>
- <p>
- A dog behind the house gave a prolonged howl, and along the path below me
- a fox-terrier, which I had seen during the day, scurried, its tail between
- its legs, and every limb trembling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tap, tap, tap”—a pause—“tap, tap, tap, tap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- My mind was made up. I went cautiously along the terrace in the direction
- of the garden. I found myself walking stealthily on my toes, as though I
- was anxious not to disturb someone who was desirous of quiet; and as I
- went on, the sounds of the tapping became more distinct. Almost before I
- knew it, I reached that part of the grassy terrace which commanded a view
- of the garden; and in an instant I was standing still. I could hear the
- beating of my own heart as I saw, under my very eyes, not twenty yards
- away, three figures, equally white and shadowy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The nearest to me was of the half-naked man with the head of curls; the
- one in the middle was in exactly the same posture—it was the figure
- of the statue; and the third was the one which I had seen wearing the long
- white blouse, and this was the only one of the three that moved. He was
- standing, as it seemed, on the ledge of the pedestal, and a sculptor’s
- chisel was in one hand and a mallet in the other. He was working at the
- head of the statue, every now and again glancing at the head of the model,
- pausing while he did so, and beginning to work again after the lapse of a
- second or two.
- </p>
- <p>
- I stood there on the terrace watching this strange scene, and the curious
- part of it was that it did not seem in the least degree curious to me
- while it was being enacted. On the contrary, I had a distinct sense of
- harmony—of artistic finish—the pleasurable sensation of which
- one is conscious on the completion of the <i>leit motif</i> of a symphony,—that
- is how I can best express what my feelings were at the time. During the
- hour that I remained there it never occurred to me that I should draw any
- nearer to the shadowy group. As a matter of fact, I believe that there was
- uppermost in my mind an apprehension that it was necessary for me to keep
- very still, lest I should interfere with the work. I have had precisely
- the same feeling when in the studio of a painter while he was at work and
- I was watching him. But I could not leave the place where I stood, so long
- as that scene was being enacted in the silence, and the three figures were
- equally silent. The night knew no sound except that caused by the
- chiselling of the stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour must have passed—perhaps more than an hour—and then,
- still in silence, the sculptor threw his chisel and his mallet to the
- ground. I heard the little thud which each gave on the turf. Then he
- sprang to the ground; but his feet made no sound in alighting. I stood on
- the terrace and watched him and his model move away across the garden as
- silently as they had come, and disappear among the trees at the entrance
- to the glen.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning when I had breakfasted I sought my friend Dr Barnett, and
- told him my experience of the night. He did not smile. But he was strictly
- scientific. We were smoking together on one of the paths bordered by
- laurels, and when I had told him all that I had to tell, he put his hand
- on my arm, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear boy, the phenomena of ghosts are invariably interesting, and, on
- the whole, not more perplexing than other natural phenomena. Sometimes
- they are due to one cause, sometimes to another. Most frequently they must
- be attributed to the projection of an image upon the eye from within, not
- from without. Now, in your case—but we had better stroll round to
- the scene of your illusion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- We went together across the lawn in the direction of the companion cedars,
- and he continued his discourse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All that you have told me interests me greatly, showing as it does how,
- under certain conditions, the most admirably balanced brain may become
- what I may call sensitised—susceptible as a photographic plate to an
- image——”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point his speech was arrested. We had passed between the cedars,
- and the statue was facing us. The doctor was gazing up at it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good heavens!” he said in a whisper; “he has finished it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- I looked up and saw that the head of the figure was covered with curls.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has finished it—he has finished it,” the doctor whispered again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” I said, “he has finished it. I saw him do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED.
- </h2>
- <h3>
- I.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he houses which
- constitute the town of Picotee—in the Gambia region a commendable
- liberality of spirit prevails as to the requisite elements of a town—were
- glistening beneath the intolerable rays of the afternoon sun. To the eyes
- of all aboard the mail steamer <i>Penguin</i>, which had just run up a
- blue-peter in the anchorage, the town seemed of dazzling whiteness. It was
- only the inhabitants of Picotee who knew that the walls of the houses were
- not white, but of a sickly yellow tinge; consequently, it was only the
- inhabitants who knew how inappropriate it was to allude to their town as
- the “whited sepulchre”—a term of reproach which was frequently
- levelled against it rather on account of the appalling percentage of
- mortality among its inhabitants than by reason of the spotlessness of the
- walls, though they did appear spotless when viewed from the sea. In the
- saloon of the <i>Penguin</i> the thermometer registered 95°, and when the
- passengers complained to the captain of the steamer respecting the
- temperature, holding him personally responsible for every degree that it
- rose above 70°, he pointed across the dazzling blue waters of the
- anchorage to where the town was painfully glistening, and asked his
- complainants how they would like to be there.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was universally believed that when the captain had put this inquiry,
- the last word had been said regarding the temperature: he, at any rate,
- seemed to fancy that he had relieved himself from all responsibility in
- the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- At Picotee things were going on pretty much as usual. But what is progress
- at Picotee would be regarded as stagnation elsewhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a fine suggestion of repose about the Kroomen who were dozing in
- unpicturesque attitudes in the shade of the palms on the ridge nearest to
- the beach; and even Mr Caractacus Brown, who, being one of the merchants
- of the place,—he sold parrots to the sailors, and would accept a
- contract for green monkeys from the more ambitious collectors of the fauna
- of the West Coast,—was not supposed to give way to such weaknesses
- as were exhibited by the Kroomen—even Mr Caractacus Brown wiped his
- woolly head and admitted to his neighbour, Mr Coriolanus White, that the
- day was warm. Having seen Coriolanus selling liquid lard by the spoonful,
- he could scarcely do otherwise than admit that the temperature was high.
- Devonshire cream was solid in comparison with the lard sold at Picotee.
- But, in spite of the heat, a pepper-bird was warbling among the bananas,
- and its song broke the monotony of the roar of the great rollers that
- broke upon the beach—a roar that varies but that never ends in the
- ears of the people of Picotee.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Claude Koomadhi, who occupied a villa built on the lovely green slope
- above the town, opened the shutters of the room in which he sat, and
- listened to the song of the pepper-bird. Upon his features, which seemed
- as if they were carved out of black oak and delicately polished, a
- sentimental expression appeared. His eyes showed a large proportion of
- white as he sighed and remarked to his servant, who brought him a glass of
- iced cocoanut milk, that the song of the pepper-bird reminded him of home.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of ‘ome, sah?” said the old woman. “Lor’ bress yah, sah! dere ain’t no
- peppah-buds at Ashantee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi’s eyes no longer wore a sentimental expression. They flashed
- when the old woman had spoken, but she did not notice this circumstance.
- She only laid down the tumbler on the table, hitched up her crimson shawl,
- and roared with negress’ laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t understand, Sally. I said home—England,” remarked the
- doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, beg pardung, sah; thought yah ‘looded to Ashantee,” said the old
- woman as she rolled out of the room, still uttering that senseless laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi did not seem to be greatly put out by that reminder of the
- fact that Ashantee was his birthplace. He threw himself back in his cane
- chair and took a sip from the tumbler. He then resumed his perusal of the
- ‘Saturday Review’ brought by the <i>Penguin</i> in the morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not get through many pages. He shook his head gravely. He could not
- approve of the tone of the political article. It suggested compromise. It
- was not Conservative enough for Dr Koomadhi. He began to fear that he must
- give up the ‘Saturday.’ It was clearly temporising with the enemy. This
- would not do for Dr Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took another sip of cocoanut milk, and then began pacing the room. He
- was clearly restless in his mind; but, perhaps, it would be going too far
- to suggest that he was perturbed owing to the spirit of compromise
- displayed in the political article which he had just read. No; though a
- staunch Conservative, he was still susceptible of a passion beyond the
- patriotic desire to assist in maintaining the integrity of the Empire.
- This was the origin of his uneasiness. He had been awake all the previous
- night thinking over his past life, and trying to think out his future. The
- conclusion to which he had come was that as he had successfully overthrown
- all the obstacles which had been in his path, to success in the past,
- there was no reason why he might not overthrow all that might threaten to
- bar his progress in the future. But, in spite of having come to this
- conclusion, he was very uneasy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not become more settled when he had gone to a drawer in his
- writing-desk and had taken out a cabinet portrait—the portrait of a
- lady—and had gazed at it for several minutes. He laid it back with
- something like a sigh, and then brought out of the same receptacle a
- quantity of manuscript, every page of which consisted of a number of
- lines, irregular as to their length, but each one beginning with a capital
- letter. This is the least compromising way of referring to such
- manuscripts. To say that they were poetry would, perhaps, be to place a
- fictitious value upon them; but they certainly had one feature in common
- with the noblest poems ever written in English: every line began with a
- capital letter.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi’s lips—they constituted not the least prominent of his
- features—moved as he read to himself the lines which he had written
- during the past three months,—since his return to Picotee with
- authority to spend some thousands of pounds in carrying out certain
- experiments, the result of which would, it was generally hoped, transform
- the region of the Gambia into one of the healthiest of her Majesty’s
- possessions. Then he sighed again and laid the manuscripts over the
- photograph, closing and locking the drawer of the desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked fitfully up and down the room for another hour. Then he opened
- his shutters, and the first breath of the evening breeze from the sea came
- upon his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll do it,” he said resolutely. “Why should I not do it? Surely that old
- ridiculous prejudice is worn out. Surely she, at least, will be superior
- to such prejudice. Yes, she must—she must. I have succeeded hitherto
- in everything that I have attempted, and shall I fail in this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The roar of the rollers along the beach filled the room, at the open
- window of which Dr Koomadhi remained standing for several minutes.
- </p>
- <h3>
- II.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi
- belonged to a race who are intolerant of any middle course so far as dress
- is concerned. They are either very much dressed or very much undressed.
- But he had lived long enough in England to have chastened whatever
- yearning he may have had for running into either extreme. Only now and
- again—usually when in football costume—he had felt a strange
- longing to forswear the more cumbersome tweeds of daily life. This
- longing, combined with the circumstance of his being extremely fond of
- football, might be accepted as evidence that the traditions of the savages
- from whom he had sprung survived in his nature, just as they do in the
- youth of Great Britain, only he had not to go so far back as have the most
- of the youth of Great Britain, to reach the fountain-head.
- </p>
- <p>
- The evening attire which he now resumed was wholly white,—from his
- pith helmet down to his canvas shoes, he was in white, with the exception
- of his tie, which was black. He looked at himself in a glass when at the
- point of leaving his house, and he felt satisfied with his appearance;
- only he should have dearly liked to exchange his black tie for one of
- scarlet. He could not understand how it was that he had never passed a
- draper’s window in London without staring with envious eyes at the crimson
- scarves displayed for sale. No one could know what heroic sacrifices he
- made in rejecting all such allurements. No one could know what he suffered
- while crushing down that uncivilised longing for a brilliant colour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just before leaving the house he went to his desk and brought out of one
- of the drawers a small ivory box. He unlocked it and stood for some time
- with his face down to the thing that the box contained—a
- curiously-speckled stone, somewhat resembling a human ear. While keeping
- his head down to this thing his lips were moving. He was clearly murmuring
- some phrases in a strange language into that curiously shaped stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Relocking the ivory box, he returned it to the drawer, which he also
- locked. Then he left his house, and took a path leading to a well-built
- villa standing in front of a banana-jungle, with a tall flag-pole before
- its hall door—a flag-pole from which the union-jack fluttered,
- indicating to all casual visitors that this was the official residence of
- her Majesty’s Commissioner to the Gambia, Commander Hope, R.N.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo, Koomadhi!” came a voice from the open window to the right of the
- door. “Pardon me for five minutes. I’m engaged at my correspondence to go
- to England by the <i>Penguin</i> this evening. But don’t mind me. Go
- through to the drawing-room and my daughter will give you a cup of tea.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, sir,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Don’t hurry on my account. I was
- merely calling to mention that I had forwarded my report early in the day;
- but I’ll wait inside.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” came the voice from the window. “I’m at the last folios.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi was in the act of entering the porch when his pith helmet was
- snatched off by some unseen hand, and a curious shriek sounded on the
- balcony above the porch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The ruffian!” said Koomadhi, with a laugh. “The ruffian! He’s at his
- tricks again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took a few steps back and looked up to the balcony. There sat an
- immense tame baboon, wearing the helmet and screeching with merriment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll have to give you another lesson, my gentleman,” said the doctor,
- shaking his finger at the creature. “Hand me down that helmet at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The baboon made a grimace and then raised his right hand to the salute—his
- favourite trick.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly the doctor produced a sound with his lips, and in an instant the
- monkey had dropped the helmet and had fled in alarm from the balcony to
- the roof of the house, whence he gazed in every direction, while the
- doctor went into the house with his helmet in his hand. He had merely
- given the simian word of alarm, which the creature, understanding its
- mother tongue, had promptly acted upon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, but the scent’—you
- know the rest, sir,” remarked Mr Letts, the Commissioner’s Secretary, who
- had observed from his window the whole transaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was that, Letts?” asked the Commissioner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Koomadhi spoke to the baboon in its own tongue, sir, and it took the hint
- of a man and a brother and cleared off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but where does the shattering of the vase come in?” asked the
- Commissioner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean to suggest that a nigger remains a nigger, and remains on speaking
- terms with a baboon, even though he has a college degree and wears
- tweeds,” said Mr Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said the Commissioner.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had heard the same opinion expressed by various members of his staff
- ever since he had anything to do with the administration of affairs on the
- West Coast. He had long ago ceased to take even the smallest amount of
- interest in the question of the exact depth of a negro’s veneer of
- civilisation.
- </p>
- <h3>
- III.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut while Mr Letts
- was quoting Thomas Moore’s line—in a corrupt form—to the
- Commissioner, Dr Koomadhi was accepting, with a certain amount of dignity,
- the greeting which was extended to him by Miss Hope, the Commissioner’s
- daughter, in the drawing-room. She had been trying over some songs which
- had just arrived from England. Two of them were of a high colour of
- sentimentalism, another belonged to that form of poetic composition known
- as a coon song. It had a banjo obbligato; but the pianoforte accompaniment
- of itself gave more than a suggestion of the twanging of strings and the
- banging of a tambourine. Had Dr Koomadhi arrived a few minutes sooner it
- would have been his privilege to hear Gertrude Hope chant the chorus—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Jes’ winkie mid y o’ eye,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier—
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Say, how am dat for high?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- But Gertrude had, after singing the melody, pushed the copy under a pile
- of music, and had risen from the piano to receive her visitor, at the same
- time ringing for tea.
- </p>
- <p>
- He apologised for interrupting her at the piano.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had only known that you were singing, I should certainly have—well,
- not exactly, stayed away; no, I should have come sooner, and remained a
- worshipper in the outer court.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I wasn’t singing—not regularly singing,” said she, with a
- laugh. “Trying over stupid songs about lovers’ partings is not singing, Dr
- Koomadhi.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lovers’ partings?” said he. “They seem particularly well adapted to
- lyrical treatment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The songs at any rate are heart-breaking,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They represent the most acute stage of the lovers’ feelings, then?” said
- he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I daresay. I suppose there are degrees of feelings even of lovers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure of it, Miss Hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was seated in a wicker chair; she had thrown herself into another—a
- seat that gave her the appearance of lying in a hammock. He scanned her
- from her white forehead down to the dainty feet that crossed one another
- on the sloping support of cane-work. She would have been looked on as a
- very pretty girl in a London drawing-room; and even a girl who would be
- regarded as commonplace there would pass as a marvel of loveliness on the
- West Coast of Africa.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” continued Dr Koomadhi, “I’m sure there are degrees of feeling even
- among lovers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a doctor, and so doubtless have had many opportunities of
- diagnosing the disease in all its stages,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am a doctor,” said he. “I am also a man. I have felt. I feel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave another laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A complete conjugation of the verb,” said she. “Past and present tenses.
- How about the future?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was only a little pause before he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “The future is in your hands, Miss Hope. I have come here to-day to tell
- you that I have never loved any one in all my life but you, and to ask you
- if you will marry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was now a long pause—so long that he became hopeful of her
- answer. Then he saw the blank look that was upon her face change—he
- saw the flush that came over her white face when she had had time to
- realise the import of his words.
- </p>
- <p>
- She started up, and at the same instant the baboon came in front of the
- window and raised his right hand to the salute.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are mad—mad!” she said, in a whisper that had something fierce
- about it. Then she lay back in her chair with a laugh. “<i>I</i> marry you—<i>you</i>.
- I should as soon marry——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had pointed to the baboon before she had checked herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would as soon marry the baboon as me?” said he in a low and laboured
- voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not say that, although—Dr Koomadhi, what you have told me has
- given me a shock—such a shock as I have never had before. I am not
- myself—if I said anything hurtful to you I know that you will
- attribute it to the shock—I ask your pardon—sincerely—humbly.
- I never thought it possible that you—you—oh, you must have
- been mad! You——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me a cup of tea, my dearest, if you don’t want to see me perish
- before your eyes.” The words came from outside a window behind Dr
- Koomadhi, and in another second a man had entered from the verandah, and
- had given a low whistle on perceiving that Miss Hope had a visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come along,” said Miss Hope, when she had drawn a deep breath—“Come
- along and be introduced to Dr Koomadhi. You have often heard of Dr
- Koomadhi, I’m sure, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, this is Major Minton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you do?” said the stranger, giving his hand to the doctor. “I’m
- glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and how clever you are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You flatter me,” said Dr Koomadhi, shaking hands with the new-comer. “I
- must now rush away, Miss Hope,” he added. “I only called to tell your
- father that I had forwarded some reports by the <i>Penguin</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jolly old tub, the <i>Penguin</i>—glad I’ve seen the last of her,”
- said Major Minton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Major Minton arrived by the <i>Penguin</i> this morning,” said Gertrude.
- “Must you really go away, Dr Koomadhi?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not even the prospect of a cup of your tea would make me swerve from the
- path of duty, Miss Hope,” said the doctor, with a smile so chastened as to
- be deprived of all its Ethiopian character.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook hands gracefully with her and Major Minton, and passed out by the
- verandah, the baboon standing to one side and solemnly saluting. The Major
- was the only one who laughed, and his laugh was a roar.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IV.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi found
- waiting for him at his house his old friend Mr Ross, the surgeon of the <i>Penguin</i>.
- He had been unable to leave the steamer earlier in the day, and he had
- only an hour to spend ashore. No, he did not think that anything was the
- matter with a bottle of champagne, provided that it was large enough and
- dry enough, and that it had been plunged into ice, not ice plunged into
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- These essentials being guaranteed by Dr Koomadhi, Mr Ross’s hour passed—as
- he thought—pleasantly enough. The two men sat together on cane
- chairs on the balcony facing the sea. It is at such a time, and under such
- conditions, that existence on the Gambia becomes not merely endurable, but
- absolutely delightful. Mr Ross made a remark to this effect, and expressed
- the opinion that his friend was in luck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In luck? Oh yes. I’m the luckiest fellow in the world,” responded
- Koomadhi grimly. “I’ve everything that heart can wish for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you’re well paid, you don’t mind the climate, and you’re honoured
- and respected by the whole community,” said Ross.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course—honoured and respected—that’s the strong point of
- the situation,” said Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The only drawback seems to me to be the rather narrow limits of the
- society. Still, the Commissioner is a decent enough sort of old boy, and
- Letts has a good deal to recommend him. By the way, you’ll not be so badly
- off in this matter during the next six months as you have been. We brought
- out a chap named Minton—a chap that any one could get on with. He’s
- just chucked the service and is going to marry Miss Hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have just met him at the Residency,” said Koomadhi, filling up with a
- steady hand the glass of his guest. “And so he’s going to marry Miss Hope,
- is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; he confided a lot in me—mostly on the bridge toward the hour
- of midnight. The young woman has been engaged to him for a year past. They
- met just before the Commissioner got his berth, but the daughter being a
- good daughter, and with a larger sense of duty than is possessed by most
- girls, swore—in her own way, of course—that nothing should
- tempt her to desert her father for at least a year. Much to Minton’s
- disgust, as you can understand, she came out here, telling him that if he
- still was anxious to marry her, he might follow her at the end of a year.
- Well, as he retained his fancy, he came out with us, and I believe you’ll
- be in a position to add an official wedding to your other experiences,
- Koomadhi.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s something to look forward to,” said Koomadhi. “But how will that
- incident improve society in this neighbourhood? I suppose Minton and his
- wife will get off to England as soon as possible?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not they. Although they are to get married at once, they are to remain
- here for six or seven months—until, in fact, the Commissioner gets
- his leave, and then they all mean to go home together. Minton has a trifle
- of six thousand a-year and a free house in Yorkshire, so Miss Hope is in
- luck—so, for that matter, is Minton; she’s a fine young woman, I
- believe. I only met her once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not so certain about her constitution,” said Koomadhi. “Her lungs
- are, I believe, all right, but her circulation is defective, and she
- suffers from headaches just when she should be at her best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, hang it all! a girl’s a girl for a’ that!” cried Ross. “Your
- circulation’s defective, Koomadhi, if you’re capable only of judging a
- girl by the stethoscope. You’re too much absorbed in your profession,
- that’s what’s the matter with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I daresay you are right,” Koomadhi admitted after a pause of a few
- seconds.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of the next half-hour, several other topics in addition to
- the matrimonial prospects of Major Minton and the constitutional
- shortcomings of Miss Hope were discussed on the verandah, until, at
- length, the sound of the steam-whistle of the <i>Penguin</i> was borne
- shore-wards by the breeze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s a message to me,” said Ross, starting up. “Come down to the shore
- and see the last of me for three months at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi put on his helmet, and saw his friend safely through the surf
- on his way to where the steamer was swinging at her anchor. The sun had
- set before he returned to his house to dinner; and before he had risen
- from the table a message came to him that one of the officers of the
- Houssas was anxious to see him, being threatened with an attack of fever.
- The great stars were burning overhead before he returned from the barrack
- of the Houssas, and was able to throw off his coat and lie back in his
- chair in his own sitting-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had a good deal to think about before going to his bedroom, and he
- seemed to find the darkness congenial with his thoughts. In fact, the
- negro acknowledged a sort of brotherhood in the night, and he remained for
- some hours in that fraternal darkness. It was just midnight when he went,
- with only a small amount of groping, to his desk, and took out of its
- drawer the ivory box containing the earshaped stone, into whose orifice he
- had spoken some words before leaving for the Commissioner’s house in the
- afternoon. He unlocked the box and removed the stone. He left his villa,
- taking the stone with him, and strolled once more to the house which he
- had visited a few hours before.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lights were in the windows of the Residency, and certain musical sounds
- were coming from the room where he had been. With the twanging of the
- banjo there came the sound of a light bass voice of no particular timbre,
- chanting the words of the latest plantation melody—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Jes’ winkie mid yo’ eye,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier—
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Say, how am dat for high?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi listened while three stanzas of the doggerel were being sung
- by Major Minton; then he raised the ear-shaped stone that was in the
- hollow of his hand, and whispered some words into it as he had done in the
- afternoon. In a second the song stopped, although the singer was in the
- middle of a stanza.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Confound it all!” cried Major Minton—Koomadhi heard his voice
- distinctly. “One of my strings is broken. I suppose it was the sudden
- change of atmosphere that made it give way. It’s a good bit drier here
- than aboard the <i>Penguin</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The concert is over for to-night,” came the voice of the Commissioner.
- “It’s about time for all of us to be in our beds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s my notion too,” said Letts. “Those who object can have their money
- returned at the doors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was strange—that breaking of the string without warning,” Dr
- Koomadhi heard Gertrude say.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only at midnight in the open air, and when he was alone, that he
- allowed himself the luxury of an unbridled smile. He knew the weaknesses
- of his race.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put the stone into the pocket of his coat and returned to his house.
- </p>
- <h3>
- V.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he marriage of
- Major Minton to Miss Hope took place in another week. Of course the
- ceremony was performed by the Lord Bishop of Bonny, who was also
- Metropolitan of the Gambia and Senegal. The gunboat that was at the
- anchorage displayed every available rag of bunting, and the lieutenant who
- commanded her said he would gladly have fired a salute in honour of the
- event, only for the fact that the Admiralty made him accountable for every
- ounce of powder that he burned, and, in addition, for the wear and tear on
- every gun. The guns didn’t bear much tampering with, and there was nothing
- so bad for them as firing them: it wore them out, the Admiralty stated,
- and the practice must be put a stop to.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if there was no official burning of powder to mark the happy event,
- there was a great deal of it that was unofficial and wholly irregular. Dr
- Koomadhi spent several hours of the afternoon amputating fingers of
- Krooboys that had been mutilated through an imperfect acquaintance, on the
- part of the native populace, with the properties of gunpowder when
- ignited. An eye or two were reported to be missing, and in the cool of the
- evening the Doctor had brought to him, by a conscientious townsman, a
- human ear for which no owner could be found.
- </p>
- <p>
- The happy pair went to the Canary Islands for their honeymoon, and
- returned radiant at the end of six weeks; and the Commissioner’s <i>ménage</i>,
- which had suffered materially through the absence of the Commissioner’s
- daughter, was restored in all its former perfection. Every night varied
- strains of melody floated to the ears of such persons as were in the
- neighbourhood of the Residency; and it was a fact that Major Minton’s
- banjo never twanged without attracting an audience of from ten to five
- hundred of the negro population of Picotee. The pathway was every night
- paved with negroes, who listened, shoulder to shoulder, and kneecap to
- kneecap—they sat upon their haunches—to the fascinating songs.
- They felt that if the Commissioner had only introduced a tom-tom obbligato
- to the tom-tom melodies, the artistic charm of the performance would be
- complete.
- </p>
- <p>
- The native evangelist, who occasionally contrived to fill a schoolhouse
- with young Christians by the aid of a harmonium,—a wheezy asthmatic
- instrument, which, in spite of a long lifetime spent on the West Coast,
- had never become fully acclimatised,—felt that his success was
- seriously jeopardised by the Major’s secular melodies. When the flock were
- privileged to hear such fascinating music unconditionally, he knew that it
- was unreasonable to expect them to be regular in their attendance at the
- schoolhouse, where the harmonium wheezed only after certain religious
- services had been forced on them.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if the Bishop might be approached on the subject of
- introducing the banjo into the schoolhouse services. He believed that with
- such auxiliaries as the banjo, and perhaps—but this was optional—the
- bones, a large evangelistic work might be done in the outlying districts
- of Picotee.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi had always been a frequent visitor at the Residence, but for
- some time after the marriage of the Commissioner’s daughter he was not
- quite so often to be found in the drawing-room of an evening. Gradually,
- however, he increased the number of his weekly visits. He was the only
- person in the neighbourhood who could (occasionally) beat Major Minton at
- billiards, and this fact helped, in a large measure, to overcome the
- prejudice which Major Minton frankly admitted (to his wife) he entertained
- against the native races of West Africa. Major Minton was becoming a
- first-class billiard-player, as any active person who understands the game
- is likely to become after a few months’ residence at a West Coast
- settlement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dr Koomadhi is a gentleman and a Christian,” Mrs Minton remarked one day
- when Mr Letts, the Secretary, had challenged discussion upon his favourite
- topic—namely, the thinness of the veneer of civilisation upon the
- most civilised savage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s a negro-gentleman, I admit,” said Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A man who plays so straight a game of billiards can’t be far wrong,”
- remarked Major Minton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have reasons—the best of reasons—for knowing that Dr
- Koomadhi is a forgiving Christian gentleman,” said Gertrude. “Yes, he
- shall always be my friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had not forgiven herself for that terrible half-spoken sentence, “I
- would as soon marry——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had not forgiven herself for having glanced at the baboon as she
- checked the words that sprang from her almost involuntarily.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Dr Koomadhi was showing day by day that he had forgiven them.
- </p>
- <p>
- And thus it was she felt that he was worthy to be regarded by all men as a
- gentleman and a Christian.
- </p>
- <h3>
- VI.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> few days later Dr
- Koomadhi was visited by Major Minton. The Major was anxious to have some
- shooting at big game, and he was greatly disappointed at being unable to
- find in the neighbourhood of Picotee any one who could put him on the
- right track to gratify his longing for slaughter. The ivory-hunters did
- not find an outlet for their business at Picotee, and the majority of the
- inhabitants were as unenterprising, Major Minton said, as the chaw-bacons
- of an English village; nay, more so, for the chawbacons were beginning to
- know the joy of a metropolitan music hall, and that meant enterprise. He
- wondered if Koomadhi would allow him to accompany him on his next
- excursion inland.
- </p>
- <p>
- Koomadhi said that no proposal could give him greater pleasure. He would
- be going up again in a week or two, and he could promise Major Minton some
- first-class sport. He could show him some queer things.
- </p>
- <p>
- Talking of queer things, had Major Minton ever seen a piece of the famous
- African sound-stone?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was supposed that the famous statue of Memnon had been carved out of
- that stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Major Minton had considered all that had been written on the subject of
- the talking statue utter rot, and he believed so still. Could any sane man
- credit a story like that, he was anxious to know?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose not,” said Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But anyhow, I have now and again come upon pieces of the sound-stone.
- I’ll show you a couple of bits.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He produced the roughly cut stone ear, and then an equally rough stone
- chipped into the form of a mouth—a negro’s mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are rum things, to be sure,” said Minton. “I don’t think that I ever
- saw stones just the same. Is the material marble?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t the least idea,” said Koomadhi. “But just put that stone to
- your ear for a few moments.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Minton had the mouth-stone in his hand. Koomadhi retained the ear-stone
- and put it to his lips the moment that the Major raised his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said the Major. “I hear nothing. That sound-stone myth isn’t good
- enough for me. I’m not exactly a lunatic yet, and that’s why I’m going to
- climb up to your roof to enjoy the sea-breeze. Take your marvellous
- sound-stone, and I’ll show you what it is to be a gymnast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He opened the shutters, got out upon the verandah, and began climbing one
- of the supports of the verandah roof. He was a pretty fair athlete, but
- when the thermometer registers 97° is not, perhaps, the most favourable
- time for violent exercise. Still, he reached the roof with his hands and
- threw one leg up; in another moment he was sitting on the highest part of
- the roof, and was inviting Koomadhi to join him, declaring that only a
- fool would remain indoors on such a day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Koomadhi smiled and shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must have some refreshment after your exertions,” said he. “What
- would you like—a brandy-and-soda, with a lump of ice clinking the
- sides of the tumbler?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That sounds inviting,” said Major Minton, scratching his chest with a
- forefinger—it had apparently been chafed in his ascent of the roof.
- “Yes; but if you chance to have a banana and a few nuts—by Jingo I
- should like a nut or two. Has no dietist written a paper on the dietetic
- value of the common or garden nut, Koomadhi?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come down and I’ll give you as many nuts as you can eat,” said Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I’ll come down this way,” said the Major. He swung himself by one
- arm from the side of the roof to the bough of a tree. There he hung
- suspended by the other arm, and swinging slowly backward and forward. Even
- then he scraped the breast of his shirt, uttering a number of sounds that
- might have meant laughter. Then he caught a lower branch with his loose
- arm and dropped to the ground. Again he scraped at his chest and laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How about those nuts?” he said. “I think I’ve earned them. How the
- mischief is it that I neglected my gymnastics all these months? What a
- fool I was! Walking along in the open day by day, when I might have been
- enjoying the free life of the jungle!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come inside and try a bit of cocoanut,” said Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m your man,” said the Major.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My man—man?” laughed the Doctor. “Oh yes, you’ve earned the
- cocoanut.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The soft flesh of a green cocoanut lay on the table of the sitting-room,
- and Major Minton caught it up and swallowed it without ceremony. The
- Doctor watched him with a curious expression on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the most refreshing tiffin I’ve had for a long time,” said the
- Major. “Now, I’ll have to get back to the Residency. Will you drop in for
- a game of billiards?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I may,” said the Doctor. “Take that sound-stone again, and try if
- you really cannot hear anything when you put it to your ear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear fellow, I’m not the sort of a chap to become the victim of a
- delusion,” said the Major, picking up the stone and holding it to his ear.
- “Not a sound do I hear. Hang it all, man, I’d get more sound out of a
- common shell. <i>Au revoir</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had his eyes fixed upon the ink-bottle that stood on the desk beside a
- blotter and a sheet of writing-paper. Dr Koomadhi noticed the expression
- in his eyes, and turned to open the door. The very instant that his back
- was turned, Major Minton ran to the ink-bottle, upset it upon the blotter,
- and then rushed off by the open window, laughing heartily.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet there was no human being who so detested the playing of practical
- jokes as Major Minton.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi put away the stones, and called his servant to wipe up the
- ink, which was dripping down to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lorramussy!” cried the old woman. “How eber did yo’ make dat muss?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t know that it was on the blotter until too late,” said he. And
- yet Dr Koomadhi was a most truthful man—for a doctor.
- </p>
- <h3>
- VII.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ullo!” said Letts,
- “what have you been doing to yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Major Minton had thrown himself into the Secretary’s cosiest chair on his
- return from visiting Dr Koomadhi, and was wiping his forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been doing more to myself than I should have done,” replied Minton.
- “For heaven’s sake, ring for a brandy-and-soda!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A brandy-and-soda? That’s an extreme measure,” said Letts. “But you look
- as if you needed one.” He went to his own cupboard and produced the
- brandy, and then rang the bell for the soda-water, which was of course
- kept in the refrigerator. Then he looked curiously at the man in the
- chair. “By the Lord Harry! you’ve been in a fight,” he cried, when his
- examination had concluded. “You’re an ass to come between any belligerents
- in this neighbourhood: you forget that Picotee Street is not Regent
- Street. You got your collar torn off your coat for your pains; and, O
- Lord, your trousers!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not notice how much out of line I had fallen until now,” said
- Minton, with a laugh. “By George, Letts, that tear in my knee does suggest
- a free-and-easy tussle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how on earth did it come about?” asked Letts. “Surely you should know
- better than to go for a nigger as you would for a Christian! Why the
- mischief didn’t you kick him on the shins, and then put your knee into his
- face?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me the tumbler.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Secretary handed him the tumbler, containing a stiff “peg,” and he
- drained it without giving any evidence of dissatisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, how did it come about?” inquired Letts. “I hope you haven’t dragged
- us into the business. If you have, there’ll be a question asked about it
- in the House of Commons by one of those busybodies who have no other way
- of proving to their constituents that they’re in attendance. ‘Mr Jones
- asked the Secretary of State for the Colonies if he had any information to
- give to the House regarding an alleged outrage by a white man, closely
- associated with the family of her Majesty’s Commissioner at Picotee, upon
- a native or natives of that colony.’ That’s how it will read. Then
- there’ll be puppy leaders in those papers that deal with ‘justices’
- justice’: the boy who gets a month’s imprisonment for stealing a turnip—you
- know that sort of thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Keep your hair on,” said Minton; “there’ll be no show in the House about
- this. There has been no row. I went round to Koomadhi’s, and when we were
- talking together I suddenly fancied that the day was just one for a
- gymnastic display. I don’t know whether it was that polite manner of
- Koomadhi’s or something else set me off, but I felt an irresistible
- impulse to bounce. Without waiting to take off my coat I went out on the
- verandah and hauled myself up to the roof: I don’t know how I did it. I
- might have managed it ten years ago, when I was in condition; but,
- considering how far off colour I am just now, by George! I don’t know how
- I managed it. Anyhow, I did manage it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At some trifling cost,” said Letts. “And what did you do on the roof when
- you got there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I swung myself down again. But I seemed to have a notion in the
- meantime that that nice, well-groomed nigger would try to climb up beside
- me, and I know that I had an impulse to catch him by the tail—the
- tail of his coat, of course—and swing him through the shutters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he didn’t make such an ass of himself as to go through some
- gymnastics, and the thermometer standing a degree or two under a hundred.
- Well, you’ve got off well this time, Minton; but don’t do it again, that’s
- all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you it was an impulse—a curious——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, impulses like that don’t come to chaps who have their wits about
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it was a bit of bounding, after all. But, somehow—well,
- you wouldn’t just call me a bounder, would you, Letts?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why shouldn’t I call you a bounder, I’d like to know? A bounder is one
- who bounds, isn’t he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I suppose—but I give you my word, I felt at that moment that
- it was the most natural thing I could have done—climbing up to the
- roof of the verandah, and then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Swinging down again, I suppose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was afraid to tell Letts of that practical joke which he had played off
- on Koomadhi, when he found that the Doctor did not lend himself to that
- subtle piece of jocularity which Minton said he had conceived when sitting
- on the roof of the verandah. Letts had been pretty hard on him for having
- gone so far as to climb up to the roof; but what would he have said if he
- had been told about that ink-bottle incident?
- </p>
- <p>
- Minton thought it would, on the whole, be doing himself more ample justice
- if he were to withhold from Letts all information regarding that
- ink-bottle business. He said nothing about it, and when Letts mumbled
- something when in the act of lighting a cigar—something about
- fellows, who behave like idiots, going home and giving the whole West
- Coast a bad name, whereas, properly treated, the climate was one of the
- most salubrious, he remarked confidentially—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, old chap, you needn’t mind jawing to the missus or the Governor
- about this business; it’s not worth talking about, you know; but they’re
- both given to exaggerate the importance of such things—Gertrude
- especially. I’m a bit afraid of her still, I admit: we’ve only been
- married about three months, you’ll remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Duke! here’s a chap who fancies that as time goes on he’ll get less
- afraid of his wife,” cried Letts. “Well, well, some chaps do get
- hallucinations early in life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say a word about it, Letts. Where’s the good of making a poor girl
- uneasy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where, indeed? But why ‘poor girl’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because she’s liable to be made uneasy at trifles. You’re not—only
- riled. But I don’t blame you: you’ve been on this infernal coast for three
- years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s nothing the matter with the coast: it’s only the idiots——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so: I seem somehow to feel that I’ve heard all that sort of thing
- before. I’m one of the idiots.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Far be it from me to contradict so able a diagnosis of——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught the cushion which Minton hurled at him, and laughed. Then he
- became curiously thoughtful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way,” he said, “wasn’t it a bit rum that Koomadhi didn’t try to
- prevent your swinging out to that roof? He’s a medico, and so should know
- how such unnatural exertion is apt to play the mischief with a chap in
- such a temperature as this. Didn’t he abuse you in his polite way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not he,” said Minton; “on the contrary, I believe I had an idea that I
- heard him suggest... no, no; that’s a mistake, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s a mistake?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That idea of mine—I don’t know how I came to have it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were under the impression, somehow, that he suggested your climbing
- to the roof? That was a rummy notion, wasn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bit too rummy for general use. Oh no: he only said—now, what the
- mischief did he say? Oh, no matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he said ‘no matter’ when he saw that you were bent on gymnastics in
- the middle of a day with the temperature hovering about a hundred, he
- should be ashamed of himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He didn’t say ‘no matter.’ I’ve just said it. Let me say it again. You
- should be a cross-examiner at the Bailey and Middlesex Session, Letts.
- Now, mind, not a word to the missus. Don’t let her cross-examine you:
- evade her as I’m evading you. I’ll see you after dinner: maybe we’ll have
- a billiard together—I’m too tired now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went off, leaving Letts trying to find out the place where he had left
- off in a novel of George Eliot’s. George Eliot is still read on the West
- Coast of Africa.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when Minton had left the room Letts did not trouble himself further
- with the novel. He tossed it away and lay back in his Madeira chair with a
- frown, suggesting perplexity, on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some five minutes had passed, and yet the frown, so far from departing,
- had but increased in intensity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like very much to know what his game is,” he muttered. “It
- wouldn’t at all be a bad idea to induce sunstroke by over-exertion on a
- day like this. But why can’t he remember if the nigger tried on that game
- with him? P’chut! what’s the good of bothering about it when the game
- didn’t come off, whatever it was?”
- </p>
- <p>
- But in spite of his attempted dismissal of the whole matter from his mind,
- he utterly failed to give to the confession of the youth in ‘Middlemarch’
- (it was to the effect that his father had been a pawnbroker, and it was
- very properly made to the young woman to the accompaniment of the peals of
- a terrific thunderstorm) the attention which so striking an incident
- demanded.
- </p>
- <h3>
- VIII.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f it’s a command,
- sir, I’ll obey; if not, well——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, nonsense, Letts!” said the Commissioner. “There’s no command to a
- dinner with my daughter, her husband, and another man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that other man,” said Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, I hope I’ll hear nothing more about your absurd objection to that
- other man,” said the Commissioner. “I tell you that it’s not only
- ridiculous, that old-fashioned prejudice of yours, it’s prejudicial to the
- Service—it is, upon my soul, Letts. You know as well as I do that
- the great thing is to get in touch with the natives, to show them that, as
- common subjects of the Sovereign, enjoying equal rights wherever that flag
- waves, we are, we are—well, we must show them that we’ve no
- prejudices. You’ll admit that we must do that, Letts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- (As Letts had not written out this particular speech for him, the
- Commissioner was a trifle shaky, and found it to his advantage to abandon
- the oratorical in favour of the colloquial style.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t feel called on to show that I’m not prejudiced against the whole
- race, sir—the whole race as a race, and Dr Koomadhi as an
- individual,” said Letts. “Therefore I hope that you and Mrs Minton will
- excuse me from your dinner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my soul, I’m surprised at you, Letts,” said Commander Hope. “I
- didn’t expect to find in these days of enlightenment such old-fashioned
- prejudices as regards race. Great heavens! sir, is the accident of a man’s
- being a negro to be looked on as debarring him from—from—well,
- from all that you would make out—the friendship of the superior
- race, the——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, there you are, sir; the superior race. In matters of equality there’s
- no superior.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, of course I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t some difference
- between the two races. Don’t they say it was the effects of the curse,
- Letts—the curse of Ham? If a race was subject to the disabilities of
- an early curse duly recorded, you can’t quite expect them to recover
- themselves all in a moment: it wouldn’t be reasonable—it wouldn’t be
- Scriptural either. But I think that common charity should make us—well,
- should make us do our best to mitigate their unfortunate position. That
- appeal of yours to Scripture, Letts, was used as an argument in favour of
- slavery. It’s unworthy of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I agree with you, sir; and I do so the more readily as I don’t recollect
- ever having made use of such an authority as Scripture to bear out my
- contention that the polish of a nigger is no deeper than the polish on a
- mahogany table,—a thin and transparent film of lacquer. You see I’ve
- had the advantage of living in Ashantee for six months, and when there I
- got pretty well grounded on the negro as a man and a brother. A man—well,
- perhaps; a brother, yes, own brother to the devil himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense, Letts! Can’t you keep Scripture out of the argument?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you, sir, I saw things in the Ashantee country that made me feel
- certain that the archfiend made that region his headquarters many years
- ago, and that he has devoted himself ever since to the training of the
- inhabitants. They are his chosen people. If you had seen the unspeakable
- things that I saw during my six months in Ashantee, you would hold to my
- belief that the people have been taught by Satan himself, and that they
- have gone one better than their instructor. No, sir, I’ll not dine with
- Koomadhi.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Commander Hope shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re very pig-headed, Letts,” he remarked; “but we won’t quarrel. I’ll
- see if I can make Gertrude understand how it is you refuse her
- invitation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope to heaven that she’ll never get a glimpse of the real negro, sir—the
- negro with his lacquer scratched off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Commissioner laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll not tell her that, Letts,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Letts did not laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was really Gertrude who had suggested inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner at
- the Residency. He had frequently partaken of the refreshment of tea in her
- drawing-room, but she knew that tea counts for nothing in the social scale
- even at Picotee: it conferred no more distinction upon one than a
- presentation at the White House does upon a citizen of the United States,
- or a citizen’s wife or sister. He had never been asked to dine at the
- Commissioner’s table, and that she knew to be a distinction, and one which
- he would be certain to value.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when she suggested to her father that there would be a certain
- gracefulness in the act of inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner, she found her
- suggestion treated with that form of contumely known as the snub. Her
- father had looked at her sternly and walked away, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Impossible! What! a nig———Oh, my dear, you don’t
- understand these things. Impossible—impossible!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Gertrude Minton, being a woman, may not have understood some things, but
- she thoroughly understood how her father (and all other men) should be
- treated upon occasions. She took her snubbing meekly, as every clever
- woman takes a snubbing, when administered by a father, or a husband, or a
- brother; and of course, later on, she carried her point—as any
- clever woman will; for a properly sustained scheme of meekness, if
- persisted in, will accomplish anything, by making the man who snubs
- thoroughly ashamed of himself, and the man who is thoroughly ashamed of
- himself will be glad to come to terms, no matter how disadvantageous to
- himself, in order to avert a continuance of that reproachful meekness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the Commissioner himself who, a few days later, went to his
- daughter and told her that if she had her heart set upon inviting Dr
- Koomadhi to dinner he would not interfere. It had at first seemed to him a
- monstrous proposal, he admitted; but on thinking over it calmly, and with
- the recollection of the circumstances (1) that the present day was one of
- innovations; (2) that the negroes were treated on terms of the most
- perfect equality by the people of the United States of America,—he
- had come to the conclusion that it was necessary even for a British naval
- officer to march with the times; consequently he was prepared to do
- anything that his daughter suggested. He added, however, that up to the
- date at which he was speaking he had got on very well without once asking
- a nig——that is, a negro gentleman, to dine at his table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew you would consent, papa,” said Gertrude, throwing off her mask of
- meekness in a moment, much to the satisfaction of her father. “I knew you
- would consent: it would be quite unlike you not to consent. You are so
- broad-minded—so generous—so reasonable in your views on all
- native questions. I feel that I—that we—owe some amends—that
- is, we should do our best to give him to understand that we do not regard
- a mere accident of colour as disqualifying him from—from——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so,” said her father. “We’ll ask Letts: he won’t come, though.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should he not come?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Letts is full of prejudice, my dear. He has more than once made
- disparaging remarks regarding Koomadhi. You see, he lived for some months
- in the Ashantee country, and saw the human sacrifices and other
- barbarities.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you speak to him with due authority, he will be compelled to come,”
- said Gertrude warmly. “You are the head here, are you not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her and assented, though he knew perfectly well that it was
- not he who was the head of the Residency. Would he ask a nigger to dine at
- his table if he was at the head of it? he asked himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, just tell Letts that you expect him to dine here on Wednesday
- next, and he is bound to come. He is only secretary here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Gertrude, you know as well as I do what it is to be secretary
- here,” said the Commissioner. “Letts can do what he pleases. I shall
- certainly not coerce him in any way: I know it would be no use trying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you must try,” cried Gertrude. She had, undoubtedly, quite got rid of
- her meekness. “You must try; and you must succeed too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, the Commissioner had tried, and the result of his attempt has just
- been recorded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He told his daughter of the firm attitude that Letts had assumed—it
- was just the attitude which he himself would like to assume if he had the
- courage; but of course he did not suggest so much to Gertrude.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The foolish fellow! I shall have to go to him myself,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- And she went to him.
- </p>
- <h3>
- IX.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>he had at one time
- fancied that Letts was fond of her, and she had thought that her liking
- for him was no mere fancy. A young woman with good looks and a pleasant
- manner and a young man with a career before him are very apt to have
- fancies in respect to each other on the West Coast of Africa, where good
- looks and pleasant manners are not to be met with daily. Of course when
- Gertrude had gone home for some months, and had met Major Minton, she
- became aware of the fact that her liking for Letts was the merest fancy;
- and perhaps when she returned with the story of her having promised (under
- certain conditions) to marry Major Minton, Letts had also come to the
- conclusion that his feeling towards Miss Hope was also a fancy. This is,
- however, not quite so certain. At any rate, Letts and she had always been
- very good friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- For half-an-hour she talked to him quite pleasantly at first, then quite
- earnestly—didactically and sarcastically—on the subject of his
- foolish prejudice. She called it foolish when she was pleasant, and she
- called it contemptible when she ceased to be pleasant, on a matter which
- she, for her part, thought had been long ago passed out of the region of
- controversy. Surely a man of Mr Letts’ intelligence and observation could
- not be serious in objecting to dine with Dr Koomadhi simply because he
- chanced to be a negro.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Mr Letts assured her that he was quite serious in the matter. He
- didn’t pretend, he said, to be superior in point of intelligence or power
- of observation to men who made no objection to meet on terms of perfect
- equality the whole Ethiopian race; but he had had certain experiences, he
- said, and so long as he retained a recollection of these experiences he
- would decline to sit at the same table with Dr Koomadhi or any of his
- race. Then it was that Mrs Minton ceased to be altogether pleasant as to
- the phrases which she employed in order to induce Mr Letts to change his
- mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not the only one with experiences,” she said. “I have had
- experience not merely of negroes generally, but of Dr Koomadhi in
- particular, and, as I told you some time ago, I have reason to believe him
- to be a generous, Christian gentleman. That is why I wish to do all that
- is in my power to make him understand that I regard his possession of the
- characteristics of a gentleman and a Christian as more than placing him on
- a level with us. I feel that I am inferior to Dr Koomadhi in those
- qualities which our religion teaches us to regard as noblest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I hope with all my soul that you will never have a different
- experience of him,” said Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that I shall have no different experience of him,” said she, with
- confidence in her pose and in her tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made no reply to this. And then she went on to ask him some interesting
- questions regarding the general design of the Maker of the Universe, and
- His intention in respect of the negro; and though Letts answered all to
- the best of his ability, he was not persuaded to accept Mrs Minton’s
- invitation to dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was naturally very angry, and even went so far as to assure Mr Letts
- that his refusal to accept the invitation which she offered him might be
- prejudicial to his being offered any future invitations to dine at her
- table—an assurance which he received without emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She told her father of her failure, and though he shook his head with due
- seriousness, yet he refrained from saying “I told you so.” But when her
- husband heard that Letts would not be persuaded, he treated the incident
- with a really remarkable degree of levity, declaring that if he himself
- were independent, he would see Koomadhi and all the nigger race sent to a
- region of congenial blackness before he would sit down to dinner with the
- best of them. He thought Letts, however, something of an ass for not
- swallowing his prejudices in a neighbourhood where there were so few
- decent billiard-players. For himself, he said he would have no objection
- to dine with bandits and cut-throats if they consented to join in a good
- pool afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Dr Koomadhi received his invitation to dine at the Residency—it
- was in the handwriting of Mrs Minton—he smiled. His smiles worked at
- low pressure in the daytime; he felt that he could not be too careful in
- this respect; he might, if taken suddenly, be led on to smile naturally in
- the presence of a man with a kodak, and where would he be then?
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled. He went to the drawer where he kept the curious stones, and
- looked at them for some time, but without touching them. Then he went to
- the drawer in which he kept the verses that he had written expressive of
- the effect of Miss Hope’s eyes upon his soul. By a poetic licence he
- assumed that he had a soul, and he liked to write about it: it gave him an
- opportunity of making it the last word in a line following one that ended
- with the word “control.” He read some of the pages, and honestly believed
- that they were covered with poetry of the highest character. He felt
- convinced that there was not another man in the whole Ashantee country who
- could write as good poetry; and perhaps he was not wrong in his estimate
- of his own powers, and the powers of his Ashantee brethren.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he closed the door with a bang his face would have seemed to any one
- who might have chanced to see it one mass of ivory. This effect, startling
- though it was, was due merely to an incidental change of expression. He
- had ceased to smile; his teeth were tightly closed, and his lips had
- receded from them as a tidal wave recedes from the strand of a coral
- island, disclosing an unsuspected reef. His lips hid in their billowy
- depths the remainder of his face, and only that fearful double ridge of
- locked teeth would have been visible to any one, had any one been present.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words that Dr Koomadhi managed to utter without unlocking his teeth
- were undoubtedly suggestive of very strong feeling; but no literary
- interest attaches to their repetition.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seated himself at his desk—after an interval—and wrote a
- letter which was rather over than under the demands made by politeness
- upon a man who has been asked to dinner in a rather formal way. He said it
- would give him the greatest pleasure to accept the most kind invitation
- with which he had been honoured by the Commissioner and Mrs Minton; and
- then he added a word or two, which an ordinary gentleman would possibly
- have thought superfluous, regarding the pride which he felt at being the
- recipient of such a distinction.
- </p>
- <p>
- It could not be said, however, that there was anything in his mode of
- conducting himself at the dinner-table that suggested any want of
- familiarity on his part with the habits of good society. He did not eat
- with his knife, though he might have done so without imperilling in any
- degree the safety of his mouth, nor did he make any mistake regarding his
- ice-pudding or his jelly. He also drank his champagne out of the right
- glass, and he did not take it for granted that the water in his
- finger-bowl was for any but external use.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he lay back in his chair, with his serviette across his knees and a
- cigarette between his fingers, discussing with the Commissioner, with that
- mild forbearance which one assumes towards one’s host, the political
- situation of the hour, when Mrs Minton had left the room, he looked the
- picture of a model English gentleman—a silhouette picture. He hoped
- that the Conservatives would not go to the country without a programme.
- What were the leaders thinking of that they hadn’t familiarised the
- country with the policy they meant to pursue should they be returned to
- power? Home Rule for Ireland! Was there ever so ridiculous a demand
- seriously made to the country? Why, the Irish were, he assured his host,
- very little better than savages: he should know—he had been in
- Ireland for close upon a fortnight. He had some amusing Irish stories. He
- imitated the brogue of the peasantry. He didn’t say it was unmusical; but
- Home Rule!... the idea was too ridiculous to be entertained by any one who
- knew the people.
- </p>
- <p>
- His political views were sound beyond a doubt. They were precisely the
- views of the Commissioner and his son-in-law, and the green chartreuse was
- velvety as it should be.
- </p>
- <p>
- For this evening only Major Minton sang to his wife’s accompaniment a
- sentimental song which dwelt upon the misery of meeting daily with smiles
- a certain person, while his, the singer’s, heart was breaking. He sang it
- with well-simulated feeling. One would never have thought that there was a
- banjo in the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Mrs Minton sang a lovely Scotch song about a burn; but it turned out
- that the burn was water and not fire, and the Commissioner dozed in a
- corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last Major Minton suggested a game of billiards, and the suggestion was
- acted on without delay.
- </p>
- <p>
- After playing a game with Dr Koomadhi, while her husband looked on and
- criticised the strokes from the standpoint of a lenient if discriminating
- observer, Mrs Minton said “goodnight”; she was tired, she said, and she
- knew that her husband and Dr Koomadhi meant to play all night, so she
- thought she might as well go soon as late.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course Dr Koomadhi entreated her not to leave them. They would, he
- assured her, do anything to retain her; they would even play a four game—abhorred
- of billiard-players—if she would stay. Her husband did not join in
- the entreaties of their guest. He played tricky cannons until she had left
- the room.
- </p>
- <h3>
- X.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>hall I break?”
- Minton asked. “I’ll play with spot for a change.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he had completed his second break of twenty-eight the Commissioner
- had fallen asleep with his cigar between his fingers. When they had
- commenced he had been critical. But he broke down under the monotony of
- the second moderate break.
- </p>
- <p>
- For about a quarter of an hour the game went on, and all the variations
- from “Hard lines!” to “Dammitall!” were indulged in by the players. Minton
- had scored eighty against Koomadhi’s seventy-one, and was about to play a
- hazard requiring great judgment, when his opponent came behind him, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see how it can be done: a cannon is the easier game.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I’ll try the hazard anyway, and try to leave the red over the
- pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll need to do it very gently,” said his opponent, almost leaning over
- him as he took his aim at the red ball.
- </p>
- <p>
- For quite half a minute Minton hung over his cue, and in that space of
- time Koomadhi had taken out of his pocket the curious stone shaped like a
- broad ear, and had put it to his own mouth for a second or two while he
- stood behind the player, returning it quickly to his pocket before the cue
- had struck the ball.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a stroke!” cried Minton. “It would disgrace our friend Jacco.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said the cannon was the easier game,” remarked Koomadhi, chalking his
- cue. “Hallo! what are you going to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who the mischief could play billiards a night like this in such a suit of
- armour as this?” laughed Minton. He was in the act of pulling his shirt
- over his head, and he spoke from within its folds. In another second he
- was stripped to the waist. “Now, my friend,” he chuckled, “we’ll see
- who’ll win this game. This is the proper rig for any one who means to play
- billiards as billiards should be played.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” said Koomadhi. “Come; you had
- much better put on your shirt. The Commissioner may object.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let him object,” laughed the half-naked man; “he’s an old fogey anyway.
- Like most naval men, he has no heart in anything beyond the shape of a
- button and the exact spot where it should be worn. How was it we had no
- nuts for dinner, I should like to know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Koomadhi had made a cannon. He walked half-way round the table to get the
- chalk, and in a second Major Minton had picked up the red ball and slipped
- it into his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Koomadhi turned to play the screw back, which he meant to do
- carefully, only the white balls were on the table, and Minton denied all
- knowledge of the whereabouts of the red.
- </p>
- <p>
- Koomadhi laughed, and put his cue into the stand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I say, a joke’s a joke!” chuckled Minton, producing the ball from,
- his pocket. “You won’t play any more? Oh, yes; we’ll have another game,
- only for a change we’ll play it with our feet. Now, why the mischief
- people don’t play it with their feet I can’t understand. It stands to
- reason that the stroke must be far surer. I’ll show you what I mean. Oh,
- confound those things!—I’ll have them off in a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said the Doctor firmly, as Major Minton
- kicked off his shoes and hastened to get rid of the only garments that he
- was wearing. “For God’s sake, don’t make such a fool of yourself!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had caught his hands, preventing his carrying out his singular design
- of illustrating the prehensile character of the muscles of the human foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, then, put on your shirt and finish your soda-water. I must be off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Major Minton grinned, and, turning suddenly, caught Dr Koomadhi by the
- tail of his dress-coat—he had just put it on—and with a quick
- jerk upset him on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless my soul!” cried the Commissioner, waking up.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi was brushing the dust off his waistcoat; Major Minton was
- swinging halfway up one of the ropes that controlled the ventilator of the
- roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What in the name of all that’s ridiculous is this?” said the
- Commissioner. “By the Lord! I seem to be still dreaming—a nightmare,
- by George, sir!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really must ask your pardon, sir,” said Koomadhi; “I had no idea that
- the thing would go on so far as it has. Major Minton and I were having a
- rather funny trial of strength. He was on one rope, I was on the other. I
- let go my hold. Come down, man—come down—the game is over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And a most peculiar game it seems to have been,” said the Commissioner.
- “Great heavens! it can’t be possible that he took off his shirt!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was very foolish, sir,” said Koomadhi. “I think I’ll say good-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Commissioner paid no attention to him; all his attention was given to
- his son-in-law, who was swinging negligently with one hand on the
- ventilator rope. When he at last dropped to the floor, Minton rubbed his
- eyes and looked around him in a dazed way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God!” he muttered. “How do I come to be like this—this? Where’s
- my shirt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should be ashamed of yourself, sir,” said the Commissioner sternly.
- “What have you been drinking in your soda-water?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing,” said Minton, putting on his shirt. “I drank nothing but
- soda-water. What possessed me to make such an ass of myself I can’t tell.
- I beg your pardon, Koomadhi. I assure you I didn’t mean to—why, it
- all appears like a dream to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, a dream! Good night, Dr Koomadhi,” said the Commissioner. “I’m sorry
- that anything should happen——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried Koomadhi. “I fear
- that I was, after all, the most to blame. I should have known where this
- sort of horse-play was likely to land us. Good night, sir; I really feel
- that an apology should come from me. Good night, Minton. No, no; don’t say
- a word. I feel that I have disgraced myself for ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Minton, now clothed and in his right mind, saw him off, and then returned
- to the presence of his father-in-law. He knew that the Commissioner was
- desirous of having a word or two with him, and he was not the man to run
- away from such an interview. In fact, he himself was anxious to have the
- first word; and he had it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, sir,” he said; “I want to say that I know I made an infernal
- fool of myself. Why I did it I can’t tell; I touched nothing but
- soda-water all night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there is the less excuse for your behaviour,” said the Commissioner
- drily. “I don’t want to say anything more about this unhappy business.
- Only, I will point out to you that Koomadhi could easily make things very
- disagreeable for us if he were so minded. You threw him on the floor.
- Heavens above!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose I did throw him; but why?—why?—why?—that’s
- what I want to know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps an explanation may come to you in the course of a day or two. You
- had better go to bed now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I’ll go to bed. Only—of course there’s no reason why you
- should let the matter go farther.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I certainly, for my own sake and yours, will keep it as secret as
- possible. I only hope that Koomadhi——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Koomadhi is all right. But I don’t see that Gertrude or Letts should
- hear anything of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They don’t hear anything of it from me, I promise you. Will you ring for
- the lamps to be turned out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick Minton pulled the bell. His father-inlaw went to his bed without a
- word.
- </p>
- <p>
- But an hour had passed before Dick went to his room. He lit a cigar and
- strolled away from the Residency to the brink of the sea; and there, on
- the low scrub, looking out to the enormous rollers that broke on the
- shallow beach two miles from where he stood, spreading their white foam
- all around, he tried to think how it was he had been led to behave more
- foolishly than he had ever behaved since the days of his youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not successful in his attempts in this direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Dr Koomadhi also remained thinking his thoughts for fully half an hour
- after reaching that pleasant verandah of his, which got every breath that
- came inland from the sea.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can do it easily enough—yes, in his presence; but what good is
- that to me?” he muttered. “No good whatever—just the opposite. I
- must have the Khabela—ah, the Khabela! That works miles apart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Two days later he paid his visit to the Residency and drank tea with Mrs
- Minton. He told her that he found it necessary to go up country for ten
- days or so. He knew of a nice miasma tract, and he hoped to gain in a few
- days as much information regarding its operations on the human frame as he
- could obtain in as many years in the comparative salubriousness of the
- coast.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her husband did not put in an appearance while Koomadhi was in the
- drawing-room. His wife reproached him for that.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her reproach meekly.
- </p>
- <h3>
- XI.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>oonlight was
- flooding the forest beyond the native village of Moumbossa on the Upper
- Gambia, but where Dr Koomadhi was walking no moonbeam penetrated. The
- branches formed an arch above him as dense with interwoven boughs and
- thick leaves as though the arch was a railway tunnel. Only in the far
- distance a gleam of light could be seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- At times the deep silence of the night was broken by the many sounds of
- the tropical jungle. Every sound was familiar to Dr Koomadhi, and he
- laughed joyously as one laughs on recognising the voice of a friend. The
- wild shriek of a monkey pounced upon by some other creature, the horrible
- laugh of a hyena, the yell of a lory, and then a deep silence. He felt at
- home in the midst of that forest, though when he spoke of home within the
- hearing of civilised people, he meant it to be understood that he referred
- to England.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he emerged from the brake he found himself gazing at a solitary
- beehive hut in the centre of a great cleared space, A quarter of a mile
- away the moonlight showed him the village of Moumbossa, with its lines of
- palms and plantains.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked up to the hut without removing his rifle from his shoulder, and
- stood for some moments at the entrance. Then he heard a voice saying to
- him in the tongue of the Ashantees—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Enter, my son, and let thy mother see if thy face is changed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot enter, mother,” he replied in the same language. “But I have
- come far and in peril to talk with you. We must talk together in the
- moonlight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He retained among his other memories a vivid recollection of the interior
- of a native hut. He could not bring himself to face the ordeal of entering
- the one before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will soon be beside you,” came the voice; and in a few moments there
- crawled out from the entering-place a half-naked old negress, of great
- stature, and with only the smallest perceptible stoop. She walked round Dr
- Koomadhi, and then looked into his face with a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, “it is indeed you, my son, and I see that you need my
- services.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right, mother,” said he. “I wondered if you still retained your
- old powers. That is why I stood for some minutes outside the hut. I said,
- ‘If my mother has still her messengers in the air, and in the earth, they
- will tell her that her son has come to her once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should not have doubted,” she said. “Do you fancy that such powers as
- have come to me by the possession of the Sacred Khabela can decay by
- reason of age or the weight of days?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If that had been my belief, should I have come to you this night?” he
- asked. “I have need of all your powers. I have need of all the powers of
- the Khabela.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall have all that I can command: are you not my son?” said the old
- woman. “But have you found the Sacred Ear to fail you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never, mother,” said Dr Koomadhi. “You told me what it could do, and it
- has never failed me within its limits. But I must have the more powerful
- charm of the Sacred Mouth. My need is extreme.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must be extreme, and I will not deny it to you,” said his mother. “You
- know what it can do. No man or woman can withstand it. If any offspring of
- woman should hold that Sacred Mouth to his ear, or her ear, as the case
- may be, the words which you whisper into the Sacred Ear will seem the
- truth, whatever those words may be. You know that. But the magic of the
- Khabela is far greater. It will work at a distance. But if it is lost you
- know what the consequences will be. You know the decree of the great
- Fanshatee, the monkey-god?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it. The stone Khabela shall not be lost. I accept the
- responsibility. I must have command over it until the return of the moon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And thou shalt have control of it, whether for good or evil. It told me
- that thou wert nigh to-night, so that thou must have the Ear charm in thy
- possession even now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is here, mother, in this pocket. I have shown it to no mortal whose
- colour is not as our colour, whose hair is not as our hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The white men laugh at all magic such as ours, I have heard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they laugh at it. But some of them practise a form of it themselves.
- I have seen one practise it in a great room in England. Without the aid of
- a mystic stone he told sober men that they were drunk, and they acted as
- drunk men; he told rough fellows that they were priests, and they preached
- sermons as long and as stupid as any that we have heard missionaries
- preach.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet they say that our magic is a thing accursed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; that is the way with the white men. When they have said their word
- ‘damn’ on any matter, they believe that the last word has been said upon
- it, and all that other men may say they laugh at.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are fools, my son; and thou art a fool to dwell among them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are wise men up to a certain point. They are only fools on the
- subject of names. They say that magic is accursed; but they say that
- hypnotism is science, and science is the only thing in which they
- believe.” He had some trouble translating the word hypnotism into the
- native speech. “Enough about them. Let me have the mystery, and then let
- me have a cake that has been baked in the earth with the leaves of the
- betel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou shalt have both, ray son, before the morning light. Enter my hut,
- and I will dream that thou art a child again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But that was just where Dr Koomadhi drew the line. He would not crawl into
- the hut even to make his venerable mother fancy that his youth was renewed
- like the eagles.
- </p>
- <p>
- He returned to Picotee the next day, and as he walked through the forest
- each side of the bush track was lined with monkeys. They came from far and
- near and put their faces down to the ground, their fore-hands at the back
- of their heads.
- </p>
- <p>
- He talked to them in simian.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said. “Ye know that I am the holder of the Khabela, intrusted to
- me by my brother Fanshatee; but if I lose it your attitude will not be the
- same.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- XII.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo days had
- passed, after his return to Picotee, before Dr Koomadhi found time to call
- at the Residency. He found Major Minton lying on the cane settee in a
- condition of perspiration and exhaustion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure Dr Koomadhi will bear me out in what I say,” said Mrs Minton, as
- the Doctor entered the room. “I’ve been lecturing my husband upon the
- danger of taking such violent exercise as he has been indulging in,” she
- continued. “Just look at the state that he is in, Doctor. The idea of any
- sane man on a day like this entering into a climbing contest with a
- monkey!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! Is that what he has been about—and the thermometer
- nearer a hundred than ninety?” cried the Doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I admit that I was an ass,” muttered the Major. “But somehow I felt that
- I should show Jacco that I could lick him on his own ground,—not
- exactly his ground—we were never on the ground.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when I went out I found them swinging on the topmost bough of one of
- the trees,” said Mrs Minton. “Upon my word, my father will feel
- scandalised. Such a thing never occurred at the Residency before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Apart from the social aspect of the incident, I am bound to say that it
- was most indiscreet,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Nothing precipitates sunstroke
- like over-exertion in a high temperature. Major, this must not occur
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right: don’t make a fuss, or you’ll soon be as hot as I am,” said the
- Major, rising with difficulty and crossing the room—he was bent
- almost double—to his wife’s tea-table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo,” said the Doctor, “what have you been doing to yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not what I have been doing but what I’ve left undone that you
- notice,” laughed the Major. “The fact is that I couldn’t be bothered
- shaving for the last few mornings. That’s what you notice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was precisely what the Doctor did notice. He noticed the tossed hair
- of the Major’s head and such bristles of a beard and whiskers as had
- completely altered the appearance of his face. He also noticed that when
- Mrs Minton turned away for a moment her husband deftly abstracted two
- lumps of sugar from the bowl and began eating them surreptitiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No nuts,” he heard him mutter contemptuously some time afterwards.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nuts?” said Mrs Minton. “You’ll ruin your digestion if you eat any more
- nuts, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, will you join your voice with mine in protest
- against this foolish boy’s fancy for nuts? You speak with the recognised
- authority of a medical man. I can only speak as a wife, and I am not so
- foolish as to fancy that that constitutes any claim to attention. If you
- continue rubbing your chest in that absurd way, Dick, you’ll certainly
- make a raw.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi did not fail to observe that the Major was rubbing his chest
- with his bent-up fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m quite surprised at your imprudence,” said he, shaking his head. “You
- told me some time ago that though you had been for seven years in India,
- you never had a touch of fever, and you attributed this to the attention
- you paid to your diet. Now you know as well as I do that if a man requires
- to be careful in India, there is double reason for him to be careful on
- the West Coast of Africa. How can you so disregard the most elementary
- laws of health?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Major Minton laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s nothing like exercise,” he said, “and the best of all exercise is
- climbing. Why, my dear Koomadhi, haven’t the greatest intellects of the
- age taken to climbing? Wasn’t Tyndall a splendid mountaineer? I don’t
- profess to be superior to Tyndall. Now, as I can’t get mountains to climb
- in this neighbourhood I take naturally to the trees. I think sometimes I
- could pass the rest of my life pleasantly enough here. Man wants but
- little here below. Give me a branch to swing on, a green cocoa-nut, and a
- friend who won’t resent a practical joke—I want nothing more. By the
- way, it’s odd that I never saw until lately—in fact, until two days
- ago—what good fun there is in a practical joke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His perception of what he calls good fun deprived me of my brushes and
- comb this morning,” said Mrs Minton. “I must confess I fail to see the
- humour in hiding one’s brushes and comb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the most innocent lark in the world, and you had no reason to be
- so put out about it,” said her husband, leaning over the back of her
- chair. Dr Koomadhi saw that he was tying the sash of her loose gown to the
- wickerwork of the table at which she was sitting, so that she could not
- rise without overturning the tray with the cups.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Major,” said the Doctor, “a jest is a jest, but your wife’s china——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you have given me away; but I’ll be equal to you, never fear,” said
- the Major, shambling off as his wife prepared to loose the knot of her
- sash from the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not speak a word, but her face was flushed, and it was plain that
- she was greatly annoyed. The flush upon her face deepened when her husband
- went out to the verandah and uttered a curious guttural cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How has he learned that?” asked Dr Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Learned what?” asked Mrs Minton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That cry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s some of his foolishness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I daresay; but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I thought I could bring you here, my friend,” cried the Major, as
- Jacco the baboon swung off his usual place over the porch into his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi watched the creature run its fingers through the Major’s
- disordered hair. He heard the guttural sound made by the baboon, and he
- heard it responded to by the Major.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that Major Minton was on a level with himself in his acquaintance
- with the simian language.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose and took leave of Mrs Minton, and then, with a word of warning in
- regard to his imprudent exercises, of the Major, left the Residency.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until he had reached his own house that he discovered that upon
- the back of his spotless linen coat there had been executed in ink the
- grinning face of a clown. He recollected that he had seen Major Minton
- toying with a quill pen behind him as he sat drinking tea.
- </p>
- <h3>
- XIII.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> few days later Dr
- Koomadhi was visited—unofficially—by Commander Hope. The poor
- Commissioner was as grave as if an impetuous French naval officer had just
- been reported to have insulted the British flag on some part of the coast
- protected (nominally) by that variegated bunting. He was anxious to
- consult the Doctor regarding the condition of Major Minton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed?” said the Doctor. “What do you suppose is the matter with him,
- sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Commissioner tapped his forehead significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A slight touch of sunstroke, I fancy,” he replied. “He has been behaving
- strangely—giving us a great deal of uneasiness, Koomadhi. Oh yes,
- it’s clearly a touch of sunstroke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s bad—but not sufficiently bad to be very grave about, sir,”
- said the Doctor. “You know how these attacks pass away, leaving scarcely a
- trace behind, if properly treated. You have, of course, applied the ice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ve applied nothing,” said the Commissioner. “He’s beyond our control,
- Koomadhi. He left the Residency last evening and has not turned up since.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a fact. Oh, he must be stark, staring mad”—the Commissioner
- was walking up and down the Doctor’s room in a state of most unofficial
- perturbation. “I found it necessary to speak to him pretty plainly a
- couple’ of days ago. It was bad enough for him to climb up the mast and
- nail the flag to the pole so that it could not be hauled down at sunset,
- but when it conies to dropping the keys of the despatch-boxes into the
- water-tank, the thing ceases to be a joke. I gave him a good slating, and
- he sulked. He had an idea, his wife told me, that he understood the simian
- language, and he was for ever practising his knowledge upon our tame
- baboon. What on earth does that mean, if not sunstroke—tell me that,
- Koomadhi?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It looks very like sunstroke, indeed,” said the Doctor. “But where can he
- have disappeared to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the question that makes me feel uneasy,” said the Commissioner. “I
- don’t like to make a fuss just yet, but—I’ll tell you what it is,
- Koomadhi,”—he lowered his voice to a whisper,—“the man has a
- delusion that he is an ape—it’s impossible to keep it a secret any
- longer. God help us all! God help my poor girl—my poor girl!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Commissioner broke down completely, and wept with his face bowed down
- to his hands. He was very unofficial—tears are not official.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, sir, you must not give way like this,” said the Doctor. “This coast
- is the very devil for men like Minton, who will not take reasonable
- precautions. But there’s no reason to be alarmed just yet. The <i>Penguin</i>
- will be here in a few days, and the instant the steamer drops her anchor
- we’ll ship him aboard. He’ll be all right, take my word for it, when he
- sails a few degrees northward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But where is he now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s probably loafing around the outskirts of the jungle; but he’ll be
- safe enough, and he’ll return, most likely, within the next few hours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are of that opinion?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Assuredly. Above all things, there must be no talk about this business,—it
- might ruin him socially; and your daughter——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor girl! poor girl! I agree with you, Koomadhi,—it must be kept a
- secret; no human being must know about this shocking business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he does not return before to-night, send a message to me, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll not fail. Poor girl! Oh, Koomadhi, her heart will be broken—her
- heart will be broken!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Commissioner went away, looking at least ten years older than when he
- had last been seen by Dr Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Doctor watched him stumbling down the pathway: then he laughed and
- opened a bottle of champagne, which he drank at a gulp—it was only
- when he was alone that he allowed himself the luxury of drinking champagne
- in gulps.
- </p>
- <p>
- Shortly before midnight he paid a visit to the barracks of the Houssas,
- and found that the officer who was on the sick list was very much better.
- Returning by the side of the jungle, he heard the sound of steps and a
- laugh behind him. It might have been the laugh of a man, but the steps
- were not those of a man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked round.
- </p>
- <p>
- A shambling creature was following him—a creature with a hairy face
- and matted locks—a creature whose eyes gleamed wildly in the
- moonlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How the mischief can you walk so fast along a path like this?” came the
- voice of Major Minton from the hairy jaws of the Thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not walking so fast, after all,” said the Doctor. He had not given
- the least start on coming face to face with the Thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t care much about walking on roads; but I’ll back myself to cross a
- forest without leaving the trees,” said the Thing. “That would beat you,
- Koomadhi. Oh, by the way——” Here he emitted some guttural
- sounds.
- </p>
- <p>
- The simian language was recognised by the Doctor, and replied to with a
- smile, and for some time the two exchanged remarks. The Doctor was the
- first to break down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t understand that expression,” said he, when the other had repeated
- some sounds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, you fool, that means, ‘Is there anything to drink handy?’” said the
- voice of Major Minton. “Why, I know more of the language than you. We’ve
- been talking nothing else for the past day or two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where have you been?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the jungle. Where else would you have me be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where, indeed? You’d better stay with me to-night. I’ll give you
- something to drink.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will suit me nicely. I’m a bit thirsty, and——” Here he
- lapsed into the simian jabber.
- </p>
- <p>
- He curled himself up in a corner of the sofa, and took the tumbler that Dr
- Koomadhi offered to him, drinking off the contents pretty much after the
- style of the Doctor when alone. He then began talking about the sense of
- freedom incidental to a life spent in the jungle, and every now and again
- his words became what was long ago known as gibberish; but nearly every
- utterance was intelligible to the Doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- After some time had passed, the Doctor took the carved stones out of the
- desk drawer, and, handing one to his companion, said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way, I wonder if you are still deaf to the sound of this thing.
- Try it again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the good? I’m not such a fool as to fancy that any sound can come
- from a stone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn’t Shakespeare say something about ‘sermons in stones’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Shakespeare? He could hear things and see things that no one else
- could. Well, give me the stone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He put the roughly carved lips to his ear, while the Doctor raised the
- other to his own mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can hear no murmur?” said the Doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing whatever. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll go asleep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can give you a bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bed? What rot! No, thank you, I’ll be comfortable enough here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He curled himself up and went asleep before the Doctor’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the Doctor entered his sitting-room the next morning the apartment
- was empty.
- </p>
- <h3>
- XIV.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> was a fool for
- not detaining him by force,” said Dr Koomadhi, in telling the
- Commissioner, a few hours later, that his son-in-law had paid a visit to
- his (the Doctor’s) house. “But there really is nothing to be alarmed
- about. He has a whim, but he’ll soon tire of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope to heavens he’ll return by to-morrow evening,” said the Commander.
- “The <i>Penguin</i> will be here in the morning, and we must get him
- aboard by some means. What a pity you didn’t lock him in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To tell you the truth, I was afraid to do so—if he had made a row
- in the morning on feeling himself a prisoner the thing would be over the
- town before noon. Oh, you may be certain that he’ll turn up again either
- to-day or tomorrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That night one of the officers of the Houssas gave Dr Koomadhi a
- circumstantial account of a strange chimpanzee which one of the men had
- seen on the outskirts of the jungle at daybreak. If the thing wasn’t a
- chimpanzee it certainly was a gorilla, the officer said, and he meant to
- have a shot at it. Would the Doctor join him in the hunt? he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Doctor said he would be delighted to do so, but not before the next
- evening, he had so much on hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- The <i>Penguin’s</i> gun was heard early in the morning, and Dr Koomadhi
- had the privilege of reading his ‘Saturday Review’ at breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to the Residency before noon. The Commissioner was not there. He
- had gone aboard the <i>Penguin</i>, Mr Letts, the Secretary, said, without
- looking up from his paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you know anything about Minton, Mr Letts,” whispered
- Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you know anything about him, Dr Koomadhi,” said Mr Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has not been near me since the night before last,” said the Doctor.
- “Has he been here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before the Secretary could reply a servant knocked at the office door
- conveying Mrs Minton’s compliments to Dr Koomadhi, and to inquire if he
- would be good enough to step into the breakfast-room until the
- Commissioner returned from the mail steamer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi said he would be pleased to do so, and he left the office and
- followed the servant into the breakfast-room—an apartment which
- occupied one end of the Residency, and had windows opening upon the
- verandah, and affording a view of that portion of the jungle which was
- nearest Picotee.
- </p>
- <p>
- He scarcely recognised Gertrude Minton. The deadly pale, worn woman who
- greeted him silently, had nothing in common with the brilliant daughter of
- the Commissioner who, a few months before, had been as exquisite as a lily
- in the midst of a jungle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are we to do—what are we to do?” she whispered. “You have seen
- him since we saw him. What did he say? Will he return in time to be put
- aboard the steamer? Oh, for God’s sake, give me a word of hope—one
- word to keep me from going mad too!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs Minton,” said Dr Koomadhi, “you have asked me a great many questions.
- May I remind you that I never asked but one question of you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One question? What do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I asked you if you thought you could marry me. What was your answer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you come here to remind me of that? If you are thinking of that
- fault of mine—it was cruel, I know, but I did not mean it—if
- you are thinking of that rather than of the best way to help us, you had
- much better have stayed away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You said you would as soon marry a baboon as marry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I checked myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When you had practically said it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing; you did not marry me, and the alternative was your own choice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The alternative?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; you married a baboon. You know it. Is there any doubt on your mind?
- Come to this window.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had suddenly crossed the room to a window facing the jungle. She
- staggered to his side. He threw open the shutter and pointed out.
- </p>
- <p>
- What Mrs Minton saw was a huge ape running on all fours across the cleared
- space just outside the jungle. The creature ran on for some distance, then
- stopped and turned round gibbering. Then from the jungle there came
- another ape, only in a more upright posture. With a yell he caught the
- hand of the first, and the creature stood upright. Then, hand in hand, in
- a horribly grotesque dance, they advanced together until they were within
- a hundred yards of the Residency.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see—you see,” laughed Dr Koomadhi. “You may still be able to
- recognise some of his features in spite of the transformation. You have
- had your choice. A baboon is your husband, and your child——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The shriek that the woman gave before falling to the floor frightened even
- Dr Koomadhi.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a second the room door was opened. Mr Letts appeared. He rushed at Dr
- Koomadhi, and had his hands on his throat before the Doctor could raise
- Mrs Minton. He forced the negro backward into the porch, and flung him out
- almost upon the Commissioner and Mr Ross, the surgeon of the <i>Penguin</i>,
- who were in the act of entering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For heaven’s sake, Letts!” cried the Commissioner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You infernal nigger!” shouted Letts, as Dr Koomadhi picked himself up.
- “You infernal nigger! if ever you show your face here again, I’ll break
- every bone in your body!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What the blazes is the matter?” asked. Ross.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe that that devil has killed Mrs Minton,” said the Secretary. “If
- he has, by God! I’ll kill him.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- XV.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi went to
- his house in dignified silence. He put a couple of glasses of brandy into
- a bottle of champagne and gulped down the whole. Then he wrote a short
- note to the officer of the Houssas, mentioning that he would be happy to
- help him to shoot the great ape at daybreak.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sent off the letter, and before he closed his desk he thought he would
- restore the carved stones to their receptacle. He had put them into his
- pocket before starting for the Residency; but now when he felt for them in
- his pocket he failed to find them. He was overcome with the fear that he
- had lost them. It suddenly occurred to him that they had been thrown out
- of his pocket by the violence of the man who had flung him into the road.
- If so, they would be lying on the pathway, and they would be safe enough
- there until dark, when he could go and search for them.
- </p>
- <p>
- At moonrise he went out and walked down the road to the “Residency, but
- when just at the porch he was confronted by Ross, who was leaving the
- house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo!” cried the surgeon. “I was just about to stroll up to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I was determined not to miss you,” said Koomadhi. “How is Mrs Minton?
- It will be brain fever, I’m afraid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It looks very like it,” said Ross. “She is delirious. How did the attack
- come? That fool of a Secretary will give no explanation of his conduct to
- you. The Commissioner says he will either apologise or leave the station.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Secretary is a fool,” said Koomadhi. “Great heavens! to think that
- there are still some men like that—steeped to the lips in prejudice
- against the race to which I am proud to belong! We’ll not talk of him; but
- I’ll certainly demand an apology. The poor woman—she is little more
- than a girl, Ross! The breaking strain was reached when she was in the act
- of telling me about her husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sunstroke, I suppose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Undoubtedly. He has been behaving queerly for some time. Walk back with
- me and have something to drink.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can only stay for an hour,” said Ross. “Mrs Bryson, the wife of the
- telegraphist, is nursing Mrs Minton; but it won’t do for me to be absent
- for long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained chatting with Koomadhi for about an hour, and then left for
- the Residency alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dr Koomadhi determined to wait until midnight, when he might be pretty
- certain that his search for the stones would not be interrupted.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door of the Residency was opened for Mr Ross by Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Step this way, Ross,” said he, in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ross went into the Secretary’s room. Sitting on a cane chair with a cigar
- in his mouth and a tall glass at his elbow was a man from whom came a
- strong perfume of shaving-soap. The man had plainly been recently shaved.
- His face was very smooth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo, Ross, old chap!” said this man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God, it’s Minton!” cried the surgeon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No one else,” said Minton. “What is all this about my poor wife? Don’t
- tell me that it’s serious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s serious enough,” said Ross. “But, unless a change for the worse
- comes before morning, there is no reason for alarm.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God!” said Minton. “What a fool I was to set about investigating
- that monkey language! I fancied that I had mastered a word or two, and I
- ventured into the jungle and got lost. I returned here an hour ago in a
- woful state of dilapidation. I’m getting better every minute. For God’s
- sake let me know how my poor wife is now!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll get your report, Ross, to save your leaving the room,” said Letts.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Secretary took the surgeon into an empty apartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He returned three-quarters of an hour ago,” he said, in a low voice. “I
- never got such a shock as when I saw him—luckily I was at the door.
- He was practically naked; and with his hair tangled over his head, and his
- face one mass of bristles, he was to all intents and purposes a baboon.
- That nigger is at the bottom of it all. I followed him when he visited Mrs
- Minton this morning, and I even brought myself to listen outside the door
- of the breakfast-room, where they had an interview. I overheard enough to
- convince me that the ruffian had made Minton the victim of some of his
- hellish magic. I’ve been long enough on the West Coast to know what some
- of the niggers can do in this way. I have questioned Minton adroitly, and
- he admitted to me that Koomadhi had put a certain stone carved like a
- human ear into his hand, and had induced him to place it at his own ear.
- That was the famous Sacred Ear stone that the Ashantees speak of in
- whispers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll talk more of this to-morrow,” said Ross. “I don’t believe much in
- negro magic; but—my God! what is the meaning of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A window was open in the room, and through it there came the sound of a
- shot, followed by appalling yells: then came another shot, and such a wild
- chorus of shrieking as far surpassed in volume the first series.
- </p>
- <h3>
- XVI.
- </h3>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>etts ran to a
- cupboard and whipped out a revolver. He rushed outside without a word.
- Ross followed him: he felt that wherever a revolver was going he should go
- also.
- </p>
- <p>
- The two men ran in the moonlight toward Koomadhi’s house, for the yells
- were still coming from that direction. When they got within sight of the
- house Letts cried out in amazement. By the light of the full moon the
- strangest sight that he had ever seen was before his eyes. Koomadhi’s
- house was invisible; but where it should have been there was an enormous
- pyramid of jabbering apes. They were so thick upon the roof and the
- verandah as to conceal every portion of the building, and hundreds were on
- the pathway around the place. The noise they made was appalling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Letts and the surgeon crouched behind a cane-brake and watched that
- strange scene; but they had not been long in concealment before the
- creatures began trooping off to the jungle. Baboons, chimpanzees, and
- gorillas, more horrible than had ever been depicted, were rushing from the
- house yelling and gibbering with grotesque gestures beneath the light of
- the moon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before the last of the monstrous procession had disappeared—while
- the shrieks of the wild parrots were still filling the air—the two
- men left their place of concealment and hurried toward the house. They had
- to struggle through an odour of monkeys that would have overpowered most
- men. A glance was sufficient to show them that the shutters of the room in
- which Koomadhi slept had been torn away. Letts sprang through the open
- window, and Boss heard his cry of horror before he followed him—before
- he saw the ghastly sight that the moonlight revealed. The body of Dr
- Koomadhi lay torn and mangled upon the floor, his empty revolver still
- warm in his hand. Around him lay the carcases of four enormous apes, with
- bullet-holes in their breasts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ross,” said Letts after a long pause, “there is a stronger power still
- than the devil even on the West Coast of Africa.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Women, I have often heard, have strange notions at times,” said Major
- Minton, leaning over the deck-chair under the awning of the <i>Penguin</i>,
- where his wife was sitting, “but that fancy which you say you had before
- your attack beats the record. Still, I was greatly to blame. I’ll never
- forgive myself. I had no business interesting myself in that simian
- jabber. If at any time I feel a craving in such a direction I’ll get an
- order for the Strangers’ Gallery of the House of Commons when a debate on
- an Irish question is going on. Poor Koomadhi! Letts declared that, as he
- lay among the dead apes, it was difficult to say whether he was an ape or
- a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> wouldn’t make a
- fuss about it if I were you,” said Charlie Craven, pursuing that search
- from pocket to pocket which men, having no particular reputation for
- tidiness to maintain, are accustomed to institute when they have filled a
- pipe and are anxious to light it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A fuss about it?” cried his sister Madge. “A fuss—good gracious!
- What is there to make a fuss about in all that I have told you? A dream—I
- ask you candidly if you think that I am the sort of girl to make a fuss
- over a dream?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don’t know,” said Charlie. He had succeeded in finding in one of
- his pockets a match-box—an empty match-box.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you should know,” said Madge severely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There now, you are; making a fuss over something a deal flimsier than
- your dream,” laughed her brother. “I wonder if that palace of your dream
- was no better supplied than this house with matches: if it wasn’t, I
- shouldn’t care to live in it for any length of time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s so like a man to keep on bothering himself and every one about him
- for a match, while all the time a fire is roaring on the hearth behind
- him, and his pockets are full of bills—the usual Christmas bills,
- the least of which would light all the pipes he smokes in a day, and
- that’s saying a good deal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How clever you are! I never thought of the fire. Well, as I was
- remarking, I wouldn’t bother telling my dreams to any one if I were you.
- Dreams—well, dreams are all rot, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not quite so sure of that as you seem to be, O wisest of brothers.
- The wisest of people in the world—next to you, of course—have
- thought that there was something in dreams, haven’t they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were wrong. My aunt! the rot that I have dreamt from time to time!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that settles the question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It does, so far as I am concerned. Look here, Madge; don’t come to me
- again with the story of your dreams, hoping to find a sympathetic ear.
- Dreams, I say, are all——Of course, you saw that particular
- house and that particular staircase in some picture, and they stuck
- somewhere at the back of your brain. It’s a rummy thing the brain, you
- know—a jolly rum thing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is. I am becoming more impressed every minute with the truth of that
- discovery of yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, if you are becoming sarcastic, I have nothing more to say. But please
- to remember that sarcasm is no argument. I tell you, my dear girl, you
- have seen a picture of that house at some period of your life—I
- don’t say recently, mind you—and my theory is that the brain is like
- a sensitized plate: it records an impression once and for all, and stores
- it away, and you never know exactly when it means to bring it out again
- before your eyes. Oh, believe me, it plays a lot of tricks upon even the
- most commonplace people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Among whom I suppose I must count myself? Well, I daresay you are right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that I am right. Dreams! Did you ever hear the story of the old
- woman who won a big prize in a lottery, the ticket being No. 26? Had she
- chosen that number on chance or in accordance with some system? she was
- asked, and she replied that she had dreamt it all out. Dreamt it all out?
- What did she mean by that? they inquired. ‘Well, a week ago I dreamt that
- I won the prize, and that the ticket I took was No. 9,’ said she. ‘The
- next night I dreamt exactly the same, and the ticket was No. 9. The third
- night the same thing happened, so, of course, I chose No. 26.’ ‘No. 26?
- Why not No. 9 as you dreamt it?’ the people asked. ‘Oh, you fools!’ said
- she; ‘didn’t I tell you that I dreamt it three times? the number was 9,
- and doesn’t every one know that three times 9 are 26?’ Now that’s the
- stuff that dreams are made of, as Shakespeare remarks, so don’t you bother
- about this particular vision of yours; and if you take my advice you’ll
- say nothing to Uncle Philip or the lot of them about it. They would only
- laugh at you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why on earth should I go about proclaiming my dream to all our
- relations?” cried the girl. “Dear Charlie, I’m not suffering just yet from
- softening of the brain. Besides, I can recall many instances of disaster
- following people who bored others with the story of their dreams. There
- was the notable case of Joseph and his brethren, and later in history
- there was the case of the Duke of Clarence. You remember how swiftly
- retribution followed his story of his dream? Now, of course, my dream was
- only a little insignificant thing compared to Joseph’s and Clarence’s,
- still something might happen if I bored people with it—something
- proportionate—the plum-pudding might come to the table in a state of
- squash, or the custards might be smoked. Oh no, I’ll be forewarned, and
- talk only of facts. I suppose a dream cannot, by even the most indulgent
- of people, be called a fact.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m off to the stables,” said her brother, after a little pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he went off to the stables. He was an excellent fellow and the best
- of brothers, although he was more at home in the stables than when engaged
- in a discussion on a subject involving some exercise of the imagination.
- There is not much room in a stable for a play of the imagination,
- especially where the corn accounts are kept on a system.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had left the breakfast-room on this bright Christmas morning his
- sister paused for a few moments in her morning duty of collecting a
- breakfast for the birds which were loitering about the Italian balustrade
- in front of the window, reminding her, in their own way, that they
- expected an exceptionally liberal repast on this Christmas morning: she
- paused and began to think once more upon this strange dream of hers, which
- she had been rehearsing to her brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all, it was not so strange a dream, she reflected. The only queer
- thing about it was that it had come to her on every Christmas Eve for five
- consecutive years—since she was seventeen—and that its details
- did not differ in the least from one year to another. Perhaps it was also
- different from the majority of dreams in its vividness, and in the fact
- that, on awaking from it, she felt as exhausted as if she had just
- returned from a long journey. Even now it required almost an effort on her
- part to walk round the old oak table sweeping the crumbs on to a plate to
- throw to the birds; and when she had discharged this duty she seated
- herself with a sigh of relief in one of the arm-chairs that stood by the
- side of the great wood fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- She closed her eyes and once again recalled her dream. She had no
- difficulty in doing so. She had fancied herself in the act of driving up
- to a fine old house, standing in the middle of a well-timbered park of oak
- and chestnut. The lawn extended across the full front of the mansion, and
- in the centre she noticed a beautiful old fountain, composed of a great
- marble basin with a splendid group of figures in the centre—Neptune
- with his dolphins and a Naiad or two. She passed into the house through a
- great hall hung with trophies of war and of the chase. In front of her was
- the enormous head of a moose, and at one side there was a great grey skull
- of some animal such as she had never seen before,—a fearful thing
- with huge tusks—quite the monster of a dream.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she seemed to go from room to room, as if she had been a member of
- the family living in the place, but—and this she felt to be a true
- dream-touch—the moment she entered a room every one who was there
- fled from her; but apparently this did not cause her any surprise, any
- more than did the strange costume of the figures who fled at her approach—costumes
- of the sixteenth century, mingled with those of the seventeenth and
- eighteenth. Thinking of the figures hurrying from every room suggested to
- her the family portraits of three centuries in motion. After visiting
- several fine rooms she found herself walking up a broad oaken staircase of
- shallow steps, until she came to a large lobby, where the staircase
- divided to right and left. There she found a curious settee of some dark
- wood, the long centre panel of which was carved with many figures. She saw
- all this by the aid of the moonlight which flowed in through the panes of
- coloured glass in a high window, painted with many coats of arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- She remembered having rested in this seat for some time, feeling very
- lonely, and then some one had come to her, sitting by her side and taking
- her hand, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been waiting for you all these years. I am so glad that you are
- here at last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She remembered that the sound of the voice and the touch of the hand had
- banished her loneliness, and made her feel happier than she had ever felt
- in all her life before. Even now she felt supremely happy, recalling this
- incident of her dream, though she recollected that she had not yet seen
- the face of the man who had come to her to banish her loneliness. She
- wished that her dream had been less whimsical in this one particular. She
- felt that she could have spared some of the other details that came before
- her so vividly—the skull of that strange animal that hung in the
- hall, for instance—if in their place she had been allowed to see
- what manner of man it was who had sat with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still, the recollection of him gave her pleasure even when the dream had
- first come to her and he had come in the dream, and this pleasure had been
- increasing year by year, until she knew that she had actually gone asleep
- on the previous night, full of joy in the hope of hearing the sound of
- that voice and feeling the touch of that hand as she had done in the past.
- </p>
- <p>
- And that was the end of her dream, unless the feeling of happiness—happiness
- mingled with a certain sadness—of which she was conscious while she
- recalled its details should be accounted part of the dream. Her pleasure
- was the same as one experiences in recalling the incidents of a visit to a
- dear friend; her sadness was the same as one experiences on thinking that
- a long time must elapse before one can see that friend again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge actually found herself reflecting that a year must pass before she
- could once more find herself wandering through the strange mansion of her
- dream—find herself once more seated on that carved seat in the lobby
- beneath the painted window.
- </p>
- <p>
- She kept on thinking, and wondering as she thought, over the strange
- features of this experience of hers. She knew that she was what people
- would call a commonplace, practical girl—a girl without fads or
- fancies of any sort. Since her mother’s death, three years before, she had
- managed all the household affairs of Craven Court for her brother, who had
- inherited the property before she had left the schoolroom. Every one was
- bound to acknowledge that her management of the household had been
- admirable, though only her brother knew exactly how admirable it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are no frills about Madge; she is the best woman of business in the
- county, and we have none of the bothers of other people with our
- servants,” he had frequently said.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet here was this embodiment of all that is practical in life,
- dreaming upon a dream upon this bright and frosty Christmas morning, and
- actually feeling sad at the thought that a whole year must elapse before
- the same vision should return to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The chiming of the church bells startled her out of her reverie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pshaw!” she cried, jumping up from her chair; “I am quite as great a
- goose as Charlie believes me to be—quite! or I should not have told
- him that that dream had come to me again. I should have had the sense to
- know that he would have the sense to know that dreams are, one and all,
- the utterest folly!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew that she was trying to convince herself that there was nothing
- more in this particular dream than in the many casual dreams that came to
- her as well as to other people; but before she had reached the door of the
- dining-room she knew that she had failed in her attempt. The curious
- fatigue of which she was conscious, quickly told her that this
- oft-recurring vision was not as others were.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went to church with her brother, and in the afternoon their uncle,
- Colonel Craven, and his wife duly arrived at the Court to spend their
- annual week at the family mansion, and Madge took her brother’s advice and
- refrained from saying a word to either of them on the subject of her
- dream. Indeed, she had so much to think of and so much to do during the
- week, she had no time to give to anything so immaterial as a dream,
- however interesting it might be to herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the last morning of the stay of Colonel and Mrs Craven at Craven Court,
- the former received a letter which he tossed across the breakfast-table to
- Charlie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “We were talking about wild-duck-shooting no
- later than last night, and here’s a letter from Jack Tremaine telling me
- that he is taking over his cousin’s place for six months and promising me
- some good sport if I go to him for a week in January. You will see that he
- suggests that you should be of the party: he asks if you are here. See
- what he says about the ducks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is his cousin?” inquired Charlie, “and where is his place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His cousin is a chap named Clifford, and his place is in Dorsetshire—on
- the coast—Barmouth Manor it is called, and I know that it’s famous
- for its duck-shooting. Tremaine will no doubt write to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where has the cousin gone, that the place is available for Jack
- Tremaine?” asked Charlie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Turn over the page and you’ll see what he says about the Cliffords,”
- replied Colonel Craven.
- </p>
- <p>
- Charlie found on the last leaf half a dozen lines on the point in
- question. Jack Tremaine said that Mrs Clifford was not satisfied as to the
- health of her son, and was going abroad with him during the first week in
- January.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to have a go at the ducks,” said Charlie Craven, handing
- back the letter. “I suppose there is a duck-punt or two at the place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may be sure of that,” said his uncle. “Young Clifford is a good
- sportsman, I believe, but I have never met him. I’ll write to Tremaine
- to-day telling him that you are at home. I’m sure he means to invite you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All doubt on this point was removed by the arrival two days later of an
- invitation from Mr Tremaine to Charlie Craven for a fortnight’s
- duck-shooting at Barmouth Manor, and he enclosed a letter from his wife to
- Madge expressing the hope that she would be able to accompany her brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge was delighted at the prospect of the visit, for she and Mrs Tremaine
- were close friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- The frost which had set in a few days before Christmas had not gone when
- she and her brother were due at Barmouth Manor, so that there was a
- likelihood of her having some skating on the lake. Mrs Tremaine had, in
- her invitation, laid some stress upon the possibility of a week’s skating
- on the lake which, she said, was within the Manor Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- A carriage met them at Barmouth Station, for the Manor was quite five
- miles from the picturesque little town; and it was late in the afternoon
- before they passed through the spacious entrance gates to the Manor Park.
- There was, however, quite enough light to enable Madge to see every detail
- of the place, and it was observing some of the details that caused her to
- make a rather startling exclamation of surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo!” said her brother, “what has startled you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a little pause before she had recovered herself sufficiently to
- be able to make an excuse that would sound plausible. She pointed to a
- group of deer looking over the barrier of their enclosure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One of the stags,” she said; “it seemed for a moment as if it were about
- to jump the rail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What matter if it did? They are as tame as cats at this time of the
- year,” said Charlie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, I should have remembered,” she said. “I wonder in what
- direction is the pond. Does the sunset look promising?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There may be no thaw before the end of the month,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the end of their conversation, and she flattered herself that he
- had no notion how excited she was as the carriage reached that part of the
- drive which was beside the lawn, and the red level rays of the sun
- streaming through the naked trees stained the marble basin of an Italian
- fountain, the central group of which was in every detail the same as the
- figures in the fountain of her dream. In another minute the front of the
- house was disclosed, and she saw that it was the house of her dream. She
- would have been greatly disappointed had it been otherwise.
- </p>
- <p>
- She entered the great hall, and could scarcely reply to the cordial
- greeting of her aunt and Mrs Tremaine, for she found herself stared at by
- the sleepy eyes that looked out from the head of a moose just as they had
- stared at her in her sleep. She turned to the wall on her right. Yes,
- there was the curious skull with the mighty tusks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes, we had a delightful journey,” she managed to say in reply to Mrs
- Tremaine’s inquiry. “Thank you; I should like a cup of tea immensely. Do
- you have it in the hall or in the tapestry room beyond?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What; you have been here before? I had no idea of that,” said Mrs
- Tremaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- For more than a moment Madge was confused.
- </p>
- <p>
- Luckily for her, however, the lamps had not been lighted in the hall, and
- the sudden flush that came over her face was unobserved by her friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a good shot I made!” she cried. “Isn’t this just the sort of house
- to have an old-panelled dining-room and a tapestry chamber beside it? I
- think we should have tea here. What sort of prehistoric creature is that
- on the wall?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe it is a skull that was found when they were digging the
- foundations of one of the lodges,” said Mrs Tremaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I seem to have read some description of this very place,” said Charlie,
- standing in front of the great skull.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge wondered if he would remember enough of her account of the house of
- her dreams to enable him to recognise the details before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is fully described in Hall’s History, and in every guide-book of the
- district. The animal that that skull belonged to lived some thousands of
- years before the Flood, I understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is the exact date b.c. carved on it?” laughed Charlie. “Yes, I
- daresay I came upon a paragraph or an illustration of the place. No house
- is safe from the depredations of the magazines nowadays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tea was served in the hall to give Madge’s maid time to unpack; and then
- the girl was shown to her room. She ran up the broad, shallow staircase to
- the lobby; she had made up her mind to sit, if only for a moment, on the
- carved settee; but a surprise awaited her,—no carved settee was
- there. The painted window was there, but no settee was beneath it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was so surprised that she stood for some moments gazing at the vacant
- place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That lobby looks quite bare without the settee, Miss Craven,” said the
- housekeeper, who was beside her. “It’s a fine bit of carving—all
- ebony.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was there a settee here?” asked Madge innocently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was only taken away to-day to be in a better light for Mrs Tremaine to
- photograph it,” said the housekeeper. “Mrs Tremaine has done most of the
- rare pieces in the house. This is your room, Miss Craven. It’s called the
- Dauphin’s chamber, for it was here he slept fifty years ago when he was in
- Dorsetshire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge entered the room, remarking that it was beautifully furnished and
- that it seemed extremely comfortable. When the door was closed she threw
- herself into a chair and had a good think.
- </p>
- <p>
- What could it all mean? she asked herself. Why should this house become so
- associated with her life? Was she going to die here? Was something going
- to happen to her? Was she to meet here the man who had upon five different
- occasions come to her side, telling her that he had been waiting for her?
- </p>
- <p>
- For ten days she remained in the house, looking forward day by day to some
- occurrence that would cause her to realise what her dream meant; but she
- returned with her brother to Craven Court in disappointment. Nothing
- particular happened all the time, and she came to the conclusion that her
- dream was as meaningless as her brother had said it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge Craven and her brother were staying with the Tremaines at their own
- place during the pheasant shooting the following October, and one morning
- their hostess mentioned that her husband’s cousin, Mrs Clifford, had
- returned to England from South America and was expected to join their
- party that day.
- </p>
- <p>
- She arrived before the shooters had come back from their day’s sport, and
- she and Mrs Tremaine had a long chat in front of the fire before tea. Mrs
- Clifford was a handsome old lady of the <i>grande dame</i> type; and being
- a close observer and an admirable describer of all that she observed, she
- was able to entertain Mrs Tremaine with an account of the adventures of
- her son and herself in South America.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope Rawdon’s health is more satisfactory now than it was,” said Mrs
- Tremaine when her guest had declared that there was no more to be told.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can only hope for the best,” said Mrs Clifford, becoming grave. “Rawdon
- is gone across the mountains to Chili, and will not be at home until the
- middle of January.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He must be pretty robust to be able to undertake such a journey,” said
- Mrs Tremaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is not wanting in strength,” said Mrs Clifford. “Only—poor boy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘Poor boy!’ ‘Why poor boy’?” asked the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause before the elder lady said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is rather difficult to explain. By the way, did any of your party at
- the Manor House see the ghost?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens! I did not know that your family was blessed with a ghost,”
- laughed Mrs Tremaine. “No, I can assure you, we were not so lucky. What
- sort of a ghost is it? A ghastly figure with rattling chains? Have you
- seen it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I have seen it,” said Mrs Clifford in a low voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How interesting! Do tell me what it is like!” cried the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like? What is it like?” Mrs Clifford rose slowly from her chair, and
- walked to another chair. She only remained seated for a moment, however:
- with a sigh she began pacing the room slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I fear I have touched upon a forbidden topic,” said Mrs Tremaine. “I had
- no idea that you were serious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Serious—serious,” said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room,
- and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had
- uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window,
- her hands grasping the back of a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was by her side in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray, what is the matter?” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are weak—overcome by———-Let me ring for
- brandy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is that—that—on the terrace?” she said in a fearful
- whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven,” replied Mrs Tremaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the
- peacocks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was with you when you were at the Manor House,” said Mrs Clifford.
- “She was there, and yet you did not see the ‘ghost’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth do you mean?” said Mrs Tremaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean this: that girl out there is the ghost that appears at the Manor
- House every Christmas Eve, and it is because my poor boy, as well as I
- myself, saw it, that his mind has become unhinged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heavens! You mean to say——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The poor boy has fallen, in love with a shadow—a phantom! It comes
- every Christmas Eve and walks from room to room. It comes up the stairs—I
- tell you that I have seen it—and sits on the old carved settee, and
- then suddenly vanishes into the air whence it came.... And that ghost is
- as surely that girl as I am I.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is terrible—quite uncanny! Are you quite sure?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure—sure!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is awful to think upon. But—but—listen to me—I have
- an idea. If Madge is the ghost, why not ask her down again to your place,
- and give Rawdon a thing of flesh and blood to transfer his affections to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madge is the best girl in the world. Every eligible man in her county,
- and quite as many ineligible, have wanted to marry her. You will find out
- how nice she is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Clifford sank into the chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh that it were possible!” she whispered. “He is everything to me, my
- dearest boy, and until this fancy————Oh, if it
- were only possible!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And at this point Madge entered the room, and was duly presented to Mrs
- Clifford.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- If Madge was at first under the impression that the manner of Mrs Clifford
- in regard to her was somewhat formal and constrained, before a week had
- passed she had good reason to change her opinion on this point. The fact
- was that Mrs Clifford had formed an attachment for her which she could
- sincerely return; and that was why the girl was delighted to accept her
- invitation to spend Christmas in Dorsetshire. It suited her brother’s
- arrangements for her to do so, for he was anxious to join a big-game
- expedition which was starting for India early in December.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Clifford said she was delighted to be able to have Madge all to
- herself for at least a fortnight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My son cannot possibly be home until the middle of January,” said she,
- “and then we shall probably have a large party at the Manor. But meantime
- you and I shall be together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not think that we shall quarrel,” said Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alas! alas!” said Mrs Clifford to Mrs Tremaine, after one of the many
- whispered colloquies which they had together during the week. “Alas!
- Rawdon cannot be home for Christmas. It was I who took the greatest pains
- to arrange matters to prevent his spending another Christmas Eve at home
- until he should have completely recovered from the effects of his strange
- attachment, and yet now I would give worlds to be able to have him with us
- on Christmas Eve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Could you not send a cable?” suggested Mrs Tremaine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I might send a dozen without being able to find him. Besides, it would be
- impossible for me to tell him what has occurred.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose you could hardly cable him ‘Come home at once. Ghost found,”
- laughed Mrs Tremaine. “Never mind. He should be all the better pleased
- when the Ghost of Christmas Eve becomes a creature of flesh and blood by
- the middle of January.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Christmas Eve at the Manor House. Madge’s maid had just left her
- for the night, but the girl showed no inclination to go to bed. She
- remained sitting by her fire thinking how strange it was that she should
- be on this Christmas Eve in the flesh at the house which she had visited
- in her dreams. And while she sat thinking over this, she found herself
- overcome by that strange longing which she had had just a year ago, to be
- again by the side of the man who had come to her side in her dream.
- </p>
- <p>
- She clasped her hands, saying in a whisper—“Come to me. Come to me
- again and tell me that you have been waiting for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She began to undress with feverish haste, when suddenly her hands dropped
- by her sides, for the terrible thought occurred to her—
- </p>
- <p>
- “What if my dream will not come to me this year because I happen to be in
- the midst of the real scene where it took place?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought that it might be as capricious as other dreams oppressed her.
- She now felt sorry that she had agreed to visit the place. She should have
- remained at Craven Court, where her dream had always been faithful to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden idea occurred to her: she would leave her room and sit in reality
- on the carved settee under the painted window, and then, going to bed
- immediately after, she might sink unconsciously into the kind embrace of
- her dream.
- </p>
- <p>
- She opened her door very gently and went along the silent corridor until
- she reached the head of the staircase, and saw the moonlight streaming
- through the coloured glass to the lobby beneath. She stole down, and in
- another instant she was in the seat, the moonlight streaming over her and
- throwing the coloured pattern of the glass upon her white dress. She
- closed her eyes, feeling that perhaps she might fall asleep and find
- herself in the midst of her dream.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she opened her eyes. She fancied that she heard the sound of a
- footstep in the hall below. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Some
- one was in the hall—some one was coming up the stairs. She sprang to
- her feet, and was about to rush up to her room, when she heard a voice—the
- voice that she had heard so often in that dream of hers, saying—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, do not go now. You cannot go now that I have come to you—now
- that I have been waiting for you for five years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not move from where she was standing. She saw a tall man with a
- bronzed face coming up the stairs. She somehow had never seen his face in
- her dream, but she recognised it from the photograph which his mother had
- shown her: she knew that the man was Rawdon Clifford.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood before her on the lobby.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They thought to separate us,” he said. “They thought that my love for you
- was a form of madness. But I tell you, as I told them, I would rather
- stand by your side for a few minutes once a-year than be for ever by the
- side of another—a more real creature. That is why I have come over
- land and sea to be here in time for your visit this Christmas Eve. I
- promised my mother to stay away; but I could not—I could not keep my
- promise, and I came to England a fortnight sooner than I expected, and
- entered the house only this moment—like a burglar. But I am
- rewarded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not understand. I am Mrs Clifford’s guest. Madge Craven is my name,”
- said Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man sprang back and raised his hands in surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! She is flesh and blood—at last—at last!” he
- cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put out his hand slowly—doubtfully. Madge put out hers to it. A
- cry of delight came from him as he felt her warm hand, and he made it
- still warmer by his kisses. She could not stop him. She made no attempt to
- do so.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me that I was not mad—that I am not mad now,” he said in a
- loving whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no—only—is it not strange?—For five years I have
- this dream—this very dream—and yet I never was in this house
- until last January,” said Madge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been with me every Christmas Eve for five years, and you will
- remain here for ever,” said he. “Do not tell me that we have not met
- before—do not tell me that you have not loved me as I have loved you
- all these years. What did that dream of yours mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I know now—now,” whispered the girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs Tremaine considers, herself the only survivor of the people who
- professed to exorcise the ghosts in whom our grandfathers were foolish
- enough to believe.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE BLOOD ORANGES
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>h, my friend,”
- said the Marchesa, “you Englishmen are like to our mountain which we see
- smoking over there.” She threw herself into the attitude of the ‘<i>prima
- donna assoluta</i> in an impassioned moment preceding the singing of the
- romanza, as she pointed across the blue Bay of Naples to where Vesuvius
- was sending forth a delicate hazy fume.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know anything about Englishmen,” said Sir Percival morosely; “but
- I know that when you are near me my heart is a volcano—my soul——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The lady’s laugh interrupted him—one cannot make use of similes with
- a poetical flavour about them when a violet-eyed lady is leaning back her
- head in laughter, even though the action displays a beautiful throat and
- the curves of a superb neck. The Marchesa del Grippo displayed a
- marvellous throat and neck, and was fully aware of this fact. Her laugh
- rang out like a soprano dwelling with delight on a high note and producing
- it <i>tremolo</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she cried, “you are at pains to prove to me that I am right in the
- way I judge you Englishmen: to-day you are volcanic, to-morrow we find not
- the blaze and the thunder but only—<i>ecco!</i> a puff of smoke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again she pointed—but this time carelessly—in the
- direction of the mountain.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man frowned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For heaven’s sake do not say ‘You Englishmen’ when I am by!” he cried. “I
- have nothing in common with Englishmen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never met an Englishman who did not try to impress upon me that he
- was not as other Englishmen,” said the Marchesa. “The last one to say so
- to me was your wicked young Lord Byron. The Guicciola presented him to me
- at Genoa. Heavens! the old Count is more like an Englishman than Lord
- Byron! He can keep his eyes fast shut when it suits him. Enough; I said
- ‘You Englishmen,’ and he became red with anger. Droll! I had to ask
- forgiveness for having accused his lordship of being English. Oh, you are
- a nation of patriots.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do not mean to keep up the acquaintance of Lord Byron, I would fain
- hope,” said Sir Percival with another frown.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again the lady laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “After that do not tell me that you are not an Englishman,” she said. “It
- is so very English to frown when the name of Lord Byron is mentioned—to
- give a young woman with a husband a solemn warning to beware of that
- wicked young noble, while all the time the one that utters the warning is
- doing his best to earn the reputation of the disreputable Byron. The
- English detest Byron; but if you want to flatter an Englishman to the
- farthest point, all you have to do is to tell him that you believe him to
- be a second Lord Byron. Never mind: I like the Lord Byron, and I like—yes,
- a little—another of his countrymen, though he is, I fear, very
- wicked.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wicked?—wicked?” cried Sir Percival—he was plainly flattered.
- “What is it to be wicked?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, do not ask me to give it a definition: I might say that it was to be
- you—you yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it is wicked to love—madly—blindly—then indeed I
- admit that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That you are <i>aut Diabolus, aut Byron?</i> I know not which of the two
- the English regard as the worse. Well, suppose I do not admit your right
- to tell me of your love: I suppose I dare not dispute your right to love,
- but I can dispute your right to tell me of it—that is, if it
- exists.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it exists? Heavens! my beloved creature, would I have followed you
- here from England if I did not love you to distraction?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It needs such extraordinary self-sacrifice on the part of an Englishman
- to leave England for Italy! I think you were glad to make some excuse—even
- so feeble a one as that of being in love with an Italian woman—to
- make a journey to Naples. But I forgot; you were in Italy once before,
- were you not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; I was in some parts,—the north—Tuscany—Florence—never
- here—no, never here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never here? ah, yes; now I remember well. You said you had never been to
- Sorrento. I wonder did I hold out any inducement to you to come to
- Sorrento?—you must have been studying a map of our bay, for you knew
- by name every landmark, every island, when I tried to be your cicerone
- just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The glance that he cast at her after giving a little start had something
- of suspicion in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Everyone knows the landmarks of the lovely Bay of Naples,” said he; “but
- I—ah, my beloved, did you not tell me all its beauties when we first
- met in London six months ago? Had you no idea that every word which fell
- from your lips—even the words in which you described the scenery
- around your home—should be burnt into my memory for evermore? Ah,
- sweet one, will you never listen to me? Does my devotion count for nothing
- with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My husband,” she whispered with a tremulous downward glance—the
- glance of love’s surrender—he knew it well: he was a man of
- considerable experience of woman in all her phases. He knew that he had
- not been fooled by the Marchesa.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did not you tell me that you detested him?” he cried. “If a husband
- treats a wife cruelly, as he has treated you, he has wilfully forfeited
- all claim to her devotion. There are some acts so atrocious that it is
- impossible to find an adequate punishment for them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think that even if the punishment were a crime in the eyes of the
- world it would be sanctified by heaven if it were meted out to a monster
- of cruelty?” The Marchesa was looking at him through half-closed eyes. He
- saw that her hands were clenched tightly, and he did not fail to notice
- how tumultuously her bosom was heaving. He was exultant. He had conquered.
- That opportune word which he had thrown in regarding her husband’s cruelty
- had overcome her last scruple.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My beloved—my beloved,” he whispered, “cruelty to such a woman as
- you makes sacred the mission of avenging it. You will leave him—with
- me you will never know aught save happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a little laugh, and then put her hand in his, not doubtfully, but
- with an expression of the amplest trustfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My last scruple is gone,” said she in the same low tone that he had
- employed. “What you have said has made my mind easy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will come to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Till one of us dies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke the words with the fire flashing from her eyes as she gazed into
- his face. The force of that gaze of hers gave him a little shock. It was
- only a momentary sensation, however; in a second he recollected that he
- was talking to an Italian, not an Englishwoman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Till one of us dies—till one of us dies,” he whispered, poorly
- imitating her intensity. “Ah, I knew that it would come, my darling. Would
- I have travelled from England if I had not been certain of you—certain
- of my own love for you, I mean? And you will come with me—you will
- leave him? It is his punishment—his righteous punishment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall leave him with you, I swear to you,” cried the Marchesa.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment he failed to catch her exact meaning. He did not want the
- Marchese to be left with him; but of course he perceived the next instant
- that she meant to say that she would leave her husband and go with him,
- her lover; and there was no tremor in his voice as he said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will never repent it! Ah, what happiness will be ours, my soul! Shall
- it be tomorrow? I can hire a vessel to take us to Malta,—there we
- shall be safe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, it is too sudden,” said she. “My husband could not fail to have his
- suspicions aroused. Nay, we shall have to await our opportunity. If he
- asks you to pay us a visit you must come. He will be going to Rome in a
- day or two, and I shall contrive to be left behind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that will be our chance,” he cried. “Fate is on our side, my dear
- one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Fate is on our side,” she said in a low tone that could not possibly
- reach the ear of the tall and straight man who approached them as they
- stood at the balustrade of the Villa Galeotto overlooking the lovely Bay
- of Naples.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is such a great pleasure to me to meet you once again, Sir Percival
- Cleave,” said the Marchese, with a smile. “I hope that the Marchesa has
- offered you the hospitality of our humble home?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Marchesa has been so very kind as suggest that I should visit your
- castle for an hour or two before I leave this lovely neighbourhood,” said
- Sir Percival.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay, surely she made you name the day,” said the Marchese, turning to his
- wife. “Is it possible, my dear, that you failed to be more specific?” he
- asked with great gravity.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lady gave a shrug in response, and her husband became still more
- grave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The hospitality which I received in England can never be forgotten by me,
- though my mission was an unpleasant one,” said he. “The King of Naples—but
- we will avoid politics, as people must if they mean to remain good
- friends. Enough; you will honour us by paying us a visit—but when?
- What day will suit your convenience?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am only remaining in this neighbourhood for a day or two,” said Sir
- Percival. “I have, alas! some important business that will take me
- northward; but—well, I have no engagement to-morrow, if that day
- would suit your Excellency.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will suit me better than any other day,” replied the Marchese. “I have
- myself to go to Rome almost at once. I shall never cease to be thankful to
- Fate for having so delayed my departure as to enable me to have the
- pleasure of meeting Sir Percival Cleave. You will come in the afternoon
- and eat a simple dinner at our table. You are already acquainted with the
- road to the Castle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes—that is, no; I do not know the road, but I do not suppose I
- shall have any difficulty in finding it out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” the Marchese had turned once more to his wife and had assumed the
- tone of a reproof. “What! you did not make Sir Percival aware of the
- direction to the Castle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Percival has been studying a map of the Bay,” said she. “Though he
- has never before been here he shows a remarkable acquaintance with the
- neighbourhood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not right to take so much for granted,” said the Marchese. “Allow
- me to repair the negligence of the Marchesa, Sir Percival.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He then pointed out to the Englishman the direction to take in order to
- reach the road leading to the cliffs a mile beyond Sorrento, where the
- Castello del Grippo stood in the centre of its olive-groves. Sir Percival
- thanked him, and said that having received such plain directions he would
- not now carry out his intention of driving to the castle; he would ride
- there instead.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before the Marchese and his wife took their departure, the latter had
- managed to whisper in the ear of Sir Percival as she returned the pressure
- of his hand—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Without fail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Till one of us dies,” he replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- How strange it all was! he thought that night as he stood at the door of
- the inn where he was staying at Sorrento, and listened to the singing of
- the fishermen putting out to sea. How strange it all was! The seven years
- that had passed since he had last heard the hymn of the fishermen in that
- Bay seemed no more than so many days. He had had his adventures since he
- had been so foolish as to fancy himself in love with Paolina—poor
- Paolina! A good many faces had interposed between the face of the Italian
- girl of 1815 and the face of the Italian Marchesa in 1822. But what a
- whimsical fate it was that had made him fall in love with the Marchesa del
- Grippo more deeply than he had ever permitted himself to fall in regard to
- other women! He had never known what it was to love before, though she was
- the woman whom he should have avoided, even if there were no other woman
- to love in the wide world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ah, it was fate—the Marchesa had said so that afternoon at the Villa
- Galeotto. She had loved him from the first—he was ready to swear to
- that. He remembered now certain indications of her passion which he had
- noticed the first evening they had met, but which had escaped his memory.
- It was at Lady Blessington’s in Kensington, and the Marchesa had expressed
- the pleasure it gave her to meet with an Englishman who spoke such
- excellent Italian. He had been very cautious at that time in replying to
- her questions as to the length of time he had been in Italy and the places
- that he had visited. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that,
- after the lapse of seven years, any one might recognise him as the lover
- of Paolina, so it was just as well, he thought, to be careful. He had not
- mentioned a word about Sorrento, and not until the Marchesa had stood by
- his side in the garden of the Villa Galeotto had he lapsed in his feigning
- a complete ignorance of the locality. It was the force of his passion for
- that lovely woman which had overwhelmed him, causing him to forget himself
- and to refer by name to various landmarks.
- </p>
- <p>
- But what did it matter now? The woman had responded to him, and in a day
- or two would be by his side for—well, for as long as he pleased. A
- short distance away Lord Byron was affording the Italians a new reading of
- the cold-blooded Englishman; but Sir Percival Cleave would take very good
- care that he was not made such a fool of by the Marchesa as Lord Byron was
- by the Contessa Guicciola. Byron was practically a pauper, whereas he, Sir
- Percival Cleave, was rich. He could therefore (the logic was his) prevent
- himself from ever being made a fool of by any woman, Marchesa or Contessa
- though she might be.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he loved her—of that he was certain. He had asked her if he
- would have faced the discomforts of a journey from England to Italy had he
- not been in love with her; and now as he stood listening to the
- fishermen’s hymns sung in the boats that were drifting out of the Bay, he
- asked himself the same question. Oh yes, he loved her! and her husband was
- cruel to her—she had told him so in England, and she had been
- greatly comforted by his assurance—given in answer to her inquiry—that
- the crime of being cruel to her was so great as to condone any act of hers—say,
- running away with another man.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was superstitious; she had some scruples. The priests, no doubt, were
- in the pay of her husband, and they had probably exaggerated the crime of
- a wife’s leaving a husband,—it would be so like a greasy Italian
- priest to lay emphasis upon this one particular act; but he, an English
- gentleman to the core, and properly sensible of the blessings of a
- Protestant king and constitution, had succeeded in counteracting the
- insidious teaching of the priests. She had listened to him. She had
- readily accepted that great truth: a woman’s retaliation to her husband’s
- cruelty is sanctified in the eyes of heaven. That was his point: the eyes
- of heaven. It was immaterial in what light such an act of retaliation as
- he suggested to her would appear in the eyes of the people of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he slept he had brought himself to believe that he was actually the
- lady’s honourable champion, boldly coming forward to rescue her from an
- intolerable oppressor.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Castello del Grippo was built on the summit of the headland that
- sloped away from the sea at one side, but was very precipitous on the
- other. For three hundred years the family of Del Grippo had been
- accustomed to display a light in the tower nightly for the guidance of the
- fishing-boats, for the Castle could be seen from the north as well as the
- south. For more than a mile on the shoreward side of the Castle the
- olive-trees grew mixed with lemons and oranges; and as Sir Percival rode
- along the somewhat rough avenue on his way to accept the hospitality of
- the man whose wife he had the previous day been instructing on some
- interesting points in regard to her duty, he was entranced with the
- perfumes of the fruits and flowers. The air was heavy with odours of the
- citrons, and the gold of the luscious fruit gleamed among the glossy
- leaves. Though he had never been on the avenue before, the gleam of the
- fruit and the exquisite scents brought back to him the sweet memory of
- Paolina. It was not at this side of the great garden that he had been
- accustomed to meet her, but on the other side—that nearest the
- cliff, a mile away.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a sweet sad memory, and it was so poignant that it even caused him
- to sigh and murmur—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, la povera Paolina! la povera Paolina!”
- </p>
- <p>
- And having thereby satisfied himself that his heart was as soft as the
- heart of a little child, he urged his horse forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- He soon reached the Castle, and it seemed gloomy enough, outlined against
- the wonderful blue sky. He had seen numbers of the peasants working among
- the olives, but close to the Castle none were in sight. It was not until
- he had dismounted and pulled the handle of the old iron bell that a
- servant appeared. In a few moments the Marchese himself came out of a room
- at one side of the hall and welcomed his guest, giving instructions to
- another servant to stable the horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have not met the Marchesa?” he inquired of Sir Percival. “She left
- the Castle half-an-hour ago, trusting to meet you. Pray enter and we shall
- have some refreshment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Sir Percival declined to enter in the absence of the Marchesa. He felt
- that to do so would be very gross—to say the least of it. The idea
- of sitting down with the Marchese while the lady—his lady—was
- wandering disconsolately around the grounds in search of him was very
- repugnant to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As you will,” said the Marchese with a shrug when he remarked that he
- would like to go in search of the Marchesa. “As you will. She is not
- likely to get lost. Oh yes; we shall go in search of her, and that will
- serve me as an excuse for showing you some of the spots to which interest
- attaches within our grounds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He picked up a hat and stick and left the Castle with his visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall first go to the grove where the historic duel was fought between
- my ancestor and the two nephews of Pope Adrian,” said the Marchese. “You
- have heard of that affair, no doubt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall we be likely to find the Marchesa there?” asked Sir Percival.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As likely as not we shall meet her as we go there,” replied the Marchese.
- </p>
- <p>
- He led the way through an avenue of ilex, and they soon came upon a
- cleared space at the foot of a terrace of rocks. The Marchese explained
- the position occupied by the combatants in the famous duel that had so
- consolidated the position of the family of Del Grippo. But all the time
- the details of the incident were being explained to him Sir Percival was
- casting his eyes around for the appearance of the lady. What did he care
- about Pope Adrian or his nephews so long as his lady—he had come to
- think of her as his lady—was roaming the grounds in search of him?
- </p>
- <p>
- Then his host brought him to where the body of his grandfather had been
- found by the side of the three men whom he had killed before receiving the
- fatal blow from behind, dealt by that poltroon, Prince Roberto, who had
- hired four of his bravos to attack the old man. At another part of the
- grounds were the ruins of the ancient summer-house, where a certain member
- of this distinguished family had strangled his wife, whom he had suspected
- of infidelity, though, as the Marchese explained, the lady had saved him
- more than once from assassination and was perfectly guiltless.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour had been passed viewing these very interesting localities, about
- which the air of the middle ages still lingered, and still the Marchesa
- was absent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Should we not return to the Castle? the Marchesa may be waiting for us,”
- suggested Sir Percival.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A thousand pardons,” cried the Marchese. “I fear I have fatigued you. You
- are thirsty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes; I am somewhat thirsty,” laughed the visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How discourteous I have been! We shall have the refreshment of an orange
- before returning. There is a famous grove a short way toward the cliff.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He strode onward, and then, suddenly turning down a narrow path made among
- the olives, Sir Percival gave a start, for he found himself by the side of
- the Marchese, at the one part of those grounds with which he was well
- acquainted. They stood among the orange-trees at the summit of the cliff
- which he had nightly climbed to meet Paolina.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here are our choicest fruits,” said the Marchese, plucking an orange and
- handing it to his visitor. “Break it open and you will see how exquisite
- the fruit is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Percival broke the orange, but the moment he did so it fell from his
- fingers and he gave a cry of horror, for out of the fruit had come a red
- stream staining his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Marchese laughed loud and long.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your hands are embrued with blood,” he said. “Oh, a stranger might fancy
- for a moment that Sir Percival Cleave was a murderer. Ah! pray pardon my
- folly. That is only the refreshing juice of the orange. And yet you
- fancied that it was blood! Come, my friend, take courage; here is another.
- Eat it; you will find it delicious. I have heard that there are in the
- world such strange monsters as are refreshed by drinking blood—we
- have ourselves vampires in this neighbourhood. But you and I, sir, we
- prefer only the heart’s blood of a simple orange. You will eat one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not touch one,” said Sir Percival. “Nay; to do me the favour?
- What! an Englishman and superstitious?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Percival took another orange and made a pretence of eating it. His
- hands trembled so, however, they were soon dripping with the crimson
- juice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are caught red-handed in the act,” said the Marchese, “red-handed—
- but the man who came here long ago was not so captured.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Another medieval story?” said Sir Percival. “Had your Excellency not
- better reserve it for the evening?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This story is not a medieval one; and it can only be told on the spot,”
- said the Marchese. “You have never been here before or you would not need
- to be told that this orange-grove was until seven years ago an ordinary
- one. It was not until blood was spilt here seven years ago that the fruit
- became crimson when bruised, and blood—your hands are dyed with it——flowed
- from it as you have seen—it is on your lips—you have drunk of
- her blood—Paolina’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For Gods sake let us leave this place!” said Sir Percival hoarsely. “I
- have heard enough stories of bloodshed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nay; this one is so piteous, you shall hear it and weep, sir—ah!
- tears of blood might be drawn from the most hard-hearted at the story of
- Paolina. She was a sweet girl. She lived with her sister, who is now the
- Marchesa——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What amazes you, sir? Is it remarkable that my wife should have had a
- sister?’
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; of course not; I was only surprised to find those horrid marks
- still on my hands. Pray let us return to the Castle and permit me to
- remove the stains.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Paolina!—she lived at the Castle with our aunt seven years
- ago. She was a flower of girlhood. I thought myself in love with her; but
- when my brother Ugo—he was the elder—confided in me that he
- loved her, I left the Castle. He loved her, and it seemed that she
- returned his affection. They were betrothed, and one could not doubt that
- their happiness was assured. But one evil day she met a man—a
- scoundrel; I regret to say that he was an Englishman—do not move,
- sir, you shall hear me out. This villain spoke to her of love. He tempted
- her. She was accustomed to meet him every evening on this very spot—we
- learned that he sailed from Sorrento and climbed the cliff. My brother
- began to suspect. He followed her here one evening, and she confessed
- everything to him. He was a passionate man, and he strangled her here—here—and
- then flung himself headlong from the cliff.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A gruesome story, Marchese. Now, shall we return?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Villain!—assassin!—look at your hands—they are wet with
- her blood—your lips—they have drunk her blood, but ‘tis their
- last draught—for——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Percival sprang at the man and caught him by the throat, but in an
- instant his hands relaxed. He had only strength to glance round. He saw
- the woman who had stabbed him, before he fell forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That one was for her—for her—my beloved sister. This one is
- for our dear brother—the man whom you wronged. This——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stabbed him again. His blood mixed with the crimson stains on the
- earth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look at it—bear witness that I have kept my oath,” cried the
- Marchesa. “Did not I swear that his blood should be drunk by the same
- earth that drank hers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beloved one, you are an angel—an avenging angel!” cried the
- Marchese, embracing his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day Sir Percival Cleave’s horse was found dead at the foot of one
- of the cliffs; but the body of the “unfortunate baronet”—so he was
- termed by the newspapers (English)—was never recovered.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Arthur Jephson
- wrote to me to join his Christmas party at Northavon Priory, I was set
- wondering where I had heard the name of this particular establishment. I
- felt certain that I had heard the name before, but I could not recollect
- for the moment whether I had come upon it in a newspaper report of a
- breach of promise of marriage or in a Blue-Book bearing upon Inland
- Fisheries: I rather inclined to the belief that it was in a Blue-Book of
- some sort. I had been devoting myself some years previously to an
- exhaustive study of this form of literature; for being very young, I had
- had a notion that a Blue-Book education was essential to any one with
- parliamentary aspirations. Yes, I had, I repeat, been very young at that
- time, and I had not found out that a Blue-Book is the <i>oubliette</i> of
- inconvenient facts.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until I had promised Arthur to be with him on Christmas Eve
- that I recollected where I had read something about Northavon Priory, and
- in a moment I understood how it was I had acquired the notion that the
- name had appeared in an official document. I had read a good deal about
- this Priory in a curious manuscript which I had unearthed at Sir Dennis le
- Warden’s place in Norfolk, known as Marsh Towers. The document, which,
- with many others, I found stowed away in a wall-cupboard in the great
- library, purported to be a draft of the evidence taken before one of the
- Commissions appointed by King Henry VIII. to inquire into the abuses
- alleged to be associated with certain religious houses throughout England.
- An ancestor of Sir Dennis’s had, it appeared, been a member of one of
- these Commissions, and he had taken a note of the evidence which he had in
- the course of his duties handed to the King.
- </p>
- <p>
- The parchments had, I learned, been preserved in an iron coffer with
- double padlocks, but the keys had been lost at some remote period, and
- then the coffer had been covered over with lumber in a room in the east
- tower overlooking the moat, until an outbreak of fire had resulted in an
- overturning of the rubbish and a discovery of the coffer. A blacksmith had
- been employed to pick the locks, which he did with a sledge-hammer; but it
- was generally admitted that his energy had been wasted when the contents
- of the box were made known. Sir Dennis cared about nothing except the
- improvement of the breed of horses through the agency of race meetings, so
- the manuscripts of his painstaking ancestor were bundled into one of the
- presses in the library, some, however, being reserved by the intelligent
- housekeeper in the still-room to make jam-pot covers—a purpose for
- which, as she explained to me at considerable length, they were extremely
- well adapted.
- </p>
- <p>
- I had no great difficulty in deciphering those that came under my hand,
- for I had had considerable experience of the tricks of early English
- writers; and as I read I became greatly interested in all the original
- “trustie and well-beelou’d Sir Denice le Warden” had written. The
- frankness of the evidence which he had collected on certain points took
- away my breath, although I had been long accustomed to the directness with
- which some of the fifteenth-century people expressed themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- Northavon Priory was among the religious houses whose practices had formed
- the subject of the inquiry, and it was the summary of Sir Denice’s notes
- regarding the Black Masses alleged to have been celebrated within its
- walls that proved so absorbing to me. The bald account of the nature of
- these orgies would of itself have been sufficient, if substantiated, to
- bring about the dissolution of all the order in England. The Black Mass
- was a pagan revel, the details of which were unspeakable, though their
- nature was more than hinted at by the King’s Commissioner. Anything so
- monstrously blasphemous could not be imagined by the mind of man, for with
- the pagan orgie there was mixed up the most solemn rite of the Mass. It
- was celebrated on the night of Christmas Eve, and at the hour of midnight
- the celebration culminated in an invocation to the devil, written so as to
- parody an office of the Church, and, according to the accounts of some
- witnesses, in a human sacrifice. Upon this latter point, however, Sir
- Denice admitted there was a diversity of opinion.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the witnesses examined was a man who had entered the Priory grounds
- from the river during a fearful tempest, on one Christmas Eve, and had, he
- said, witnessed the revel through a window to which he had climbed. He
- declared that at the hour of midnight the candles had been extinguished,
- but that a moment afterwards an awful red light had floated through the
- room, followed by the shrieks of a human being at the point of
- strangulation, and then by horrible yells of laughter. Another man who was
- examined had been a wood-cutter in the service of the Priory, and he had
- upon one occasion witnessed the celebration of a Black Mass; but he
- averred that no life was sacrificed, though he admitted that in the
- strange red light, which had flashed through the room, he had seen what
- appeared to be two men struggling on the floor. In the general particulars
- of the orgie there was, however, no diversity of opinion, and had the old
- Sir Denice le Warden been anything of a comparative mythologist, he could
- scarcely fail to have been greatly interested in being brought face to
- face with so striking an example of the survival of an ancient
- superstition within the walls of a holy building.
- </p>
- <p>
- During a rainy week I amused myself among the parchments dealing with
- Northavon Priory, and although what I read impressed me greatly at the
- time, yet three years of pretty hard work in various parts of the world
- had so dulled my memory of any incident so unimportant as the deciphering
- of a mouldy document that, as I have already stated, it was not until I
- had posted my letter to Arthur Jephson agreeing to spend a day or two with
- his party, that I succeeded in recalling something of what I had read
- regarding Northavon Priory.
- </p>
- <p>
- I had taken it for granted that the Priory had been demolished when Henry
- had superintended the dissolution of the religious establishments
- throughout the country: I did not think it likely that one with such a
- record as was embodied in the notes would be allowed to remain with a
- single stone on another. A moment’s additional reflection admitted of my
- perceiving how extremely unlikely it was that, even if Northavon Priory
- had been spared by the King, it would still be available for visitors
- during the latter years of the nineteenth century. I had seen many
- red-brick “abbeys” and “priories” in various parts of the country, not
- more than ten years old, inhabited mostly by gentlemen who had made
- fortunes in iron, or perhaps lard, which constitutes, I understand, an
- excellent foundation for a fortune. There might be, for all I knew, a
- score of Northavon Priories in England. Arthur Jephson’s father had made
- his money by the judicious advertising of a certain oriental rug
- manufactured in the Midlands, and I thought it very likely that he had
- built a mansion for himself which he had called Northavon Priory.
- </p>
- <p>
- A letter which I received from Arthur set my mind at rest. He explained to
- me very fully that Northavon Priory was a hotel built within the walls of
- an ancient religious house.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had spent a delightful month fishing in the river during the summer,—I
- had been fishing in the Amazon at that time,—and had sojourned at
- the hotel, which he had found to be a marvel of comfort in spite of its
- picturesqueness. This was why, he said, he had thought how jolly it would
- be to entertain a party of his friends at the place during the Christmas
- week.
- </p>
- <p>
- That explanation was quite good enough for me. I had a week or two to
- myself in England before going to India, and so soon as I recalled what I
- had read regarding North-avon Priory, I felt glad that my liking for
- Jephson had induced me to accept his invitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until we were travelling together to the station nearest to the
- Priory that he mentioned to me, quite incidentally, that during the summer
- he had been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a young woman who
- resided in a spacious mansion within easy distance of the Priory Hotel,
- and who was, so far as he was capable of judging,—and he considered
- that in such matters his judgment was worth something,—the most
- charming girl in England.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see,” I remarked before his preliminary panegyric had quite come to a
- legitimate conclusion—“I see all now: you haven’t the courage—to
- be more exact, the impudence—to come down alone to the hotel—she
- has probably a brother who is a bit of an athlete—but you think that
- Tom Singleton and I will form a good enough excuse for an act on your part
- which parents and guardians can construe in one way only.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, perhaps——Hang it all, man, you needn’t attribute to me
- any motives but those of the purest hospitality,” laughed my companion.
- “Isn’t the prospect of a genuine old English Christmas—the Yule log,
- and that sort of thing—good enough for you without going any
- further?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s quite good enough for me,” I replied. “I only regret that it is not
- good enough for you. You expect to see her every day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Every day? Don’t be a fool, Jim. If I see her more than four times in the
- course of the week—I think I should manage to see her four times—I
- will consider myself exceptionally lucky.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if you see her less than four times you will reckon yourself
- uncommonly unlucky?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “O, I think I have arranged for four times all right: I’ll have to trust
- to luck for the rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! you mean to say that the business has gone as far as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As making arrangements for meetings with her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- My friend laughed complacently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you see, old chap, I couldn’t very well give you this treat without
- letting her know that I should be in the neighbourhood,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, indeed. I don’t see, however, what the——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! You mean to say that you don’t see——Oh, you
- will have your joke.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope I will have one eventually; I can’t say that I perceive much
- chance of one at present, however. You’ll not give us much of your
- interesting society during the week of our treat, as you call it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll give you as much of it as I can spare—more than you’ll be
- likely to relish, perhaps. A week’s a long time, Jim.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘Time travels at divers paces with divers persons,’ my friend. I suppose
- she’s as lovely as any of the others of past years?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As lovely! Jim, she’s just the——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t trouble yourself over the description. I have a vivid recollection
- of the phrases you employed in regard to the others. There was Lily, and
- Gwen, and Bee, and—yes, by George! there was a fourth; her name was
- Nelly, or——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All flashes in the pan, my friend. I didn’t know my own mind in those old
- days; but now, thank heaven!—Oh, you’ll agree with me when you see
- her. This is the real thing and no mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was good enough to give me a genuine lover’s description of the young
- woman, whose name was, he said, Sylvia St Leger; but it did not differ
- materially from the descriptions which had come from him in past days, of
- certainly four other girls for whom he had, he imagined, entertained a
- devotion strong as death itself. Alas! his devotion had not survived a
- single year in any case.
- </p>
- <p>
- When we arrived at the hotel, after a drive of eight miles from the
- railway station, we found Tom Singleton waiting for us rather impatiently,
- and in a quarter of an hour we were facing an excellent dinner. We were
- the only guests at the hotel, for though it was picturesquely situated on
- the high bank of the river, and was doubtless a delightful place for a
- sojourn in summer, yet in winter it possessed few attractions to casual
- visitors.
- </p>
- <p>
- After dinner I strolled over the house, and found, to my surprise, that
- the old walls of the Priory were practically intact. The kitchen was also
- unchanged, but the great refectory was now divided into four rooms. The
- apartments upstairs had plainly been divided in the same way by brick
- partitions; but the outer walls, pierced with narrow windows, were those
- of the original Priory.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the morning I made further explorations, only outside the building, and
- came upon the ruins of the old Priory tower; and then I perceived that
- only a small portion of the original building had been utilised for the
- hotel. The landlord, who accompanied me, was certainly no antiquarian. He
- told me that he had been “let in” so far as the hotel was concerned. He
- had been given to understand that the receipts for the summer months were
- sufficiently great to compensate for the absence of visitors during the
- winter; but his experience of one year had not confirmed this statement,
- made by the people from whom he had bought the place, and he had come to
- the conclusion that, as he had been taken in in the transaction, it was
- his duty to try to take in some one else in the same way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only hope that I may succeed, sir,” he said, “but I’m doubtful about
- it. People are getting more suspicious every day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You weren’t suspicious, at any rate,” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I weren’t—more’s the pity, sir,” said he. “But it’ll take me
- all my time to get the place off my hands, I know. Ah, yes; it’s hard to
- get people to take your word for anything nowadays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next two days Tom Singleton and I were left a good deal together,
- the fact being that our friend Arthur parted from us after lunch and only
- returned in time for dinner, declaring upon each occasion that he had just
- passed the pleasantest day of his life. On Christmas Eve he came to us in
- high spirits, bearing with him an invitation from a lady who had attained
- distinction through being the mother of Miss St Leger, for us to spend
- Christmas Day at her house—it had already been pointed out to us by
- Arthur: it was a fine Georgian country house, named The Grange.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve accepted for you both,” said Arthur. “Mrs St Leger is a most
- charming woman, and her daughter—I don’t know if I mentioned that
- she had a daughter—well, if I omitted, I am now in a position to
- assure you that her daughter—her name is Sylvia—is possibly
- the most beautiful——But there’s no use trying to describe her;
- you’ll see her for yourselves to-morrow, and judge if I’ve exaggerated in
- the least when I say that the world does not contain a more exquisite
- creature.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, one hour with her will be quite sufficient to enable us to pronounce
- an opinion on that point,” laughed Tom.
- </p>
- <p>
- We remained smoking in front of the log fire that blazed in the great
- hearth, until about eleven o’clock, and then went to our rooms upstairs,
- after some horse-play in the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- My room was a small one at the beginning of the corridor, Arthur Jephson’s
- was alongside it, and at the very end of the corridor was Tom Singleton’s.
- All had at one time been one apartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having walked a good deal during the day, I was very tired, and had
- scarcely got into bed before I fell asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- When I awoke it was with a start and a consciousness that something was
- burning. A curious red light streamed into the room from outside. I sprang
- from my bed in a moment and ran to the window. But before I had reached it
- the room was in darkness once more, and there came a yell of laughter,
- apparently from the next room.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment I was paralysed. But the next instant I had recovered my
- presence of mind. I believed that Arthur and Tom had been playing some of
- their tricks upon me. They had burnt a red light outside my window, and
- were roaring with laughter as they heard me spring out of bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the explanation of what I had seen and heard which first
- suggested itself to me; and I was about to return to bed when my door was
- knocked at and then opened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth have you been up to?” came the voice of Arthur Jephson.
- “Have you set the bed-curtains on fire? If you have, that’s nothing to
- laugh at.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get out of this room with your larking,” said I. “It’s a very poor joke
- that of yours, Arthur. Go back to your bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He struck a light—he had a match-box in his hand—and went to
- my candle without a word. In a moment the room was faintly illuminated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to say that you hadn’t a light here just now—a red
- light?” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had no light: a red light floated through the room, but it seemed to
- come from outside,” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who was it laughed in that wild way?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I took it for granted that it was you and Tom who were about your usual
- larks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Larks! No, I was about no larks, I can promise you. Good Lord! man, that
- laugh was something beyond a lark.” He seated himself on my bed. “Do you
- fancy it may have been some of the servants going about the stables with a
- carriage-lamp?” he continued. “There may have been a late arrival at the
- hotel, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s not at all unlikely,” said I. “Yes, it may have been that, and the
- laughter may have been between the grooms.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t hear any sound of bustle through the house or outside,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The stables are not at this angle of the building,” said I. “We must
- merely have seen the light and heard that laughter as the carriage passed
- our angle. Anyhow, we’ll only catch cold if we lounge about in our pyjamas
- like this. You’d best get back to bed and let me do the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t feel much inclined to sleep, but I’ll not prevent your having
- your night’s rest,” said he, rising. “I wonder is it near morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- I held the candle before the dial of my watch that hung above my bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s exactly five minutes past twelve,” said I. “We’ve slept barely an
- hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the sooner I clear out the better it will be for both of us,” said
- he.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went away slowly, and I heard him strike a match in his own room. He
- evidently meant to light his candle.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some hours had passed before I fell into an uneasy sleep, and once more I
- was awakened by Arthur Jephson, who stood by my bedside. The morning light
- was in the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, come into Tom’s room!” he whispered. “He’s dead!—Tom
- is dead!”
- </p>
- <p>
- I tried to realise his words. Some moments had elapsed before I succeeded
- in doing so. I sprang from my bed and ran down the corridor to the room
- occupied by Tom Singleton. The landlord and a couple of servants were
- already there. They had burst in the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was but too true: our poor friend lay on his bed with his body bent and
- his arms twisted as though he had been struggling desperately with some
- one at his last moment. His face, too, was horribly contorted, and his
- eyes were wide open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A doctor,” I managed to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s already sent for, sir,” said the landlord.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few moments the doctor arrived.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cardiac attack,” said he. “Was he alone in the room? No, he can’t have
- been alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was quite alone,” said Arthur. “I knocked at the door a quarter of an
- hour ago, but getting no answer, I tried to force the lock. It was too
- strong for me; but the landlord and the man-servant who was bringing us
- our hot water burst in the door at my request.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the window—was it fastened?” asked the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was secure, sir,” said the landlord.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, a sudden cardiac attack,” said the doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was, of course, an inquest, but as no evidence of foul play was
- forthcoming, the doctor’s phrase “cardiac attack” satisfied the jury, and
- a verdict of “Death from natural causes” was returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before I went back to town I examined the room in which our poor friend
- had died. On the side of one of the window-shutters there were four
- curious burnt marks. They gave one the impression that the shutter had at
- one time been grasped by a man wearing a red-hot gauntlet.
- </p>
- <p>
- I started for India before the end of the year and remained there for
- eight months. Then I thought I would pay a visit to a sister of mine in
- Queensland. On my return at the end of the year I meant to stop at Cairo
- for a few weeks. On entering Shepheard’s Hotel I found myself face to face
- with Arthur Jephson and his wife—he called her Sylvia. They had been
- married in August, but their honeymoon seemed still to be in its first
- quarter. It was after Mrs Jephson had retired, and when Arthur was sitting
- with me enjoying the cool of the night by the aid of a pretty strong cigar
- or two, that we ventured to allude to the tragic occurrence which marked
- our last time of meeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish to beg of you not to make any allusion to that awful business in
- the hearing of my wife,” said Arthur. “In fact I must ask you not to
- allude to that fearful room in the Priory in any way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be careful not to do so,” said I. “You have your own reasons, I
- suppose, for giving me this warning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have the best of reasons, Jim. She too had her experience of that room,
- and it was as terrible as ours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good heavens! I heard nothing of that. She did not sleep in that room?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank God, she didn’t. I arrived in time to save her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I need scarcely say that my interest was now fully aroused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what happened—if you dare tell it,” I said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were abroad, and so you wouldn’t be likely to hear of the fire at The
- Grange,” said my friend, after a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard nothing of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It took place only two days before last Christmas. I had been in the
- south of France, where I had spent a month or two with my mother,—she
- cannot stand a winter at home,—and I had promised Sylvia to return
- to The Grange for Christmas. When I got to Northavon I found her and her
- mother and their servants at the Priory Hotel. The fire had taken place
- the previous night, and they found the hotel very handy when they hadn’t a
- roof of their own over their heads. Well, we dined together, and were as
- jolly as was possible under the circumstances until bedtime. I had
- actually said ‘Good night’ to Sylvia before I recollected what had taken
- place the previous Christmas Eve in the same house. I rushed upstairs, and
- found Sylvia in the act of entering the room—that fatal room. When I
- implored of her to choose some other apartment, she only laughed at first,
- and assured me that she wasn’t superstitious; but when she saw that I was
- serious—I was deadly serious, as you can believe, Jim——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can—I can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, she agreed to sleep in her mother’s room, and I went away relieved.
- So soon as I returned to the fire in the dining-room I began to think of
- poor Tom Singleton. I felt curiously excited, and I knew that it would be
- useless for me to go to bed,—in fact, I made up my mind not to leave
- the dining-room for some hours, at any rate, and when the landlord came to
- turn out the lights I told him he might trust me to do that duty for him.
- He left me alone in the room about half-past eleven o’clock. When the
- sound of his feet upon the oaken stairs died away I felt as fearful as a
- child in the dark. I lit another cigar and walked about the room for some
- time. I went to the window that opened upon the old Priory ground, and,
- seeing that the night was a fine one, I opened the door and strolled out,
- hoping that the cool air would do me good. I had not gone many yards
- across the little patch of green before I turned and looked up at the
- house—at the last window, the window of that room. A fire had been
- lighted in the room early in the evening, and its glow shone through the
- white blind. Suddenly that faint glow increased to a terrific glare,—a
- red glare, Jim,—and then there came before my eyes for a moment the
- shadow of two figures upon the blind,—one the figure of a woman, the
- other—God knows what it was. I rushed back to the room, but before I
- had reached the door I heard the horrible laughter once again. It seemed
- to come from that room and to pass on through the air into the distance
- across the river. I ran upstairs with a light, and found Sylvia and her
- mother standing together with wraps around them at the door of the room.
- ‘Thank God, you are safe!’ I managed to cry. ‘I feared that you had
- returned to the room.’ ‘You heard it—that awful laughter?’ she
- whispered. ‘You heard it, and you saw something—what was it?’ I
- gently forced her and her mother back to their room, for the servants and
- the landlord’s family were now crowding into the corridor. They, too, had
- heard enough to alarm them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You went to the room?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The scene of that dreadful morning was repeated. The door was locked on
- the inside. We broke it in and found a girl lying dead on the floor, her
- face contorted just as poor Singleton’s was. She was Sylvia’s maid, and it
- was thought that, on hearing that her mistress was not going to occupy the
- room, she had gone into it herself on account of the fire which had been
- lighted there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the doctor said——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cardiac attack—the same as before—singular coincidence! I
- need scarcely say that we never slept again under that accursed roof. Poor
- Sylvia! She was overwhelmed at the thought of how narrow her escape had
- been.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you notice anything remarkable about the room—about the
- shutters of the window?” I asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at me curiously for a moment. Then he bent forward and said—
- </p>
- <p>
- “On the edge of the shutter there were some curious marks where the wood
- had been charred.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As if a hand with a red-hot gauntlet had been laid upon it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There were the marks of two such hands,” said my friend slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- We remained for an hour in the garden; then we threw away the ends of our
- cigars and went into the hotel without another word.
- </p>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg’s The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore
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