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diff --git a/25307-h/25307-h.htm b/25307-h/25307-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef0f14e --- /dev/null +++ b/25307-h/25307-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3649 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Drolls From Shadowland, by J. H. Pearce. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align:baseline; + position: relative; + bottom: 0.33em; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Drolls From Shadowland, by J. H. Pearce + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Drolls From Shadowland + +Author: J. H. Pearce + +Release Date: May 2, 2008 [EBook #25307] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DROLLS FROM SHADOWLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Front page"> +<tr><td align='center'><img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="351" height="600" alt="The Man who could talk with the Birds" title="The Man who could talk with the Birds" /> +</td><td align='center'><h1>DROLLS<br /> + +FROM SHADOWLAND</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>J. H. PEARCE</h2> + + +<i>Author of "Esther Pentreath," "Inconsequent Lives,"<br /> +"Jaco Treloar," &c.</i><br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +NEW YORK<br /> + +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> + +1893.<br /> +<i><small>All rights reserved.</small></i><br /> +</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='center'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Man who Coined his Blood into Gold</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">An Unexpected Journey</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Man who could Talk with the Birds</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pursuit</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Pleasant Entertainment</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Man who Desired to be a Tree</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Man who Had Seen</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Unchristened Child</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Man who Met Hate</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Haunted House</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Gifts and Awards</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Friend or Foe?</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Fields of Amaranth</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Comedy of a Soul</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +</p> +<h2>THE MAN WHO COINED HIS<br /> +BLOOD INTO GOLD.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> yoke of Poverty galled him exceedingly, +and he hated his taskmistress with a +most rancorous hatred.</div> + +<p>As he climbed up or down the dripping +ladders, descending from sollar to sollar +towards the level where he worked, he +would set his teeth grimly that he might +not curse aloud—an oath underground +being an invitation to the Evil One—but +in his heart the muffled curses were +audible enough. And when he was at +work in the dreary level, with the darkness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +lying on his shoulder like a hand, and the +candles shining unsteadily through the +gloom, like little evil winking eyes, he +brooded so moodily over his bondage to +Poverty, that he desired to break from it +at any cost.</p> + +<p>"I'd risk a lem for its weight in gowld: +darned ef I wedn'!" he muttered savagely, +as he dug at the stubborn rock with his +pick.</p> + +<p>He could hear the sounds of blasting in +other levels—the explosions travelling to +him in a muffled boom—and above him, +for he was working beneath the bed of +the ocean, he could faintly distinguish the +grinding of the sea as the huge waves +wallowed and roared across the beach.</p> + +<p>"I'm sick to death o' this here life," he +grumbled; "I'd give a haand or a' eye +for a pot o' suvrins. Iss, I'd risk more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +than that," he added darkly: letting the +words ooze out as if under his breath.</p> + +<p>At that moment his pick detached a +piece of rock which came crashing down +on the floor of the level, splintering +into great jagged fragments as it fell.</p> + +<p>He started back with an exclamation of +uncontrollable surprise. The falling rock +had disclosed the interior of a cavern +whose outlines were lost in impenetrable +gloom, but which here and there in a +vague fashion, as it caught the light of the +candle flickering in his hat, seemed to +sparkle as if its walls were crusted with +silver.</p> + +<p>"Lor' Jimmeny, this es bra' an' queer!" +he gasped.</p> + +<p>As he leaned on his pick, peering into +the cavern with covetous eyes, but with a +wildly-leaping heart, he was aware of an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +odd movement among the shadows which +were elusively outlined by the light of his +dip.</p> + +<p>It was almost as though some of them +had an independent individuality, and +could have detached themselves from +their roots if they wished.</p> + +<p>It was certain a squat, hump-backed +blotch, that was sprawling blackly beside a +misshapen block, was either wriggling on +the floor as if trying to stand upright . . . or +else there was something wrong with +his eyes.</p> + +<p>He stared at the wavering gloom in the +cavern, with its quaint, angular splashes of +glister, where heads of quartz and patches +of mundic caught the light from the +unsteady flame of the candle, and +presently he was <i>certain</i> that the shadows +were alive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Most of all he was sure that the little +hump-backed oddity had risen to its feet +and was a veritable creature: an actual +uncouth, shambling grotesque, instead of +a mere flat blotch of shadow.</p> + +<p>Up waddled the little hump-back to the +hole in the wall where Joel stood staring, +leaning on his pick.</p> + +<p>"What can I do for'ee, friend?" he +asked huskily: his voice sounding faint, +hoarse, and muffled, as if it were coming +from an immense distance, or as if the +squat little frame had merely borrowed it +for the nonce.</p> + +<p>Joel stared at the speaker, with his +lower jaw dropping.</p> + +<p>"What can I do for'ee, friend?" asked +the hump-back; peering at the grimy, +half-naked miner, with his little ferrety +eyes glowing luminously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>Joel moistened his lips with his tongue +before he answered. "Nawthin', plaise, +sir," he gasped out, quakingly.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my man!" said the hump-back +pleasantly, rubbing his hands cheerfully +together as he spoke. And Joel +noticed that the fingers, though long and +skinny—almost wrinkled and lean enough, +in fact, to pass for claws—were adorned +with several sparkling rings. "Nonsense, +my man! I'm your friend—if you'll let me +be. O never mind my hump, if it's that +that's frightening you, I got that through +a fall a long while ago," and the lean brown +face puckered into a smile. "Come! In +what way can I oblige'ee, friend? I can +grant you any wish you like. Say the +word—and it's done! Just think what you +could do if you had heaps of money, now—piles +of suvrins in that owld chest in your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +bedroom, instead o' they paltry two-an'-twenty +suvrins which you now got heeded +away in the skibbet."</p> + +<p>Joel stared at the speaker with distended +eyes: the great beads of perspiration +gathering on his forehead.</p> + +<p>"How ded'ee come to knaw they was +there?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I knaw more than that," said the +hump-back, laughing. "I could tell'ee a +thing or two, b'leeve, if I wanted to. I +knaw tin,<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> cumraade, as well as the next." +And with that he began to chuckle to +himself.</p> + +<p>"Wedn'ee like they two-an'-twenty +suvrins in the skibbet made a hunderd-an'-twenty?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +asked the hump-back insinuatingly.</p> + +<p>"Iss, by Gosh, I should!" said Joel.</p> + +<p>"Then gi'me your haand on it, cumraade; +an' you shall have 'em!"</p> + +<p>"Here goes, then!" said Joel, thrusting +out his hand.</p> + +<p>The hump-back seized the proffered +hand in an instant, covering the grimy +fingers with his own lean claws.</p> + +<p>"Oh, le'go! <i>le'go!</i>" shouted Joel.</p> + +<p>The hump-back grinned; his black eyes +glittering.</p> + +<p>"I waan't be niggardly to'ee, cumraade," +said he. "Every drop o' blood you +choose to shed for the purpose shall turn +into a golden suvrin for'ee—there!"</p> + +<p>"Darn'ee! thee ben an' run thy nails +in me—see!"</p> + +<p>And Joel shewed a drop of blood +oozing from his wrist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Try the charm, man! Wish! Hold +un out, an' say, <i>Wan!</i>"</p> + +<p>Joel held out his punctured wrist +mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Wan!"</p> + +<p>There was a sudden gleam—and down +dropped a sovereign: a bright gold coin +that rang sharply as it fell.</p> + +<p>"Try agen!" said the hump-back, +grinning delightedly.</p> + +<p>Joel stooped first to pick up the coin, +and bit it eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ay, good Gosh! 'tes gowld, sure +'nuff!"</p> + +<p>"Try agen!" said the hump-back +"Make up a pile!"</p> + +<p>Joel held out his wrist and repeated the +formula.</p> + +<p>"Wan!"</p> + +<p>And another coin clinked at his feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I needn' wait no longer, s'pose?" said +the hump-back.</p> + +<p>"Wan!" cried Joel. And a third coin +dropped.</p> + +<p>He leaned on his pick and kept coining +his blood eagerly, till presently there +was quite a little pile at his feet.</p> + +<p>The hump-back watched him intently +for a time: but Joel appeared to be +oblivious of his presence; and the squat +little figure stealthily disappeared.</p> + +<p>The falling coins kept chiming melodiously, +till presently the great stalwart +miner had to lean against the wall of the +level to support himself. So tired as he +was, he had never felt before. But give +over his task he either could not, or would +not. The chink of the gold-pieces he must +hear if he died for it. He looked down at +them greedily. "Wan! . . . Wan! . . . +Wan! . . ."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + +<p>Presently he tottered, and fell over on +his heap.</p> + +<p>At that same moment the halting little +hump-back stole out from the shadows +immediately behind him, and leaned over +Joel, rubbing his hands gleefully.</p> + +<p>"I must catch his soul," said the little +black man.</p> + +<p>And with that he turned Joel's head +round sharply, and held his hand to the +dying man's mouth.</p> + +<p>Just then there fluttered up to Joel's +lips a tiny yellow flame, which, for some +reason or other, seemed as agitated as if +it had a human consciousness. One might +almost have imagined it perceived the +little hump-back, and knew full well who +and what he was.</p> + +<p>But there on Joel's lips the flame hung +quivering. And now a deeper shadow fell +upon his face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Surely the tiny thing shuddered with +horror as the hump-back's black paws +closed upon it!</p> + +<p>But, in any case, it now was safely +prisoned. And the little black man +laughed long and loudly.</p> + +<p>"Not so bad a bargain after all!" +chuckled he.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> To "<i>knaw tin</i>" is among the miners of Cornwall +a sign of, and a colloquial euphemism for, <i>cleverness</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> +<h2>AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> performance was over: the curtain +had descended and the spectators had +dispersed.</div> + +<p>There had been a slight crush at the +doors of the theatre, and what with the +abrupt change from the pleasant warmth +and light of the interior to the sharp chill +of the night outside, Preston shivered, +and a sudden weakness smote him at the +joints.</p> + +<p>The crowd on the pavement in front of +the theatre melted away with unexampled +rapidity, in fact, seemed almost to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +waver and disappear as if the <i>mise en scène</i> +had changed in some inexplicable way.</p> + +<p>A hansom drove up, and Preston +stepped into it heavily, glancing +drowsily askance at the driver as he did +so.</p> + +<p>Seated up there, barely visible in the +gloom, the driver had an almost grisly +aspect, humped with waterproof capes, +and with such a lean, white face. Preston, +as he glanced at him, shivered again.</p> + +<p>The trap-door above him opened softly, +and the colourless face peered down at +him curiously.</p> + +<p>"Where to, sir?" asked the hollow +voice.</p> + +<p>Preston leaned back wearily. "Home," +he replied.</p> + +<p>It did not strike him as anything +strange or unusual, that the driver asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +no questions but drove off without a word. +He was very weary, and he wanted to +rest.</p> + +<p>The sleepless hum of the city was abidingly +in his ears, and the lamps that dotted +the misty pavements stared at him blinkingly +all along the route. The tall black +buildings rose up grimly into the night; +the faces that flitted to and fro along the +pavements, kept ever sliding past him, +melting into the darkness; and the cabs +and 'buses, still astir in the streets, had +a ghostly air as they vanished in the +gloom.</p> + +<p>Preston lay back, weary in every joint, +a drowsy numbness settling on his pulse. +He had faith in his driver: he would +bring him safely home.</p> + +<p>Presently they were at one of the +wharves beside the river: Preston could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +hear the gurgle of the water around the +piles.</p> + +<p>Not this way had he ever before gone +homeward. He looked out musingly on +the swift, black stream.</p> + +<p>"Just in time: we can go down with +the tide," said a voice.</p> + +<p>Preston would have uttered some protest, +but this sluggishness overpowered +him: it was as if he could neither lift +hand nor foot. The inertia of indifference +had penetrated into his bones.</p> + +<p>Presently he was aware that he had +entered a barge that lay close against the +wharf, heaving on the tide. And, as if it +were all a piece of the play, the lean old +driver, with his dead-white face, had the +oars in his hands and stood quietly facing +him, guiding the dark craft down the +stream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>The panorama of the river-bank kept +changing and shifting in the most inexplicable +manner, and Preston was aware of a +crowd of pictures ever coming and going +before his eyes: as if some subtle magician, +standing behind his shoulder, were projecting +for him, on the huge black screen of +night, the most marvellous display of +memories he had ever contemplated. For +they were all memories, or blends of +memories, that now rose here on the +horizon of his consciousness. There was +nothing new in essentials presented to him: +but the grouping was occasionally novel to +a fault.</p> + +<p>The dear old home—the dear old folks! +Green hills, with the little white-washed +cottage in a dimple of them, and in the +foreground the wind-fretted plain of the +sea. The boyish games—marbles and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +hoop-trundling—and the coming home at +dusk to the red-lighted kitchen, where the +mother had the tea ready on the table and +the sisters sat at their knitting by the fire.</p> + +<p>The dear, dear mother! how his pulse +yearned towards her! there were tears in +his eyes as he thought of her now. Yet, +all the same, the quiet of his pulse was +profound.</p> + +<p>And there was the familiar scenery of +his daily life: the ink-stained desks, the +brass rails for the books, the ledgers and +bank-books, and the files against the walls; +and the faces of his fellow-clerks (even the +office boy) depicted here before him to +the very life.</p> + +<p>The wind across the waters blew chilly +in his face: he shivered, a numbness +settling in his limbs.</p> + +<p>His sweet young wife, so loving and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +gentle—how shamefully he had neglected +her, seeking his own pleasure selfishly—there +she sat in the familiar chair by the +fireside with dear little Daisy dancing on +her knee. What a quiet, restful interior it +was! He wondered: would they miss him +much if he were dead? . . . Above all, +would little Daisy understand what it +meant when some one whispered to her +"<i>favee is dead</i>"?</p> + +<p>The wavering shadows seemed to +thicken around the boat. And the figure +at the oars—how lean and white it was: +and yet it seemed a good kind of fellow, +too, he thought. Preston watched it +musingly as the stream bore them onward: +the rushing of the water almost lulling him +to sleep.</p> + +<p>Were they sweeping outward, then, to +the unknown sea?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was an unexpected journey. . . . +And he had asked to be taken <i>home!</i></p> + +<p>Presently the air grew full of shapes: +shadowy shapes with mournful faces; +shapes that hinted secrets, with threatenings +in their eyes.</p> + +<p>If a man's sins, now, should take to +themselves bodies, would it not be in some +such guise as this they would front and +affright him at dead of night?</p> + +<p>Preston shivered, sitting there like a +mere numb lump.</p> + +<p>How much of his wrong-doing is forgiven +to a man—and how much remembered +against him in the reckoning?</p> + +<p>How awful this gruesome isolation was +becoming!</p> + +<p>Was it thus a man went drifting up to +God?</p> + +<p>The figure at the oars was crooning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +softly. It was like the lullaby his mother +used to sing to him when he was a +child.</p> + +<p>There was a breath of freer air—humanity +lay behind them—they were alone with +Nature on the vast, dim sea.</p> + +<p>The numbness crept to the roots of his +being. He had no hands to lift; he had +no feet to move. His heart grew sluggish: +there was a numbness in his brain.</p> + +<p>Death stood upright now in the bow +before him: and in the east he was aware +of a widening breadth of grey.</p> + +<p>Would the blackness freshen into perfect +day for him . . . or would the night lie +hopelessly on him for ever? . . .</p> + +<p>The figure drew near—and laid its hand +across his eyes. . . .</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Thrown out of the hansom, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +wheels went over him, sir. He was +dead in less than five minutes, I should +think."</p> + +<p>"Cover his face . . . and break it +gently to his wife."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MAN WHO COULD TALK<br /> +WITH THE BIRDS.</h2> + +<h3>A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE.</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Wance</span> upon a time there was a youngster +in Zennor who was all'ys geekin'<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> into +matters that warn't no use in the world. +Some do say 'a was cliver, too, weth it all, +an' cut out that there mermaid in the +church<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> what the folks do come from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +miles round to see. Anyway, 'a warn't +like 'es brawthers an' sesters, an' 'es folks +dedn' knaw what to maake of un, like.</div> + +<p>Well, wan day when 'a was wand'rin' +about, down to Nancledrea or some such +plaace, 'a got 'mong lots o' trees an' bushes +an' heerd the cuckoos callin' to ayche +awther, an' awther kinds o' birds what was +singin' or talkin,' an' all as knawin' as +humans, like. So no rest now cud 'a git, +poor chuckle-head! for wantin' to larn to +spayke weth they.</p> + +<p>Well, it warn't long arter that 'a was +geekin' as usual round some owld ruined +crellas<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> up to Choon, when 'a seed +a man weth a long white beard settin' +on wan o' the burrows<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a> on the hill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +that are 'longside that owld Quoit<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> up +there.</p> + +<p>'A was a bowldish piece o' goods, was +the youngster, simmin'ly, for 'a dedn' mind +the stranyer a dinyun,<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> though 'a <i>was</i> like +an owld black witch,<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a> they do say. Anyhow, +the two beginned jawin' together, +soon got thick as Todgy an' Tom. An' +by-an'-by the stranyer wormed out of un +how 'a was all'ys troubled in 'es mind +'cause 'a cudn' onderstaand what the birds +was sayin'.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>"I'd give anything in the world," says +the bucca-davy,<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a> "ef I cud onnly larn to +spayke weth they."</p> + +<p>"Aw, es it so, me dear," said the +stranyer: "well, I'll tayche'ee to talk to +they, sure 'nuff, ef thee'll come up to that +owld Quoit weth me."</p> + +<p>"What must I pay'ee?" axed the +youngster, bowld-like. For he'd heerd o' +cureyus bargains o' this kind, an' 'a dedn' +want to risk 'es sawl.</p> + +<p>"Nawthin'! Nawthin', me dear!" said +the stranyer. "I shall git paid for't in a +way o' me awn."</p> + +<p>Well, the end of it was, accordin' to +the story, that the youngster 'greed to go +'long weth un: so up the two of 'em went +to the Quoit.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<p>When they come up to un the stones +seemed to oppen, an' they went inside an' +found un like a house. But that was +hunderds o' years ago. The owld Quoit +now es more like a crellas, though 'a still +got a bra' gayte rock for a roof.</p> + +<p>Anyhow, they went in, 'cordin' to the +story; an' there they lived for a number o' +years.</p> + +<p>But, somehow, when they was wance got +in, the youngster cudn' git out agen +nohow. 'A cud geek through the cracks, +an' see the country an' the people, but the +stones wedn' oppen, an' 'a cudn' git out.</p> + +<p>But the owld black witch keeped 'es +promise to un, an' tayched un all that 'a +wanted to knaw.</p> + +<p>The craws that croaked on the Quoit in +the sunshine, an' the sparrers an' wagtails +an' awther kinds o' birds that come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +flittin' round an' cheepin' to ayche awther, +the owld witch tayched un ('cordin' to the +story) to onderstaand everything any of +'em said.</p> + +<p>Well, at laast 'a got so cliver, ded the +youngster, that there warn't no bird but +what 'a cud talk to; from the owld black +raven, wha's all'ys cryin' "<i>corpse!</i>" to the +putty li'l robins what wedn' hurt a worm.</p> + +<p>But aw! lor' Jimmeny! warn't 'a +disappointed when 'a found what 'a'd ben +so hankerin' arter warn't wuth givin' a +snail's shill to knaw.</p> + +<p>He'd ben thinkin', 'fore 'a cud onderstaand +them, that what they'd be talkin' +about to ayche awther wed be somethin' +cureyus an' mighty cliver, all sorts o' +strange owld saycrets, s'pose. But 'a +found, when 'a come to spayke their +language, that instead o' tellin' 'bout<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +haypes o' treasures, an' hunted housen, +an' owld queer ways, they was all the time +talkin' 'bout their mait or their nestes, an' +awther silly jabber like that.</p> + +<p>So 'a was mighty disappointed, an' got +very law-sperrited, though 'a dedn' like to +confess it to the witch.</p> + +<p>An' now, thinks the youngster, he'd +like to go home agen: an' shaw off 'fore +the nayburs, s'pose.</p> + +<p>"Well, thee cust go," says the owld +witch, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>"An' what must I pay'ee for taychin' +me?" says the youngster.</p> + +<p>"Nawthin', sonny! Nawthin' at all!" +says the witch. "I shall git me reward in +a way o' me awn."</p> + +<p>An' weth that 'a bust out laughin' +agen.</p> + +<p>Well, anyway, the lad, accordin' to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +story, wished un "<i>good-bye</i>," an' trudged off +home.</p> + +<p>But aw! poor dear! when 'a got to +Zennor 'a nigh 'pon brok 'es heart weth +grief.</p> + +<p>He'd ben livin' all alone weth the owld +black witch, an' 'a hadn' took no note of +what was passin', an' 'a thought 'a was +still a youngster, simmin'ly: 'stead o' +which 'a was graw'd to an owld, owld man, +weth no more pith in 'es bones than a +piskey; an' 'a cud hardly manage to +crawl to Zennor, 'a was so owld an' +palchy<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a>, an' nigh 'pon blind.</p> + +<p>An', wust of all, when 'a got to Zennor +everywan who knaw'd un was dead an' +gone! 'Es faather an' mawther was up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +in the churchyard, an' 'a hadn' got a +single friend in the world!</p> + +<p>So because 'a was so owld an' terrible +palchy, an' hadn' got nowan to taake no +int'rest in un, through never havin' took +no int'rest in nowan, they was obliged to +put un up to Maddern Union; an' there +'a lingered, owld an' toatlish,<a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a> 'tell 'a died +at laast a lone owld man.</p> +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Prying.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> The mermaid, with glass and comb and with +the tail of a fish, which is carved on a bench-end +in Zennor church.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> Ancient hut-dwellings.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> Barrows.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> Cromlech. The term is derived from the +legendary belief that these rude megalithic monuments +were used by the giants when playing +quoits.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> A little bit, in the least.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> In Cornwall <i>witch</i> is both masculine and +feminine. The <i>black</i> witch exercises the most +potent magic; the <i>white</i> witch being vastly +inferior in power.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> Fool.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> Weak.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> Silly.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE PURSUIT.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">It</span> began when I was a lad at the country +day-school, struggling to hold my own +among the scholars in my class.</div> + +<p>If I could only always be perfect in my +lessons, and among the foremost (if not +the first) in the examinations; then, at +least, I thought, I should see Her face to +face.</p> + +<p>But these good things befell me—possibly +undeservedly—and though I swelled +beneath my coat with inward satisfaction, +<i>She</i> was still far off: a phantom on the +hills.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then it struck me that if I went to dear +Mother Nature she would tell me of this +daughter of hers—so enchanting, yet so +shy—and I might even one day surprise +Her on the hill-slopes, or meet Her as She +wandered among the green, winding lanes.</p> + +<p>So I presently became a haunter of the +tree-clad valleys, of the prattling brooks +with the meadowsweet drooping over +them, and of the lone, bleak hills where +the great wind growled.</p> + +<p>Many mornings did I steal out long before +the sunrise in order to watch the stars die +out in the dawning and the red bars glow in +the palpitating east. And when, standing +among the firs in the windy plantation, I +saw the huge sun rear its head and flood +the world with splendour, and heard the +birds sing jubilantly, almost breathless with +delight, I have fancied I felt the breath of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +the Beloved One on my cheek and Her +heart beating wildly and tremulously +against my own. But it was only fancy. +Presently the singing dwindled and became +fainter: the air grew hot beneath the +aromatic fir-boughs: and when, in the +distance, the flood of dazzling sunlight +dashed redly on the window-panes of the +village cottages, I knew I must descend +from the haunted hill-top and return to the +more prosaic details of life. If She had +flown past me, brushing me with Her +garments in passing, I had not yet discovered +Her as a possession that I could +grasp.</p> + +<p>Then I said to myself, I shall find Her +among my girl-friends: among their +rustling garments I shall hear <i>Her</i> garments +rustle; and from among the +laughing eyes with which they bewilder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +me, I shall no doubt be able to single +out <i>Hers</i>.</p> + +<p>I chose the pleasantest of the maidens +who fluttered through my world; and I +knew her beautiful, and I believed her to +be true. But that old clown Circumstance +was piping in the market-place, shewing +his cheap-jack wares to catch the fancies +of the maidens, and my sweetheart, caught +in the excitement of the moment, +presently paid down for one of his flashy +baubles no less a price than her own +young heart.</p> + +<p>Then I said, I will look abroad in the +market-place myself. Through the clatter +of feet and the babble of many voices, I +may perhaps catch a whisper, a hint of Her +presence. Possibly She may love the +eager haunts of men even more than She +loves the silent haunt of the wood-dove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +and the great wide moors where the kite +circles slowly. I will move among my +fellows and will search for Her there.</p> + +<p>But the market-place with its thud, thud, +thud of many feet, and its clatter of +vehicles, and its buzz of many voices, +was a busy spot, and the pleasures +were very cheap ones: and not here +could I manage to get a glimpse of Her +face.</p> + +<p>I looked in the shops, and I stood +beside the hawkers, and I listened to the +sellers and gossiped with those who bought; +but the noise, and the heat, and the dust +that rose so thickly, were more than I had +bargained for, and I felt lonely and disillusioned: +so I very lamely turned my +back on it all, and went away feeling that +I should never find Her there.</p> + +<p>Then I built for myself a study into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +which I gathered covetously the most +perfect vintage of the human intellect—the +ripest fruit our wise race has garnered +during all the years it has been harvesting +from time. And here I sat me down +waiting for my Belovèd. She will +surely show Her face to me here, +said I.</p> + +<p>The wind rattled the casement; the +lamp-flame shook tremulously; and the +fire burned cheerfully in the grotesque-tiled +grate. I could hear the rain viciously +swishing against the window-panes and +gurgling unmelodiously through the gutters +and from the pipes, but She whom I +desired came not to keep me company.</p> + +<p>For all the feast I have gathered for us, +and for all the comfort I have secured for +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'her'">Her</ins>, She holds aloof, and I have never seen +Her yet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>And sometimes now I fancy that possibly +I may never see Her: but that one day, +when I am lying in my coffin, She will +press Her lips to mine—and I shall never +know.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> +<h2>A PLEASANT ENTERTAINMENT.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">I have</span> here," said the Showman, "the +most interesting entertainment to be +witnessed on earth! Walk up! walk up, +and judge for yourselves!" And with +that he beat the drum and blew shrilly on +the pipes.</div> + +<p>The music travelled to the ears of his +audience with a difference: or so it seemed +to them, as they stood before the booth. +Some heard in it, through the discordant +hubbub of the fair, the rattle of vehicles +and the tramp of feet in the busy thoroughfares +of a great city; for others, it was the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +whistling of birds in the hedgerows; and +to some, like the restless pulsations +of the sea. To each, according to his +memories and his mood. But the music +of the Showman was a single tune for all.</p> + +<p>"Walk up! walk up!" bawled the grey-coated +Showman, blowing at the pipes and +pounding on the drum.</p> + +<p>"Darned if I wouldn't go in, if I had +the brass!" quoth a lean, unshaven, +shabby-looking man, who stood in front of +the booth with his hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>"I'll stand treat, if you like!" cried a +sunken-eyed young woman, whose cheap +and much-bedraggled finery matched aptly +enough with her wan and haggard countenance. +It was the impulse of a moment, +but she was the puppet of impulse and +danced on the wires at the slightest touch +of chance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Right you are!" cried the man.</p> + +<p>And they mounted the steps together.</p> + +<p>"It's like going up to the altar, isn't +it?" giggled the woman to her companion.</p> + +<p>"More like going up to the gallows," +growled the man.</p> + +<p>The Showman rattled the coins as he +pocketed them, and flinging aside the +canvas admitted them to the booth.</p> + +<p>The interior was enveloped in a dim +obscurity; hardly deep enough to be +counted as darkness, but oppressive enough +to slow the pulses of both. There was, +however, at one end of the booth a large +disc projected on the obscurity: a pale, +empty, weirdly-lighted circle, which they +stared at dumbly, with wonder in their +eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is this some darned fool's joke?" +growled the man.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the woman, "the entertainment +has commenced."</p> + +<p>And, true enough, the disc at which they +had been staring had already a stirring, as +of life, across its surface.</p> + +<p>They were aware of a couple of enthralling +faces fronting them side by side on the +disc.</p> + +<p>One was a woman's face, exquisitely +beautiful, with soft blue eyes, full of the +most charming gaiety, and with lips as +sweetly winsome as a child's: the other +was a man's face, proud and handsome, +the mouth set firmly, the eyes full of +thought.</p> + +<p>"Such a face I had dreamed of as my +own," sighed the woman.</p> + +<p>"So I had imagined I might have been," +mused the man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>And then the scenes on the disc began +to wax and dwindle rapidly; like the +momentary clinging, and as rapid vanishing, +of breath across a mirror of polished +steel.</p> + +<p>There was a vague fluttering and interchange +of images; an elusive, intangible +influx of suggestions, and an equally +dreamy efflux of the same.</p> + +<p>A young girl growing into beautiful +womanhood, well-dressed, shapely, sought +eagerly in marriage, admired by the opposite +sex, and envied by her own. Then a woman +in the prime of her powers of enjoyment—with +her charms undiminished and her +wishes ripened—wedded, and successfully +shaping her life: a woman blessed +greatly, and very happy.</p> + +<p>And side by side with these dream-fancies, +or imaginings, went those of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +young man facing the world gallantly; +surmounting every obstacle easily, and +conquering hearts as if by a spell. There +was success for him in every scene on +which he entered: he was proud and +admired, and very haughty, and very +rich.</p> + +<p>Presently, as if through some dexterous +sleight of hand, the pictures of his wooing +blended waveringly and dimly with the +pictures which emerged for the bedraggled +woman who stood beside the loafer in +front of the disc.</p> + +<p>In the church, when the wedding-march +was being played, and in the vignettes of +domestic happiness that ensued, the faces +and scenes mysteriously coalesced.</p> + +<p>For the two spectators, who watched the +shifting pictures breathlessly, there were +no longer four figures in the scene, but only +two.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Some such future I had imagined for +myself," the man muttered.</p> + +<p>And the woman mused amazedly: +"These were day-dreams of my own."</p> + +<p>The disc became obscured, as if their +eyes were blurred mistily.</p> + +<p>The woman gulped down something: +and the man clenched his teeth.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden exquisite clarity in +the pictures. They were looking at a +cluster of white-washed cottages, with tall +thatched roofs and with great stone chimneys: +a lonely little hamlet drowsing in +the sun. White-winged ducks were +quacking in the roadway, a grey-coated +donkey was grazing beside a hedge, and +the threadlets of smoke, that mounted +lazily above the roofs, rose up into a sky +of the most exquisite purity, spacious, high, +and cloudlessly blue. And again there +was only one scene for them both.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My God, that is where I was born!" +groaned the man.</p> + +<p>"That's my mother's cottage!" sobbed +the woman, and wept aloud.</p> + +<p>Then came rural scenes of almost every +character, with a lad and a girl moving +flittingly through them—laughing and +kissing in the lanes among the brambles, +drifting together everywhere, sweethearting +through it all.</p> + +<p>"Are you Nelly King, then?" asked +the man, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"And you . . . you are Stephen Laity, +are you not?"</p> + +<p>"If we could both die here and now!" +cried the man.</p> + +<p>Then the pictures for a while grew +blurred and confused, till presently they +shewed the gas-lighted streets of +London. . . .<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My God, I will see no more!" cried +the girl. And she shudderingly held her +hand before her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Nor I, either!" cried the man, with +an oath.</p> + +<p>"However much you close your eyes," +said the Showman, "you will cancel +nothing of the pictures on the screen."</p> + +<p>But they had turned and fled even +while he was speaking.</p> + +<p>"Even in the fair the pictures will +pursue you!" said the stern-visaged Showman, +following them with his eyes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MAN WHO DESIRED TO BE<br /> +A TREE.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> sunshine streamed across the lush-grassed +meadows, and beat fiercely down +on the huge-limbed elms whose myriad +leaves kept fluttering ceaselessly. In the +dense green covert, formed by the multitude +of interlacing branches, several wee +brown songsters had built their nests, and +they kept flitting to and fro and trilling +joyously as the light breeze stirred the +innumerable leaves.</div> + +<p>The air was warm, and soft, and +pleasant. The deep green arcades were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +cool and moist, full of the drowsy flutter +that rippled through the branches, and full +also of the deliciously delicate fragrance +from the budding sprays and fresh green +foliage. May was in the woodlands, shy +and winsome; she had not yet shaken +herself free from her day-dreams, and the +wonder of her young hopes lingered about +her still.</p> + +<p>At the foot of a tree, reclining against +its roots, lay a lean-visaged student, very +shabbily dressed and with patches of thin +grey hair around his temples. A volume +of the <i>Faery Queen</i> lay open beside him, +but he had for some time ceased to pore +over its pages, being engaged instead in +chasing Fancy as she flitted hither and +thither through the vast green woodland, +dallying with the shadows and gossiping +with the wind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>His mind's eye revelled in the picturesque +suggestions that seemed to him, +as he lay here with half-closed lids, to be +fleetingly visible, as if in a dream. He +was aware of beautiful damsels in gauzy +draperies pantingly hurrying through the +dusky avenues with steel-clad knights in +hot pursuit; of grey old monks, cowled +and sandalled, moving hither and thither +in a world of utter peace; and of dryads +and fairies, fauns and satyrs, filling the +woodland with dreamy poetry, as the wind +filled its giant rafters with music, and the +brooks purled babblingly through the +crevices of its floor.</p> + +<p>How delightful it would be to be a +denizen of the forest—to be this elm in +whose shadow he was lying! he thought.</p> + +<p>The huge tent-like shadow of the elm-tree +deepened and widened with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +dropping sun, and the shadows of other +trees in the vicinity—dainty saplings and +gnarled old foresters—fell across the +nearer margin of the grass-land in fantastic, +almost semi-human outlines: at least, so +it seemed to the dreamy student, as he +lay here watching the breeze ripple across +the grass-blades and listened to the murmur +of the forest at his back.</p> + +<p>"I should like to be a tree," he sighed +lazily and half aloud.</p> + +<p>"Would you?" asked a voice from +somewhere close to him.</p> + +<p>It was a low, caressing, insinuating +voice, with a strange seductiveness in its +silvery intonation. And instead of feeling +startled he felt a sudden wave of happiness, +as if a beautiful female had breathed upon +his cheek.</p> + +<p>"Would you?" asked the voice,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +deliciously flattering him, "<i>would</i> you +like to be one of us indeed?"</p> + +<p>A tree has a life void of trouble, he +ruminated. The birds sing to it, and the +wind caresses it, and it feels the sunshine, +and greatens where it grows. Yes, I +should like to be a tree indeed!</p> + +<p>"Shall I grant your wish?" asked the +voice whisperingly—how exquisitely sweet +and soothing it was!—"shall I grant it +here, and now?" it asked.</p> + +<p>The student closed his eyes to leisurely +consider; and then, half dreamily, answered, +"Yes!"</p> + +<p>To be a tree is to be in touch with Nature +nakedly; to be stripped of the disguises +that have gathered about the man, and to +be thrown back blankly into the narrowest +groove of life. The student felt the wind +and the sun on his branches, and the birds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +sang joyously, nestling among his leaves; +his feet were rooted in the fresh and wholesome +earth, and the sap moved sluggishly +in his rough-barked trunk.</p> + +<p>It was a calm and deeply drowsy existence; +but the restlessness of humanity +was not yet eliminated from him, and he +investigated his novel tenement wonderingly, +and not without a touch of squeamish +disgust.</p> + +<p>But when the quiet night descended on +him, and the cooling dews slid into his +pores, the exquisite soothe of the darkness +enveloped him, and to the rustling of his +leaves he fell healthily asleep.</p> + +<p>He was awakened presently by the +gracious dawn, by the sweet and wholesome +breath of morning, and the flash of the +sunrise and the singing of birds. And +had it not been for the dew-crumpled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +volume that now lay blotched and +smirched at his feet, he would have forgotten +his manhood and the unquiet life +of cities and would have looked for his +brothers only among the trees.</p> + +<p>But so long as the volume lay there +forlornly, so long he remembered, and +had something to regret.</p> + +<p>But the days passed—he could now +keep no count of them—and human +speech and human passions dropped away +from his memory as quietly and painlessly +as his own ripe leaves began presently to +drop. And the tree's life narrowed to its +narrow round of needs.</p> + +<p>It sheltered the birds, and it took the +wind's kisses gladly, and it caught the +snows in the wrinkles and twists of its +boughs; and the squirrel nested in +it, and the wood-mouse nibbled at it;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +and its life sufficed it, answering its +desires.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One day there swept a mighty storm +across the forest: the thunder crashed and +the lightning flashed continuously; and +the whole land held its breath, listening to +the uproar.</p> + +<p>The Lord of the Forest was moving +among his children: and some of them he +passed without injuring or despoiling +them; but others he smote wrathfully, so +that he rent them and they died.</p> + +<p>And when he came to the tree that had +one-time been the student, he remembered, +and desired to bestow on it a boon.</p> + +<p>And he said to the elm, now gnarled +and wrinkled, "You shall be a man again, +if you earnestly desire it—a man again +until you die."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>The tree heard the great wind roaring +among its brethren, and it was aware of +the wee birds cowering among its boughs; +and it remembered, as in a flash, the +weary life of humanity, with hopes to +befool it and despair for its reward: and it +rustled its myriad leaves whispering mournfully, +"Let me, O Master, remain as I +am!"</p> + +<p>And the Lord of the Forest was content, +and passed on.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MAN WHO HAD SEEN.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">On</span> the third day he recovered from the +"trance" and regained consciousness, and +took up the burden of his life as before.</div> + +<p>But the revelation which had been +vouchsafed to him had influenced him +profoundly. He had now a new estimate +of values and results. The centre of his +mental life was permanently shifted, and a +new bias had been given to his thoughts.</p> + +<p>He went to the King, where he sat +sunning himself in his palace.</p> + +<p>"You are very rich," said the man to +the King.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"God has so willed it, and I am grateful," +said the King.</p> + +<p>"You hope one day to see God face to +face?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>do</i> hope so, fervently!" said the +King, with unction.</p> + +<p>"And if He questions you of your +wealth you will express your gratitude and +bow to Him, and God will accept the compliment +and be content?"</p> + +<p>The King was silent.</p> + +<p>"You think He will ask no questions?" +said the man. "He will not trouble to +refer to His starving children, with whom +you might reasonably have shared your +superfluities; to the sick whom you might +have succoured; or to the sorrowing +whom you might have cheered? You had +wealth, and were grateful for it: and you +used it on yourself. And presently, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +you are dead?" asked the man, more +quietly. "If you sit beside the beggar +who perished at your gates, what will you +say to him if he should refer to matters +such as these?"</p> + +<p>"Sit beside a beggar!" cried the King, +in high disdain.</p> + +<p>"You forget it will be in heaven," said +the man, gently.</p> + +<p>"In heaven, of course, I shall be a +king as I am here!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, will you?" said the man: "I was +not aware of that. I saw kings there performing +the lowliest of services. And I +saw many in hell: the majority of them +were there." And therewith the man +sighed heavily, as he mused.</p> + +<p>The King turned his back on him: and +they thrust him out at the gates.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Archbishop was reading a novel by +the fire.</p> + +<p>"Your work, then, is ended, is it?" +asked the man.</p> + +<p>"Oh no! not by any means ended, I +hope. I attended a drawing-room meeting +at Lady Clack's yesterday," said the +Archbishop, smiling benignantly on his +questioner, "and this morning I have +sanctioned proceedings against a vicar +who for some time has been wavering +heretically in his opinions. I think we +can effectually silence him at last. Oh +yes, I am extremely busy, I can assure +you."</p> + +<p>"There are no souls, then, to be saved?" +said the man. "No lives to be reformed: +and no mourners to be comforted? This +side of your duties you have completed +and closed?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Archbishop looked at him with +extreme hauteur. "My dear sir, I leave +these matters to my subordinates. I am +here as an administrator, not as a +minister."</p> + +<p>"And you always choose the men best +fitted to be ministers?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. At any rate, I hope so," +quoth the Archbishop.</p> + +<p>"That young curate who has so +successfully played the evangelist in +Gorseshire—he will have one of your +earliest nominations, then, no doubt?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, he will not! He has offended +me deeply. Would you believe it? he +wrote an article on me in one of the +reviews, and he actually had the audacity, +sir, to criticize me unfavourably! I will +see that the man remains exactly where he +is!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And when you by-and-by make your +report to your Master, will you explain to +Him your methods and your aims in this +way? If so, do you think He will be satisfied +with you? Your methods and His are +at variance, surely? In heaven there are +neither archbishops nor bishops, as such. +If they pass the gates at all, it is merely +as men who have done their duty. Do +you think you will pass the gates on that +score, your Grace?"</p> + +<p>The Archbishop rang the bell sharply +and abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Please show this gentleman out!" +said His Grace.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"So you persist in disowning your +daughter?" asked the man, looking hard +at the portly, pleasant-faced matron who +was dandling her thirteenth infant on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +knees. "You will show her no mercy, +now she asks it at your hands?"</p> + +<p>"She has disgraced me—I will never +forgive her!" said the woman. "Let her +starve with her brat. It will be well when +they are dead."</p> + +<p>"She has disgraced you, you say? But +has she disgraced Nature? I thought it +was Nature who was responsible for her +sex and its instincts. She has obeyed the +one and fulfilled the other. And they +have been paramount considerations with +you also, I perceive."</p> + +<p>"Did she owe no duty, then, to her +parents? Was I to count in her life +merely as the soil to the plant?"</p> + +<p>"In the scales of justice, as I saw them +adjusted in heaven, the claim against the +parents weighed the heaviest," said the +man. "You suckled her at your breasts;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +but you brought her there to suckle. In +your bringing her there, lies the onus of +her claim."</p> + +<p>"I tell you, she has disgraced me, and +I will never forgive her!"</p> + +<p>"<i>'Never'</i> is a long day for a mortal. +You will be judged yourself before you +reach the end of it," said the man.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Three months' imprisonment with hard +labour," said the magistrate.</p> + +<p>"For taking a loaf of bread when he +was starving!" cried the man.</p> + +<p>"Even so," said the magistrate, with his +hands on his paunch.</p> + +<p>"But surely this is a monstrous perversion +of justice. Or, rather, let me call it a +monstrous <i>in</i>justice!"</p> + +<p>"The laws of the community must be +respected," said the magistrate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here is a man—alive by no fault of +his own, and poor, even to starvation, +through absolute want of work: and yet +you begrudge him the necessaries of life! +If he tries to commit suicide, you pillory +and chastise him, and if he tries to keep +life in him out of the superfluities of +others, you pass on him this monstrous +sentence!" cried the man. "Surely here +is some fault in the structure of your +society."</p> + +<p>"It is the law of the community!" said +the magistrate, pompously.</p> + +<p>"And in what way is the law of the +community so very sacred, that it should +be counted of higher price than the life +and welfare of a man? The law of the +community may be a very pretty idol to +play before, but in heaven it counts for +nothing," said the quiet old man.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This man is a pestilent fellow," said +the community. "He troubles us overmuch +with this vision that he has knowledge +of. Come, let us kill him!"</p> + +<p>And they smote him, and he died.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE UNCHRISTENED CHILD.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<i>Thee</i> shaan't christen un, ef he's never +christened!" said the father. "I've no +faith in'ee: not a dinyun.<a name="FNanchor_L_12" id="FNanchor_L_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_L_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a> Go to +Halifax to shoot gaanders: tha's all thee'rt +fit for!"</div> + +<p>"He'll suffer for it, both here and hereafter," +said the parson.</p> + +<p>"Doan't believe it!" said the man.</p> + +<p>"Wherever he dies, whether on land or +on water, he will become a creature of +that element instead of going to his rest,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +said the parson, with an angry light in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Doan't believe it!" said the man: +"an' thee doan't nayther."</p> + +<p>The parson marched off, disdaining to +reply.</p> + +<p>The infant grew into a bright little lad, +but there was always a certain oddity +about him, and he saw and understood +more than he ought.</p> + +<p>One day he was out fishing with a +companion, in a tiny punt they had borrowed +for the purpose, when he leaned +overboard too far and fell into the sea.</p> + +<p>His little companion was so paralysed +with terror that he could do nothing but +set up a shrill screaming, clinging to the +boat with both his hands.</p> + +<p>Silas rose once—and twice—with wildly-pleading +eyes: his mouth full of water:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +his hair plastered against his head: then +sank; and a third time emerged just above +the surface; so close to the boat that his +companion, leaning over, could see him +sinking down slowly into the crystalline +depths, with his hands stretched up and +the hair on his head tapering to a point +like the flame of a candle.</p> + +<p>"Silas! Silas!" the little lad shrieked.</p> + +<p>But Silas sank down; and ever down: +lower and lower beneath the translucent +waters, the vast flood deepening its tint +above him, till at last he was hopelessly +buried out of sight.</p> + +<p>When John Penberthy heard the terrible +news he took the blow as a man might +take a sentence of death—in grim silence, +and with a sullen despair which nothing +might henceforth banish or relieve. The +roof-tree of his hopes was broken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +irretrievably, and he gazed down blankly +at the ruin around his feet.</p> + +<p>About three days after Silas was +drowned, John was one afternoon out +fishing for bait, and happened to be keeping +rather close to the cliff-line, when he +perceived a little seal emerge from a zawn<a name="FNanchor_M_13" id="FNanchor_M_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_M_13" class="fnanchor">[M]</a> +and come swimming, as with a settled +purpose, towards the boat.</p> + +<p>There was something so melancholy +and so pathetically human in the soft, +liquid eyes of the animal, that John felt +his heart touched unaccountably.</p> + +<p>Forgetting the line, which he was just +about to draw in, he sat staring at the seal +with a fixed intensity, as if he were looking +in the familiar eyes of some one with whom +he had a world of memories to interchange.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> +<p>And, meanwhile, the seal swam straight +up to him, till it was so close to the boat +that he could touch it with his hand.</p> + +<p>John leaned over and looked straight at +the animal: fixing his eyes hungrily on the +eyes of the seal.</p> + +<p>"Why dedn'ee ha' me christened, +faather?" asked the little seal, piteously.</p> + +<p>"My God! are'ee Silas?" cried John, +trembling violently.</p> + +<p>"Iss, I'm Silas," said the little seal.</p> + +<p>John stared aghast at the smooth brown +head and the innocent eyes that watched +him so pathetically.</p> + +<p>"Why, I thought thee wert drownded, +Silas!" he ejaculated.</p> + +<p>"I caan't go to rest 'tell I'm christened," +said the seal.</p> + +<p>"How can us do it now?" asked the +father, anxiously.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ef anywan who's christened wed +change sauls weth me," said the seal, +"then I cud go to rest right away."</p> + +<p>"Thee shall ha' <i>my</i> saul, Silas," said the +father, tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Wil'ee put thy mouth to mine an' +braythe it into me, faather?"</p> + +<p>"Iss, me dear, that I will!" said the +father. "Rest thee shust have ef I can +give it to'ee, Silas. Put thy haands +or paws around me neck, wil'ee, +soas?"</p> + +<p>And John leaned over the side of the +boat till his face touched that of the +piteous little seal.</p> + +<p>At that moment the boat—which for +the last few minutes had been allowed +to drift at the mercy of the tide, owing to +John's pre-occupation—was caught among +the irregular currents near a skerry, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +John was suddenly jerked, or tilted, overboard, +plunging into the waters with a +sullen splash.</p> + +<p>When he rose to the surface, with a +deadly chill in him—the chill of his drear +and imminent doom, even more than the +grueing chill of the water—his first thought, +even in that perilous moment, was of dear +little Silas and the promise he had given to +him, or, at least, the promise he had given +to the seal.</p> + +<p>The quaint little creature was, however, +nowhere visible; and John, with a sudden +influx of strength—an alarmed awakening +and resurgence of his will—made up his +mind to save his life if it were possible, +and quietly leave the settlement of the +other affair to God.</p> + +<p>But grey old Fate was stronger than he +was. And the waves were here her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +obedient servants; doing her will blindly, +without pity or remorse.</p> + +<p>In a little while John was tossing among +the seaweed—into a bed of which his +body had descended—and what further +dreams (if any) he dreamed there beneath +the waters, must remain untold till the +Judgment Day.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_L_12" id="Footnote_L_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_L_12"><span class="label">[L]</span></a> Little bit.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_M_13" id="Footnote_M_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_M_13"><span class="label">[M]</span></a> A cave.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MAN WHO MET HATE.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">It</span> was drawing on towards midnight, and +the world seemed very lonely.</div> + +<p>There was a huge, round harvest moon +in the sky, and the hills were bathed in a +kind of spectral splendour—a faint and +filmy shimmer of silver that left the outlines +of objects blurred and elusive, though +the scene as a whole emerged clearly for +the eye. The wind was sighing drowsily +across the moors, while high on the rugged +cairns on the hill-tops it was wuthering +mournfully beneath the wan grey sky.</p> + +<p>And 'Lijah, staring sleeplessly through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +his blindless bedroom-window, felt a growing +unrest in the very marrow of his +bones.</p> + +<p>He could see down below, in the little +lonesome cove, the cottage where Dorcas +had now made her nest with that "darned +gayte long-legged 'Miah" for her husband, +and in the sudden heat and bitterness of +his wrath his heart became like a live coal +within him. "I'll have my revenge on un, +ef I haang for it!" growled he.</p> + +<p>And then he remembered that up on +yonder moors—whose ferns and granite +boulders he could see plainly in the moonlight—there +was a "gashly owld fogou,"<a name="FNanchor_N_14" id="FNanchor_N_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_N_14" class="fnanchor">[N]</a> +where, if a man went at midnight prepared +to boldly summon Hate and to "turn a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +stone"<a name="FNanchor_O_15" id="FNanchor_O_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_O_15" class="fnanchor">[O]</a> in her honour, his hatred would +be accomplished for him "as sure as +death."</p> + +<p>"An' I'll go there, ef I die for it!" said +he grimly to himself.</p> + +<p>The village was asleep, and all its +cottages were smokeless. There was no +one stirring anywhere in the cove. But +far out in the moonlit bay he could see the +fishing-boats dotting the vast grey plain, +and he knew that in one of them 'Miah +Laity was fishing, and was no doubt thinking +of Dorcas as he fished.</p> + +<p>"I'll spoil 'es thinkin' for un 'fore long," +said 'Lijah, "ayven ef I have to sill me +saul to do the job!"</p> + +<p>And with that he slipped on his coat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +and boots—for he had been standing at +the window half undressed—and clapping +on his cap as he passed through the +kitchen, strode heavily and gloomily out +of the house.</p> + +<p>On the moor he had only the breeze for +company, and its long, vague wail, as it +rustled across the ferns, merely deepened +the moody irritation in his mind. He felt +as sour as a fanatic and as gloomy as a +thief.</p> + +<p>To find the fogou, among the bewildering +growth of ferns, was by no means the easiest +task in the world: for the rude cave-dwelling +was literally buried in the hill-side; +its entrance being hidden by the +rank vegetation that here reached almost +to Elijah's arm-pits.</p> + +<p>As he ploughed his way through the +trackless tangle, giving vent the while to a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +superfluity of oaths, he presently stumbled +on the entrance to the fogou, almost precipitating +himself into its darkness, so +suddenly had he stumbled on it, wading +through the ferns.</p> + +<p>The low and narrow tunnel in the hill-side, +with its walls and roof lined with slabs +of rock, was as uncanny a spot as a man +could set foot in, and Elijah shook +like one with the ague, as he thrust aside +the ferns and peered into the blackness.</p> + +<p>He turned round, half inclined to +retreat; but, as he turned, his eyes chanced +to travel to the sea, where he could still +discern the fishing-boats riding at their +nets; and the idea of 'Miah out there +thinking of Dorcas made him clench his +teeth grimly, as if he had received a blow.</p> + +<p>He swung round on his heels sharply +and determinedly, savagely trampling the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +ferns beneath his feet, and strode forward +into the pitch-black mirk.</p> + +<p>Groping his way in, with hands +extended, he presently found the block of +granite called the altar, and "turning the +stone" in the hollow on its surface, he +shaped the while in his heart his rancorous +prayer to Hate.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was aware of a face staring +at him: a mere face vaguely limned on the +darkness, as if a bodiless head were held +before him by the hair.</p> + +<p>And in that same instant, without a word +being uttered, he felt that he had looked +in the face of Hate.</p> + +<p>He reeled out of the fogou like a +drunken man.</p> + +<p>The vision was one it would be +impossible to forget. He must bear with +him this memory, as a man who has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +committed a murder must bear with him +the memory of his victim's ghastly face.</p> + +<p>"I'll wait an' see what comes of it," +said 'Lijah to himself, as he ran and +stumbled down the hill-side in the moonlight, +the thick hair stiffening under his +cap.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The months slipped by, and the years +dragged on sluggishly, and 'Miah and +Dorcas were as happy as ever. They had +a couple of bairns to toddle about their +cottage, and 'Miah had been fairly +fortunate on the fishery, so that their lives +were generally sunny and enviable to an +extent that made Elijah's blood turn +to gall.</p> + +<p>"Thee'st forgotten me, thou darned +owld liar that thou art!" said he, shaking +his fist savagely at the fern-clad hill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>-side, +where Hate presumably was watching +from her lair.</p> + +<p>On which he heard a chilling whisper +at his elbow: "You shall have your wish, +as sure as death!"</p> + +<p>Elijah heard the loud thump, thump of +his heart. But an instant after, his pulse +danced buoyantly, and he went about his +work chuckling grimly to himself.</p> + +<p>But while 'Miah's life was harvesting +happiness, as his nets gathered abundantly +the harvest of the sea, Elijah's life on his +farm on the hill-side appeared to be +stifling among the stones and thistles, and +a sour and acid leanness seemed eating up +his heart.</p> + +<p>It was as if Hate had shot her arrows +blindly, and they had struck and rankled +in the wrong breast.</p> + +<p>With Elijah Trevorrow nothing seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +to prosper. He might rise early and go +to bed late, he might pinch and pare as +relentlessly as he pleased, every year of his +life he grew leaner and poorer, till the +scowl on his features deepened permanently +among its lines, and in the end +transformed his features as completely as +a mask.</p> + +<p>He was no more like the clear-eyed, +whistling young farmer who had gone +a-wooing Dorcas among the rustling wheat-fields, +than the wrinkled tree, with its +heart rotted out of it, is like the green +young sapling in the bravery of its spring.</p> + +<p>Ever watching hungrily to see Misfortune +seize his rival and set her teeth +thirstily in the very pulse of his life, Elijah +held aloof from commerce with his neighbours, +sour and discontented, and wishing +each day to end, in the hope that on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +the morrow he might see the evil he +desired.</p> + +<p>Presently there went a whisper through +the tiny hamlet that Elijah Trevorrow was +a bit touched <i>here</i>—the villagers tapping +their brows significantly as they spoke.</p> + +<p>"He do talk as ef Hate es a woman, +an' he've seed her. Up in that owld +fogou he've mit her, he do say. An' he's +all'ys sayin' she ha'nt keeped her word to +un. Whatever do 'a mayne, weth 'es +gashly owld tales?"</p> + +<p>'Miah, whose name had got mixed up +in the tale, one day called at the lonely +farmhouse, in order to see Elijah and +reason with him if he could.</p> + +<p>But Elijah, as 'Miah approached, set +the dogs on him savagely, and the fisherman +was obliged precipitately to beat a +retreat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last, one day in the depth of winter, +when the hills were white with whirling +snowdrifts, Elijah Trevorrow disappeared.</p> + +<p>They searched everywhere for him, but +could find no trace of him, and the search +was finally abandoned in despair.</p> + +<p>Elijah had made his way to the fogou, +determined to front Hate and to compel her +to keep faith with him, even if he squeezed +her life out through her throat.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Some eight months after—in the time +of blackberries—some youngsters, questing +among the ferns on the hillside, +stumbled across the fogou and crept in +to explore it.</p> + +<p>They rushed down the hillside screaming +with terror; and, when safe among the +cottages, began to babble incoherently +that there was a ghost up yonder in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +"owld hunted fogou," they had seen its +face—and it was white—so white!</p> + +<p>The villagers began to have an inkling +of the truth, and went toiling up through +the ferns in a body.</p> + +<p>"As like as not 'tes <i>he</i>, poor saul," +they whispered awesomely as they +clambered up the windy ridges of the hill.</p> + +<p>True enough, it was Elijah, dead in the +fogou. But whether or not he had again +met Hate there, is one of the questions +the gossips have still to solve.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_N_14" id="Footnote_N_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_N_14"><span class="label">[N]</span></a> A subterranean storehouse or place of shelter.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_O_15" id="Footnote_O_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_O_15"><span class="label">[O]</span></a> A portion of the rites practised in connection +with "cursing stones."</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE HAUNTED HOUSE.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">It</span> was only an old deserted house, +perched half-way up the hillside and overlooking +the village. But it was none the +less the village theatre: the peep-hole +through which the villagers obtained a +glimpse of many mysteries, and the stage +and drop-scene of half the legends of the +thorp.</div> + +<p>It was an old stone building which +evidently had once been a dwelling of +importance, but for quite a century it had +been tenantless and almost entirely dismantled: +the home of the owl and the +lizard, of the spectre and the bat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>When the sunrise splashed across the +fragmentary panes of glass that here and +there remained in their frames, the farmer +would stand still at his ploughing on the +hill-slope and glance up at the great Argus-eyed +building—that had now, however, +more sockets than eyes—and a world of +memories, of legends and superstitions, +would buzz, with strange bewilderment, +through his brain.</p> + +<p>The old house reminded him of his +mother and of his grandfather, and of those +who had been the village historians for his +childhood, and a musing gravity seemed +to deepen in his mind. He was aware of +the brevity of life, and of the lapse of the +personality; of the tragedies of passion, +with their gravity and poignancy, and of +the mystery that broods at the back of all +our thoughts. But most of all he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +aware that the building standing fronting +him was the very kernel of his individuality +projected into visibility: the one knot into +which all his memories were tied.</p> + +<p>He would hold his children spell-bound +by the hour as he told them the ordinary +folk-tales of the hamlet, with that ruin on +the hillside as the stage for the majority of +them; till his daughter Ruth, who was +young and sentimental, though with a +streak of passion running through her +nature, learned to contemplate the ruin +with an awe akin to his, and stared up +wonderingly at it, so long and so often, that +at last it had become for her a necessary +part of life.</p> + +<p>While Ruth was still a child, the haunted +ruin chiefly attracted her thoughts as the +scene and locality of uncanny occurrences +that were fanciful and unusual rather than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +sombre or suggestive. It was the great +haunted cheese in which the piskies +burrowed, and out of which they hopped +with amusing unexpectedness: it was the +building to pass which you must always +turn your stocking, if you wished to escape +being <i>pisky-ledden</i>, or misguided: it was +the place to which the "Little Folks"<a name="FNanchor_P_16" id="FNanchor_P_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_P_16" class="fnanchor">[P]</a> +conveyed stolen children: above all, it was +the place of dark and cobwebbed corners, +where naughty children were put to live +with snails and spiders and with great big +goggle-eyed buccaboos!</p> + +<p>As she stood on her doorstep with her +bit of knitting in her hand—a tiny doll's +stocking, or a garter for herself—little Ruth +would stare up at the great black building, +with the scarlet splendour of the sunset at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +its back, until she almost fancied she could +see the little winking piskies grinning +through the window-holes and clambering +across the roofs.</p> + +<p>And by-and-by, when the rich yellow +sky began to darken and the flocks of +rooks flew cawing overhead, Ruth would +shiver with a delicious sense of security as +she stood beneath the porch in the gathering +twilight and heard the wind begin to +moan and sigh mysteriously, as if it +trembled at the thought of spending the +night on the hillside with no other company +than that "whisht<a name="FNanchor_Q_17" id="FNanchor_Q_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_Q_17" class="fnanchor">[Q]</a> owld house."</p> + +<p>As she grew older and became aware of +the drift of her wishes, feeling stirrings and +promptings at the roots of her life, her +imagination seized now on the passionate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +human tragedies which, according to the +legends, had been enacted in the building. +She had a sweetheart of her own, and she +could understand lovers; and something +of the glamour and mystery of a great +heady passion she believed she could +interpret out of her own ripened life.</p> + +<p>But Rastus Dabb, her sweetheart, was +as cloddish and unimaginative as the +heavy-uddered cows, with their great fleshy +dewlaps, of which he was prouder than he +was of anything else in his world. It was +quite impossible to get his feet off the solid +earth: and apparently his mind was +anchored firmly to his feet. But Ruth had +the attractiveness of all young things—she +was fresh and cheerful, with a heart as +light as a feather—and, by the law of contrast, +she suited him to a nicety, more +especially as she was an excellent little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +housewife to boot. So the courting prospered +sunnily; and he let her "romance" +as she pleased.</p> + +<p>When she was a wife and mother, Ruth +presently became acquainted with that +grim Shadow who knows the secret of our +tears—their source and the bitter in them—and +knows, too, the secret of everlasting +peace. And thereafter, when at intervals +his wings darkened the world for her, her +thoughts went out, with a strange yearning, +towards the dead who had once inhabited +the ruin and could now roam through it +only as ghosts.</p> + +<p>"Shall I one day have only such a foothold +as theirs in this dear green world of +ours?" she would ask herself, shiveringly. +And the Sunday-evening's sermon could +soothe her not a whit.</p> + +<p>At last, in the waning afternoon of life,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +when her smooth brown hair was as yet +unstreaked with grey and her cheeks had +still a splash of colour in them, she fell ill +of some mysterious malady—mysterious, +at least, to the sympathetic villagers—and +one dreary day in the blustering autumn +she was aware in her heart that the Shadow +was in the room.</p> + +<p>"Draw back the curtains as far as you +can," said she to Rastus, who stood helpless +by the bedside.</p> + +<p>And when they were drawn, and she +could see the great gaunt ruin frowning +blackly above the slopes of the shadow-checkered +hillside, she cried out suddenly, +"I'm going there among them, Rastus! +Oh, dear, hold me!" And with that she +passed.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_P_16" id="Footnote_P_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_P_16"><span class="label">[P]</span></a> Fairies.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_Q_17" id="Footnote_Q_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_Q_17"><span class="label">[Q]</span></a> Melancholy, forlorn.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> +<h2>GIFTS AND AWARDS.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">Two</span> bonnier babes," said the grey old +midwife, bending thoughtfully over them, +"I never before assisted into the world."</div> + +<p>The mother, lying wan in her bed, +smiled happily.</p> + +<p>"So bonny are they," said the wrinkled +beldame, "that I will give to each of them +one of my choicest gifts: something they +will still keep hugged to their hearts when +they are as close to the gates as you or I."</p> + +<p>"And how close is that?" asked the +mother, growing whiter.</p> + +<p>The wise old midwife turned from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +bedside and bent above the infants, +mumbling to herself.</p> + +<p>Presently the mother started up from a +doze. There was no one in the room but +her married sister. "I dreamed Death +was in the room with me just now," said +she. "And he had an old woman with +him whom he called his Sister. She +seemed to me to be giving my babies +something: but what it was I don't know. +At first I thought it was a plaything; but +now I think it was a sorrow. At +least. . . ."</p> + +<p>"<i>Dear!</i> <span class="smcap">dear!</span>" cried her sister, in +alarm, as if she saw the spirit drifting +beyond her ken.</p> + +<p>"My babies!" whispered the mother.</p> + +<p>And presently she was "at rest."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Rick and Dick grew up somehow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +Though motherless and fatherless they +were not quite friendless, and in the +struggle for existence they held their own +and kept alive.</p> + +<p>A more agreeable and cheerful +fellow than Dick it would have been +impossible to find, according to his companions. +He seemed dowered with a +disposition so equable and contented that +it was a pleasure to be with him: and he +radiated cheerfulness like a fire. Moreover, +he was in thorough harmony with +his surroundings. He found fault with +nothing in the structure of society, and +desired no change either in laws or +institutions: everything was ordered +wisely, and was ordered for the best. In +fact, he was the spirit of Content personified: +and much patting on the back did +he get for his reward.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We must give him a helping hand, +must push him forward, you know," said +the Community, beaming on its cheerful +young champion.</p> + +<p>And Dick took the "pushing forward" +with admirable self-composure, and certainly +seemed to deserve all he got.</p> + +<p>As for Rick, the Community would +have nothing to do with him. He was +not quite an out-and-out pessimist, it was +true; but he seemed to look on the +Community as a most clumsily-articulated +creature—a thing of shreds and patches, +and the Cheap Jack of shams. He was +always putting his finger on this spot or +that; hinting that here there was a weakness, +and there . . . something worse. +Every advanced thinker, and the majority +of theorists, could count on finding a +sympathetic listener in him: and not infrequently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +they found in him an advocate +also; such an arrant anti-optimist was the +pestilent fellow. As if Civilization, after +thousands of years of travail, had produced +nothing better than a clumsy abortion +with the claws of an animal and the tastes +of Jack-an-ape! Why, the man must be +mad, to have such irregular fancies! It +was a pity laws against opinions were not +oftener put in force: then—a click of the +guillotine, and the world would have +peace!</p> + +<p>Rick listened grimly, and made a note +of the imagery. "You will remember it +better in black and white," said he.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the course of years Dick became a +churchwarden and a philanthropist (he +took the infection very mildly and in its +most agreeable form), and a highly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +respected gambler on, or rather member +of, the Stock Exchange. He was also +joined "in the bands of holy matrimony" +to a buxom young widow who was left-handedly +connected with The Aristocracy +Itself! The lady brought him a most +desirable fortune to start with, and after +some years made him a present of twins: +so that Dick was now a notable man among +his acquaintances, and had the ambition to +become a bigger man still, by-and-by: a +Common Councilman certainly, and an +Alderman <i>perhaps!</i></p> + +<p>Meanwhile Rick had developed into a +musty <i>savant:</i> a fellow whose tastes, if you +might call them such, were of the most +<i>outré</i> order—in advance of everything that +was sober, respectable, and conventional; +and in aggressive alliance with everything +that was disturbing, and that was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +maliciously and wickedly critical (said the +saints).</p> + +<p>"The kernel of his life is unhealthy," +said his brother: "it has a deadly fungus +growing in it, I am afraid."</p> + +<p>"The fungus of discontent, dear +friend," said the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so," said Dick, with a +prodigious great sigh. "Still, we must +none the less pray for him unceasingly: +for prayer availeth much, as we know."</p> + +<p>The clergyman dramatically clasped his +white hands together, looking up as one +who speechlessly admires.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Rick sat musing in his gloomy study: +thinking of the ladder he had climbed, and +of the scenery of his life that now stretched +out like a map before him.</p> + +<p>Presently the study door opened softly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +and a Figure came in and took a chair at +his side.</p> + +<p>"You have come, then!" said Rick. +"I thought your coming must be near."</p> + +<p>"Shall we start?" asked the Figure.</p> + +<p>"I am ready," answered Rick.</p> + +<p>And they passed out together into the +deep black night.</p> + +<p>"Come, take my arm: we will call +together for your brother."</p> + +<p>"He has so much to make him happy! +There are the little ones and his wife! +Could you not delay a little?"</p> + +<p>"He must come with us to-night."</p> + +<p>Dick was attending a banquet which +was being given in his honour to celebrate +his recent election as a Common Councilman, +and the lust of life was in his every +vein. But in the act of responding to the +toast of the evening he was suddenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +attacked by a fit of apoplexy. He +staggered, and fell back—and they perceived +that he was dead.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a bleak and a very depressing +journey to pass nakedly and alone from +the warm, well-lighted, and flattering +banquet, and, most of all, from the comfortable +and familiar earth, up to the +Doom's-man and the Bar beside the Gates. +If he could only have had a friend or two +at his side!</p> + +<p>On the way up, just as he was nearing +the gates, Dick overtook Rick, who was a +little way ahead of him.</p> + +<p>"Come, let us go up together," said +Rick.</p> + +<p>At the gates, however, Dick began to +grow uneasy. His brother's reputation on +earth among "the godly" was a curiously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +unwelcome memory to Dick now the Bar +was so near and the Doom's-man was in +sight.</p> + +<p>"You go first," said Dick to his brother; +falling behind as if to dissociate himself +from him.</p> + +<p>Rick passed the gate and stood +silently at the Bar.</p> + +<p>"Place the brothers side by side," said +the Doom's-man sternly.</p> + +<p>"If you please," began Dick, stumbling +in his speech, so afraid was he of being +confounded in the judgment of his +brother; "If you please. . . ."</p> + +<p>Said the Doom's-man: "Let the +Advocates state the case."</p> + +<p>The Black-robed Advocate claimed +Rick boldly. The verdict of Rick's fellow-citizens, +he asserted, was emphatic on the +point that Rick was legitimately his.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +And he went with the majority, and +claimed a verdict accordingly.</p> + +<p>The White-robed Advocate advanced, +more hesitatingly, that Dick presumably +should go with <i>him</i>. The Community, he +averred, had long ago decided that only +in this way would justice have its due.</p> + +<p>The Doom's-man's verdict was simplicity +itself.</p> + +<p>A nature so contented, and so little +given to fault-finding, would be the typical +one for the Black Advocate's household, +said the Doom's-man, humorously contemplating +Dick. "Take him away with +you," said he to the Black Advocate: +"the man will give you no trouble, <i>as you +know</i>.</p> + +<p>"But that restless, fault-finding fellow +there," and he indicated Rick with a +movement of his forefinger, "it would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +need a faultless abode like <i>yours</i> to satisfy +him," and he signed to the silent White +Advocate at his side. "Take him, he is +yours," said the Doom's-man solemnly.</p> + +<p>And with that the Advocates departed +with their awards.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> +<h2>FRIEND OR FOE?</h2> + + +<h3><br />I.</h3> + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Sir Edward</span> lay back lazily in his chair, +with a letter in a woman's handwriting +crumpled at his feet.</div> + +<p>"She must make the best of it now," +said he, gazing at the fire. "She is not +worse off than others, come to that." And +he lolled among the cushions, gazing into +the fire, with a hard and cruel look on his +countenance, on which the stamp of +sensuality was unmistakably impressed.</p> + +<p>It was a large and luxuriously-furnished +apartment, with everything so arranged as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +to minister to the senses and afford them +the fullest gratification which suggestions +could impart.</p> + +<p>But Sir Edward, lolling by the fire this +evening, experienced little satisfaction in +his luxurious surroundings: the eroding +tooth of thought they could no way quiet; +and it was the irritation of this that he +most desired to have allayed.</p> + +<p>He lighted a cigar, and began to smoke +vigorously, leaning back the while and +contemplating the smoke-clouds that +drifted round in swirling folds and spirals, +an occasional ring mounting airily over +all.</p> + +<p>Smoking away steadily, cigar after cigar—for +he was an insatiable smoker as he was +insatiable in everything—Sir Edward +seemed presently to be almost hidden +among the smoke-wreaths, which had now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +thickened in the room with unexampled +rapidity.</p> + +<p>At first he felt inclined to ring for a +servant and have the windows opened to +let in a breath of air, but there was a +certain amount of interest in watching the +floating veils of smoke; and, besides, in the +mere act of idly watching these he could +let certain vivid tableaux, with which +Memory was amusing him, drift beyond +the range of his attention, he hoped. So +he lay back, letting the smoke thicken in +the atmosphere, while he followed the +fantastic wreaths lazily with his eyes.</p> + +<p>It was almost as if he were dozing as he +lay there; for he could have sworn that +in the chair on the opposite side of the +fireplace he perceived a grey old fogey +reclining among the cushions, yet with deep-sunken +eyes fixed watchfully on his face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was really absurd to have an utter +stranger intrude his company on him in +this unceremonious manner, and Sir +Edward felt inclined to question him +sharply, and, if need be, have him turned +out neck and crop.</p> + +<p>But instead of taking up the intended +<i>rôle</i> of inquisitor, he found himself +reduced ignominiously to the <i>rôle</i> of the +questioned one.</p> + +<p>"Where were you thinking of going to-night?" +asked the Visitor. "To the +theatre, or the opera, or to that 'private +club' we know of?" And the Visitor +looked at him with a glance of quiet +intelligence which Sir Edward somehow +felt powerless to resent.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking. . . ."</p> + +<p>"Of going with me? Quite right!" +replied the Visitor. "With me you shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +go: unless we can come to terms together. +In which case, possibly, I may leave you +behind <i>for a time</i>."</p> + +<p>Sir Edward ceased to smoke: and his +hands trembled on his knees.</p> + +<p>But he made no movement, and uttered +no protest. Before the glance of his +visitor he quailed and was dumb.</p> + +<p>"Ruth Medwin, I presume, must bear +her disgrace as best she can? You will +neither recognize her, nor make her an +allowance, I understand."</p> + +<p>"I think I have changed my mind. . . ."</p> + +<p>"Too late," said the Visitor. "After +having seen <i>me</i> you can change your mind +no more."</p> + +<p>Sir Edward lay motionless among the +cushions of his chair.</p> + +<p>"I should like . . . if you will allow +me. . . ." he began feebly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can allow you only one choice: and +that a peremptory one. Will you go with +me instantly—I think you know me—or +shall I call for you again <i>on any terms I +care to fix?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Will your terms be as pitiless. . . ."</p> + +<p>"You shall hear them, if you please."</p> + +<p>Sir Edward sank deeper among the +soft cushions: his whole life concentrated +in the watchful stare with which he fixed +his eyes on his visitor's face.</p> + +<p>"Shall I take you with me now to +undergo your punishment—and, I need +scarcely tell you, it will not be a light one—or +would you prefer a delay before you +accompany me: a period of expiation, in +some form I may decide on, with a hope +of a reduction in your punishment at the +end?"</p> + +<p>"A delay—a period of expiation, for +God's sake!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are certain you prefer it?"</p> + +<p>"I implore it! I entreat it! For God's +sake, grant me a respite!"</p> + +<p>"Be it so."</p> + + +<h3><br />II.</h3> + +<p>The soul that had been Sir Edward's +sickened with disgust.</p> + +<p>It was located in the body of a miserable +cab-horse; one of the sorriest hacks +in the East End of London, and practically +fit only for the knacker, one would have +said.</p> + +<p>It was a life the human soul found +inexpressibly hateful. If this were +expiation, it was in a purgatory indeed. +But in a purgatory of filth and of disgusting +sensations, instead of in a torturing +purgatory of fire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>To be lashed with the whip, and galled +excruciatingly with the harness; to have +the bit between the teeth, or tugging at the +jaws unmercifully; and to have the blinkers +ever blotting out the vision of the world: +to strain every sinew, and have the service +accepted thanklessly; to be tortured with +discomfort, and to work absolutely without +reward—it was a life devoid of even the +meanest compensations: loathsome, and +in every way abhorrent to thought.</p> + +<p>The horses, and other animals he met +in the streets, he might have communicated +with in some way or other, but his driver—a +drunken, quarrelsome fellow—was +always tugging at the bit or brandishing +the whip; and if the poor animal even tried +to turn his head, he was belaboured as +brutally as if he had swerved or fallen +asleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no chance even of rubbing +noses at the drinking-troughs, or of laying +his head on the neck of a companion at +the stand. And whatever might be taking +place in the streets through which he +was passing, he was debarred from bestowing +on it even the most casual attention.</p> + +<p>His mental activity was ignored, or +trampled on, with an indifference that was +never once relaxed or relieved.</p> + +<p>His life was a horror unexampled in its +profundity. The cruel debasement and +defilement of it penetrated so deeply that +he repented bitterly of the choice into +which he had been betrayed. He would +infinitely have preferred suffering among +his equals in hell.</p> + +<p>A year of this life was as much as he +could endure. One day he stumbled +across a tram-line, and, falling, broke his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +leg—hopelessly snapping the tendon, and +otherwise injuring himself—and he was +carted off to the knackers to receive his +<i>coup de grâce</i>.</p> + +<p>A moment or two before he was killed, +the eyes of the animal lighted up with a +strangely human expression—which was +succeeded by a look of the most unappeasable +despair.</p> + +<p>Evidently he had again seen the grey +old man.</p> + +<p>But the Visitor's communication to him +remained unrevealed, and it was probably +torturing him still when he . . . died?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FIELDS OF AMARANTH.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">I shall</span> seek the fields of amaranth," +said the young man defiantly. "And I +shall find them," added he, turning +tenderly to his mother. "And when I +have found them I will comeback for <i>you</i>, +dear mother, and I will take you with me +that we may dwell there in peace."</div> + +<p>"What do you know of peace, and why +should you desire it?" asked the father, +with a certain cold contempt in his tone. +"You have not yet lived; and you have +certainly not laboured. Rest is for those +who have laboured and grown weary. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +that rest that you desire you would +have an empty mind for showman, and of +its meagre entertainment you would tire as +speedily as a child. Live first, and watch +the puppets of memory play afterwards. +The fields of amaranth will wait for you +however long you live."</p> + +<p>But the young man insisted: "I want +to find them <i>now</i>. And when I have +found them I will come for <i>you</i>, mother, +dear; and we will return to them together +and be happy and at peace."</p> + +<p>But the mother's eyes were troubled with +an inexplicable expression. "It were +better that you should wait till I come to +<i>you</i>," she answered gently. "As come to +you I surely shall—one day. But come +not to fetch me . . . if once you find the +fields."</p> + +<p>"I surely <i>shall</i> come for you," cried the +youth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, no!" implored the mother.</p> + +<p>But he smiled on her, and was gone.</p> + +<p>It was a long journey, and a toilsome +one, and the end of it the youth could +neither learn of nor anticipate.</p> + +<p>The fields of amaranth? Yes: all had +heard of them. But no one knew any one +who had ever found them. And, for +themselves, they were content to know +these waited for them somewhere. They +had ties—they had businesses—they were +content to live and wait.</p> + +<p>"When I return from them, shall I give +you tidings of them?" asked the young +man, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" They were vehement in +their dissuasions that he should not: finally +even fleeing from him in terror at the +thought.</p> + +<p>And the young man mused perplexedly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +as he walked on. "Are there <i>really</i> fields +of amaranth for those who can find them?" +he asked of a wrinkled, white-haired wayfarer. +"Or is it merely a bait, a delusion, +and a lie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, surely, my son, these fields await +us all: else life, at best, were a sorry game +for most of us. It is there we shall rest +and reap our reward."</p> + +<p>"But no one seems eager to set out for +them and discover them."</p> + +<p>"No one?" quoth the old man, looking +at him strangely: "there are many ways of +getting there: you have chosen only one. +There are other roads, and crowded ones: +though you know nothing of them yet."</p> + +<p>The young man brushed past him hot +with disdain. He was merely an old +dotard: empty-minded like the rest.</p> + +<p>The lures of the highway were many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +and formidable; but the young man turned +aside from them impatiently. "I am +bound for the fields of amaranth," cried +he haughtily: "when I return I will taste +these good things you offer."</p> + +<p>"Will he ever return?" whispered a girl +to her mother.</p> + +<p>She had looked with eyes of love on the +daring young wayfarer; and a vague regret +shivered through her as he passed on.</p> + +<p>"God only knows. But I doubt it," +said the mother.</p> + +<p>The girl hid her face in her apron and +wept.</p> + +<p>But the young man had not overheard +the whisper, and with head held high he +pushed on along the road.</p> + +<p>And here were the fields of amaranth at +last! He could see them smiling faintly +on the other side of the valley. But they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +had a strangely vague and unsubstantial +look. One might almost have fancied he +were looking at a mirage.</p> + +<p>And between the young wayfarer and +the fields of amaranth the rugged hillside +sloped abruptly: its foot being shrouded +in a dense white mist. He could hear a +river murmuring sullenly somewhere in the +depths, but the mist hid the waters and he +could only hear their moan.</p> + +<p>How far he had left the busy highway +behind him! He would like to take just +one farewell glance at it. The fields +beyond him seemed to waver deceptively +in his eyes. One glance at the highway, +with its booths and its faces, and his vigour, +strangely waning, would surely be +renewed.</p> + +<p>But as he turned and saw the dear +familiar highway, along which he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +trudged so many weary miles, his heart +went out in a yearning towards it, and +he stretched out his arms to it, hungering +for its life.</p> + +<p>So mighty was the fascination it now +exercised over him, that he began to rush +headlong down the hill towards it, eager +to be once more mingling in its throng, +and to once more feel its hum in his +ears.</p> + +<p>At the foot of the hill he met the fair +young girl whose eyes had erstwhile +followed him so wistfully, and he flung +himself into her arms sobbing violently.</p> + +<p>"The life here—you—I cannot part +with them!" he cried passionately. And +he shuddered: "If the wish had come +too late!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE COMEDY OF A SOUL.</h2> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">You</span> are quite sure you will never change? +will never desert me, or be untrue to me?"</div> + +<p>"I am absolutely sure of it, my darling!" +he answered resolutely. "Any pledge my +sweet one desires I will give her freely," +added he, as he again kissed her passionately +on the mouth.</p> + +<p>"Would you leave me your soul in +pawn?" asked the maiden, smiling at him +bewitchingly with her deliciously red lips; +her cheeks dimpling and her brown eyes +sparkling, and her heaving breasts but +thinly hidden from his gaze.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Willingly! And be glad to leave it +in my darling's custody!" And his lips +hovered caressingly around her just-disclosed +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Very well, I will accept the pledge," +said she.</p> + +<p>He was beginning again to kiss her +fondlingly.</p> + +<p>"You are a man of honour, are you +not?" asked she; showing her even white +teeth, and dimpling her rose-leaf cheeks +temptingly.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I hope so."</p> + +<p>"Then let me have your soul."</p> + +<p>"But that would mean death for me! +Do you desire me to die, my love?" And +a look of questioning wonder crept into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"By no means! I have not been +reared by a philosopher for nothing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +This crystal ball"—and she held out to +him a tiny globe of crystal—"put your +lips to it and pawn your soul to its keeping. +I will warrant you, it will hold it as safely +as I could."</p> + +<p>He glanced at the tiny globe distrustfully.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid? Do you wish to withdraw +from your word?"</p> + +<p>"By no means."</p> + +<p>"Then breathe against it, my love." +And she held the crystal ball temptingly +towards him. "You can imagine it is my +lips you are touching," added she, with a +light, coquettish laugh, leaning provocatively +close to him.</p> + +<p>He took the crystal reluctantly, and +breathed against it as she wished.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried he suddenly, drawing back +his lips.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>She took the crystal globe from him and +peered into it anxiously. Then cried, in +a tone of triumph, "Look! there it is."</p> + +<p>He was aware of something cloudy—vague +and light as smoke—floating, as it +were, in the core of the crystal. And suddenly +he felt a sense of want within himself.</p> + +<p>She put the crystal in her bosom, and +let it lie between her breasts.</p> + +<p>"It is warm and pleasant there: you +will never let it grow cold, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Never!" And she laughed; dimpling +rosily in her mirth. "Now you can +set off on your journey," said the maiden.</p> + +<p>"I have no wish now to leave your side," +he whispered meekly.</p> + +<p>"This rose, that I have been wearing, +you were wishing for just now. See! I +toss it yonder! Fetch and keep it!" +cried the maiden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>He ran after it; groping for it where it +had fallen in the grass.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" sounded all around +him. It was as if the wood had suddenly +grown vocal with cuckoos.</p> + +<p>He turned his head quickly. The +maiden had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Why did I trust my soul to her +keeping?" he wailed drearily. "If she +should lose it; or mislay it; or should +even let it grow cold! My love! my love! +my love!" he began calling.</p> + +<p>"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" kept sounding +across the grass.</p> + +<p>He ran hither and hither: he followed +the woodland paths feverishly.</p> + +<p>At times he fancied he caught a glimpse +of her vanishing garments; of the sunlight +glinting on her long gold tresses. Now he +imagined he could hear her laughter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +echoing among the tree-trunks: and anon +he even fancied he could hear her singing. +But he pursued her down the long green +vistas in vain.</p> + +<p>He sat down beneath a tree and clasped +his hands drearily. "What a fool I was +to trust my soul to her!" he wailed.</p> + +<p>And at that moment he was aware of a +ragged pedlar coming along the forest +glades, and whistling as he came.</p> + +<p>"Ho! young man! you look +melancholy," quoth the pedlar. "What +d'ye lack? A philtre to make your sweetheart +love you? Ribbons for a lady? A +collar for your hound?"</p> + +<p>"I want a soul," said the young man, +glancing at him hungrily.</p> + +<p>"A common want!" quoth the pedlar, +grinning broadly. "But here in my pack +I have souls in plenty. Dip in your hand +and take one boldly!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I should like to choose. . . ."</p> + +<p>"It is take it, or leave it. I allow no +choice. I am offering you a gift."</p> + +<p>The pedlar laid his half-open pack on +the grass.</p> + +<p>"Dip in your hand and take one, if you +will."</p> + +<p>The young man dipped in his hand at a +venture, and drew out one—the soul of an +ape.</p> + +<p>"Not that! I will not have that!" cried +he.</p> + +<p>"Then you will have none," said the +pedlar, dropping the soul in his pack +again. "If the great Soul Maker, who +manufactures them by the million, allows +neither picking nor choosing, beyond the +casual dip of chance, do you think that a +mere pedlar in souls, like myself, can do +business on a basis which <i>he</i> has found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +unprofitable? Pooh, man, get back your +soul <i>if you can</i>, or else you may do without +one, as far as I am concerned." And off +strolled the pedlar, whistling as he went.</p> + +<p>The young man leaned his head +dejectedly on his hand.</p> + +<p>"How can I get back my soul?" he +moaned.</p> + +<p>"Why not live without one?" croaked +a voice above his shoulder.</p> + +<p>He looked up, and saw a sooty old +raven peering down at him.</p> + +<p>"Live without a soul! You'll never +miss it," croaked the raven.</p> + +<p>"Can I?" cried the young man: +amazed, yet hopeful.</p> + +<p>"<i>Can I?</i>" croaked the raven, mockingly +echoing him. "<i>Can I?</i> Of course +you can, young fool!"</p> + +<p>"Then I will!" exclaimed the young +man, starting to his feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's right," croaked the raven. +"You're the right sort—<i>you</i> are!"</p> + +<p>"A capital idea that!" quoth the young +man, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>He looked up, but the raven had +hopped away among the branches.</p> + +<p>"Well, at any rate, his hint was well +meant, and I'll follow it!" quoth the +young man, striding out boldly towards the +houses which he could just see glimmering +beyond the edge of the wood.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Ugh! How ugly and dirty it has +become!" quoth the maiden, gazing in +the crystal at the soul which she had +coveted and stolen. "I will throw it +away, it no longer amuses me!"</p> + +<p>And she threw it from her into the +mire of the city: and the wheels and the +feet rapidly buried it in the mud.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The grey-haired Bishop looked "so +beautiful" in his coffin, that the deaconesses +and the dear good sisters longed to kiss +him.</p> + +<p>"None of 'em ever found out that you +wanted a soul," croaked the raven, who +sat perched on the window-sill, blinking in +the sunshine.</p> + +<p>But there was no response to this: for +how can a dead man talk?</p> + + +<h2>THE END.</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><i><small>Henderson & Spalding, Ltd., Marylebone Lane, London, W.</small></i></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> +<p>Both hillside and hill-side were used in this book and were retained.</p> +<p>Text uses both Belovèd and Beloved once.</p> +<p>In the original text, each story began with the title on a page alone, then a blank page, then the +title was repeated at the start of the story itself. These repeated titles were removed to avoid +redundancy.</p> +<p>The remaining correction made is indicated by a dotted line under the correction. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Drolls From Shadowland, by J. H. 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