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diff --git a/38310.txt b/38310.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89b8920 --- /dev/null +++ b/38310.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11611 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wolves of God, by +Algernon Blackwood and Wilfred Wilson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Wolves of God + And Other Fey Stories + +Author: Algernon Blackwood + Wilfred Wilson + +Release Date: December 15, 2011 [EBook #38310] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLVES OF GOD *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, eagkw and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + THE WOLVES OF GOD + + + + + _OTHER WORKS BY + ALGERNON BLACKWOOD_ + + + JULIUS LE VALLON + THE WAVE: An Egyptian Aftermath + TEN-MINUTE STORIES + DAY AND NIGHT STORIES + THE PROMISE OF AIR + THE GARDEN OF SURVIVAL + THE LISTENER and Other Stories + THE EMPTY HOUSE and Other Stories + THE LOST VALLEY and Other Stories + JOHN SILENCE: Physician Extraordinary + + _With Violet Pearn_ + KARMA: A Reincarnation Play + + + E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY + + + + + THE WOLVES OF GOD + _And Other Fey Stories_ + + BY + ALGERNON BLACKWOOD + _Author of "The Wave," "The Promise of Air," etc_ + + AND + WILFRED WILSON + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY + 681 FIFTH AVENUE + + + + + Copyright, 1921 + By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY + + _All rights reserved_ + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + + + TO THE MEMORY + OF + OUR CAMP-FIRES IN THE WILDERNESS + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. THE WOLVES OF GOD 1 + + II. CHINESE MAGIC 27 + + III. RUNNING WOLF 52 + + IV. FIRST HATE 74 + + V. THE TARN OF SACRIFICE 86 + + VI. THE VALLEY OF THE BEASTS 113 + + VII. THE CALL 137 + + VIII. EGYPTIAN SORCERY 151 + + IX. THE DECOY 169 + + X. THE MAN WHO FOUND OUT 192 + + XI. THE EMPTY SLEEVE 211 + + XII. WIRELESS CONFUSION 230 + + XIII. CONFESSION 237 + + XIV. THE LANE THAT RAN EAST AND WEST 259 + + XV. "VENGEANCE IS MINE" 279 + + + + +THE WOLVES OF GOD + + + + +I + +THE WOLVES OF GOD + + +1 + +As the little steamer entered the bay of Kettletoft in the Orkneys the +beach at Sanday appeared so low that the houses almost seemed to be +standing in the water; and to the big, dark man leaning over the rail of +the upper deck the sight of them came with a pang of mingled pain and +pleasure. The scene, to his eyes, had not changed. The houses, the low +shore, the flat treeless country beyond, the vast open sky, all looked +exactly the same as when he left the island thirty years ago to work for +the Hudson Bay Company in distant N. W. Canada. A lad of eighteen then, +he was now a man of forty-eight, old for his years, and this was the +home-coming he had so often dreamed about in the lonely wilderness of +trees where he had spent his life. Yet his grim face wore an anxious +rather than a tender expression. The return was perhaps not quite as he +had pictured it. + +Jim Peace had not done too badly, however, in the Company's service. +For an islander, he would be a rich man now; he had not married, he had +saved the greater part of his salary, and even in the far-away Post +where he had spent so many years there had been occasional opportunities +of the kind common to new, wild countries where life and law are in +the making. He had not hesitated to take them. None of the big Company +Posts, it was true, had come his way, nor had he risen very high in the +service; in another two years his turn would have come, yet he had left +of his own accord before those two years were up. His decision, judging +by the strength in the features, was not due to impulse; the move +had been deliberately weighed and calculated; he had renounced his +opportunity after full reflection. A man with those steady eyes, with +that square jaw and determined mouth, certainly did not act without good +reason. + +A curious expression now flickered over his weather-hardened face as he +saw again his childhood's home, and the return, so often dreamed about, +actually took place at last. An uneasy light flashed for a moment in the +deep-set grey eyes, but was quickly gone again, and the tanned visage +recovered its accustomed look of stern composure. His keen sight took in +a dark knot of figures on the landing-pier--his brother, he knew, among +them. A wave of home-sickness swept over him. He longed to see his +brother again, the old farm, the sweep of open country, the sand-dunes, +and the breaking seas. The smell of long-forgotten days came to his +nostrils with its sweet, painful pang of youthful memories. + +How fine, he thought, to be back there in the old familiar fields of +childhood, with sea and sand about him instead of the smother of +endless woods that ran a thousand miles without a break. He was glad in +particular that no trees were visible, and that rabbits scampering among +the dunes were the only wild animals he need ever meet.... + +Those thirty years in the woods, it seemed, oppressed his mind; the +forests, the countless multitudes of trees, had wearied him. His nerves, +perhaps, had suffered finally. Snow, frost and sun, stars, and the wind +had been his companions during the long days and endless nights in his +lonely Post, but chiefly--trees. Trees, trees, trees! On the whole, he +had preferred them in stormy weather, though, in another way, their +rigid hosts, 'mid the deep silence of still days, had been equally +oppressive. In the clear sunlight of a windless day they assumed a +waiting, listening, watching aspect that had something spectral in it, +but when in motion--well, he preferred a moving animal to one that stood +stock-still and stared. Wind, moreover, in a million trees, even the +lightest breeze, drowned all other sounds--the howling of the wolves, +for instance, in winter, or the ceaseless harsh barking of the husky +dogs he so disliked. + +Even on this warm September afternoon a slight shiver ran over him as +the background of dead years loomed up behind the present scene. He +thrust the picture back, deep down inside himself. The self-control, the +strong, even violent will that the face betrayed, came into operation +instantly. The background was background; it belonged to what was past, +and the past was over and done with. It was dead. Jim meant it to stay +dead. + +The figure waving to him from the pier was his brother. He knew Tom +instantly; the years had dealt easily with him in this quiet island; +there was no startling, no unkindly change, and a deep emotion, though +unexpressed, rose in his heart. It was good to be home again, he +realized, as he sat presently in the cart, Tom holding the reins, +driving slowly back to the farm at the north end of the island. +Everything he found familiar, yet at the same time strange. They passed +the school where he used to go as a little bare-legged boy; other boys +were now learning their lessons exactly as he used to do. Through the +open window he could hear the droning voice of the schoolmaster, who, +though invisible, wore the face of Mr. Lovibond, his own teacher. + +"Lovibond?" said Tom, in reply to his question. "Oh, he's been dead +these twenty years. He went south, you know--Glasgow, I think it was, or +Edinburgh. He got typhoid." + +Stands of golden plover were to be seen as of old in the fields, or +flashing overhead in swift flight with a whir of wings, wheeling and +turning together like one huge bird. Down on the empty shore a curlew +cried. Its piercing note rose clear above the noisy clamour of the +gulls. The sun played softly on the quiet sea, the air was keen but +pleasant, the tang of salt mixed sweetly with the clean smells of open +country that he knew so well. Nothing of essentials had changed, even +the low clouds beyond the heaving uplands were the clouds of childhood. + +They came presently to the sand-dunes, where rabbits sat at their +burrow-mouths, or ran helter-skelter across the road in front of the +slow cart. + +"They're safe till the colder weather comes and trapping begins," he +mentioned. It all came back to him in detail. + +"And they know it, too--the canny little beggars," replied Tom. "Any +rabbits out where you've been?" he asked casually. + +"Not to hurt you," returned his brother shortly. + +Nothing seemed changed, although everything seemed different. He looked +upon the old, familiar things, but with other eyes. There were, of +course, changes, alterations, yet so slight, in a way so odd and +curious, that they evaded him; not being of the physical order, they +reported to his soul, not to his mind. But his soul, being troubled, +sought to deny the changes; to admit them meant to admit a change in +himself he had determined to conceal even if he could not entirely deny +it. + +"Same old place, Tom," came one of his rare remarks. "The years ain't +done much to it." He looked into his brother's face a moment squarely. +"Nor to you, either, Tom," he added, affection and tenderness just +touching his voice and breaking through a natural reserve that was +almost taciturnity. + +His brother returned the look; and something in that instant passed +between the two men, something of understanding that no words had +hinted at, much less expressed. The tie was real, they loved each other, +they were loyal, true, steadfast fellows. In youth they had known no +secrets. The shadow that now passed and vanished left a vague trouble in +both hearts. + +"The forests," said Tom slowly, "have made a silent man of you, Jim. +You'll miss them here, I'm thinking." + +"Maybe," was the curt reply, "but I guess not." + +His lips snapped to as though they were of steel and could never open +again, while the tone he used made Tom realize that the subject was not +one his brother cared to talk about particularly. He was surprised, +therefore, when, after a pause, Jim returned to it of his own accord. He +was sitting a little sideways as he spoke, taking in the scene with +hungry eyes. "It's a queer thing," he observed, "to look round and see +nothing but clean empty land, and not a single tree in sight. You see, +it don't look natural quite." + +Again his brother was struck by the tone of voice, but this time by +something else as well he could not name. Jim was excusing himself, +explaining. The manner, too, arrested him. And thirty years disappeared +as though they had not been, for it was thus Jim acted as a boy when +there was something unpleasant he had to say and wished to get it over. +The tone, the gesture, the manner, all were there. He was edging up to +something he wished to say, yet dared not utter. + +"You've had enough of trees then?" Tom said sympathetically, trying to +help, "and things?" + +The instant the last two words were out he realized that they had been +drawn from him instinctively, and that it was the anxiety of deep +affection which had prompted them. He had guessed without knowing he had +guessed, or rather, without intention or attempt to guess. Jim had a +secret. Love's clairvoyance had discovered it, though not yet its hidden +terms. + +"I have----" began the other, then paused, evidently to choose his +words with care. "I've had enough of trees." He was about to speak of +something that his brother had unwittingly touched upon in his chance +phrase, but instead of finding the words he sought, he gave a sudden +start, his breath caught sharply. "What's that?" he exclaimed, jerking +his body round so abruptly that Tom automatically pulled the reins. +"What is it?" + +"A dog barking," Tom answered, much surprised. "A farm dog barking. Why? +What did you think it was?" he asked, as he flicked the horse to go on +again. "You made me jump," he added, with a laugh. "You're used to +huskies, ain't you?" + +"It sounded so--not like a dog, I mean," came the slow explanation. +"It's long since I heard a sheep-dog bark, I suppose it startled me." + +"Oh, it's a dog all right," Tom assured him comfortingly, for his heart +told him infallibly the kind of tone to use. And presently, too, he +changed the subject in his blunt, honest fashion, knowing that, also, +was the right and kindly thing to do. He pointed out the old farms as +they drove along, his brother silent again, sitting stiff and rigid at +his side. "And it's good to have you back, Jim, from those outlandish +places. There are not too many of the family left now--just you and I, +as a matter of fact." + +"Just you and I," the other repeated gruffly, but in a sweetened tone +that proved he appreciated the ready sympathy and tact. "We'll stick +together, Tom, eh? Blood's thicker than water, ain't it? I've learnt +that much, anyhow." + +The voice had something gentle and appealing in it, something his +brother heard now for the first time. An elbow nudged into his side, and +Tom knew the gesture was not solely a sign of affection, but grew +partly also from the comfort born of physical contact when the heart is +anxious. The touch, like the last words, conveyed an appeal for help. +Tom was so surprised he couldn't believe it quite. + +Scared! Jim scared! The thought puzzled and afflicted him who knew his +brother's character inside out, his courage, his presence of mind in +danger, his resolution. Jim frightened seemed an impossibility, a +contradiction in terms; he was the kind of man who did not know the +meaning of fear, who shrank from nothing, whose spirits rose highest +when things appeared most hopeless. It must, indeed, be an uncommon, +even a terrible danger that could shake such nerves; yet Tom saw the +signs and read them clearly. Explain them he could not, nor did he try. +All he knew with certainty was that his brother, sitting now beside him +in the cart, hid a secret terror in his heart. Sooner or later, in his +own good time, he would share it with him. + +He ascribed it, this simple Orkney farmer, to those thirty years of +loneliness and exile in wild desolate places, without companionship, +without the society of women, with only Indians, husky dogs, a few +trappers or fur-dealers like himself, but none of the wholesome, natural +influences that sweeten life within reach. Thirty years was a long, long +time. He began planning schemes to help. Jim must see people as much as +possible, and his mind ran quickly over the men and women available. In +women the neighbourhood was not rich, but there were several men of +the right sort who might be useful, good fellows all. There was John +Rossiter, another old Hudson Bay man, who had been factor at Cartwright, +Labrador, for many years, and had returned long ago to spend his last +days in civilization. There was Sandy McKay, also back from a long spell +of rubber-planting in Malay.... Tom was still busy making plans when +they reached the old farm and presently sat down to their first meal +together since that early breakfast thirty years ago before Jim caught +the steamer that bore him off to exile--an exile that now returned him +with nerves unstrung and a secret terror hidden in his heart. + +"I'll ask no questions," he decided. "Jim will tell me in his own good +time. And meanwhile, I'll get him to see as many folks as possible." He +meant it too; yet not only for his brother's sake. Jim's terror was so +vivid it had touched his own heart too. + +"Ah, a man can open his lungs here and breathe!" exclaimed Jim, as the +two came out after supper and stood before the house, gazing across the +open country. He drew a deep breath as though to prove his assertion, +exhaling with slow satisfaction again. "It's good to see a clear horizon +and to know there's all that water between--between me and where I've +been." He turned his face to watch the plover in the sky, then looked +towards the distant shore-line where the sea was just visible in the +long evening light. "There can't be too much water for me," he added, +half to himself. "I guess they can't cross water--not that much water at +any rate." + +Tom stared, wondering uneasily what to make of it. + +"At the trees again, Jim?" he said laughingly. He had overheard the last +words, though spoken low, and thought it best not to ignore them +altogether. To be natural was the right way, he believed, natural and +cheery. To make a joke of anything unpleasant, he felt, was to make it +less serious. "I've never seen a tree come across the Atlantic yet, +except as a mast--dead," he added. + +"I wasn't thinking of the trees just then," was the blunt reply, "but +of--something else. The damned trees are nothing, though I hate the +sight of 'em. Not of much account, anyway"--as though he compared them +mentally with another thing. He puffed at his pipe, a moment. + +"They certainly can't move," put in his brother, "nor swim either." + +"Nor another thing," said Jim, his voice thick suddenly, but not +with smoke, and his speech confused, though the idea in his mind was +certainly clear as daylight. "Things can't hide behind 'em--can they?" + +"Not much cover hereabouts, I admit," laughed Tom, though the look in +his brother's eyes made his laughter as short as it sounded unnatural. + +"That's so," agreed the other. "But what I meant was"--he threw out his +chest, looked about him with an air of intense relief, drew in another +deep breath, and again exhaled with satisfaction--"if there are no +trees, there's no hiding." + +It was the expression on the rugged, weathered face that sent the blood +in a sudden gulping rush from his brother's heart. He had seen men +frightened, seen men afraid before they were actually frightened; he +had also seen men stiff with terror in the face both of natural and +so-called supernatural things; but never in his life before had he seen +the look of unearthly dread that now turned his brother's face as white +as chalk and yet put the glow of fire in two haunted burning eyes. + +Across the darkening landscape the sound of distant barking had floated +to them on the evening wind. + +"It's only a farm-dog barking." Yet it was Jim's deep, quiet voice that +said it, one hand upon his brother's arm. + +"That's all," replied Tom, ashamed that he had betrayed himself, and +realizing with a shock of surprise that it was Jim who now played the +role of comforter--a startling change in their relations. "Why, what did +you think it was?" + +He tried hard to speak naturally and easily, but his voice shook. So +deep was the brothers' love and intimacy that they could not help but +share. + +Jim lowered his great head. "I thought," he whispered, his grey beard +touching the other's cheek, "maybe it was the wolves"--an agony of +terror made both voice and body tremble--"the Wolves of God!" + + +2 + +The interval of thirty years had been bridged easily enough; it was the +secret that left the open gap neither of them cared or dared to cross. +Jim's reason for hesitation lay within reach of guesswork, but Tom's +silence was more complicated. + +With strong, simple men, strangers to affectation or pretence, reserve +is a real, almost a sacred thing. Jim offered nothing more; Tom asked no +single question. In the latter's mind lay, for one thing, a singular +intuitive certainty: that if he knew the truth he would lose his +brother. How, why, wherefore, he had no notion; whether by death, or +because, having told an awful thing, Jim would hide--physically or +mentally--he knew not, nor even asked himself. No subtlety lay in Tom, +the Orkney farmer. He merely felt that a knowledge of the truth involved +separation which was death. + +Day and night, however, that extraordinary phrase which, at its first +hearing, had frozen his blood, ran on beating in his mind. With it came +always the original, nameless horror that had held him motionless where +he stood, his brother's bearded lips against his ear: _The Wolves of +God_. In some dim way, he sometimes felt--tried to persuade himself, +rather--the horror did not belong to the phrase alone, but was a +sympathetic echo of what Jim felt himself. It had entered his own mind +and heart. They had always shared in this same strange, intimate way. +The deep brotherly tie accounted for it. Of the possible transference of +thought and emotion he knew nothing, but this was what he meant perhaps. + +At the same time he fought and strove to keep it out, not because it +brought uneasy and distressing feelings to him, but because he did not +wish to pry, to ascertain, to discover his brother's secret as by some +kind of subterfuge that seemed too near to eavesdropping almost. +Also, he wished most earnestly to protect him. Meanwhile, in spite of +himself, or perhaps because of himself, he watched his brother as a wild +animal watches its young. Jim was the only tie he had on earth. He loved +him with a brother's love, and Jim, similarly, he knew, loved him. His +job was difficult. Love alone could guide him. + +He gave openings, but he never questioned: + +"Your letter did surprise me, Jim. I was never so delighted in my life. +You had still two years to run." + +"I'd had enough," was the short reply. "God, man, it was good to get +home again!" + +This, and the blunt talk that followed their first meeting, was all +Tom had to go upon, while those eyes that refused to shut watched +ceaselessly always. There was improvement, unless, which never occurred +to Tom, it was self-control; there was no more talk of trees and water, +the barking of the dogs passed unnoticed, no reference to the loneliness +of the backwoods life passed his lips; he spent his days fishing, +shooting, helping with the work of the farm, his evenings smoking over +a glass--he was more than temperate--and talking over the days of long +ago. + +The signs of uneasiness still were there, but they were negative, far +more suggestive, therefore, than if open and direct. He desired no +company, for instance--an unnatural thing, thought Tom, after so many +years of loneliness. + +It was this and the awkward fact that he had given up two years before +his time was finished, renouncing, therefore, a comfortable pension--it +was these two big details that stuck with such unkind persistence in +his brother's thoughts. Behind both, moreover, ran ever the strange +whispered phrase. What the words meant, or whence they were derived, Tom +had no possible inkling. Like the wicked refrain of some forbidden song, +they haunted him day and night, even his sleep not free from them +entirely. All of which, to the simple Orkney farmer, was so new an +experience that he knew not how to deal with it at all. Too strong to +be flustered, he was at any rate bewildered. And it was for Jim, his +brother, he suffered most. + +What perplexed him chiefly, however, was the attitude his brother showed +towards old John Rossiter. He could almost have imagined that the two +men had met and known each other out in Canada, though Rossiter showed +him how impossible that was, both in point of time and of geography as +well. He had brought them together within the first few days, and Jim, +silent, gloomy, morose, even surly, had eyed him like an enemy. Old +Rossiter, the milk of human kindness as thick in his veins as cream, had +taken no offence. Grizzled veteran of the wilds, he had served his full +term with the Company and now enjoyed his well-earned pension. He was +full of stories, reminiscences, adventures of every sort and kind; +he knew men and values, had seen strange things that only the true +wilderness delivers, and he loved nothing better than to tell them over +a glass. He talked with Jim so genially and affably that little response +was called for luckily, for Jim was glum and unresponsive almost to +rudeness. Old Rossiter noticed nothing. What Tom noticed was, chiefly +perhaps, his brother's acute uneasiness. Between his desire to help, his +attachment to Rossiter, and his keen personal distress, he knew not what +to do or say. The situation was becoming too much for him. + +The two families, besides--Peace and Rossiter--had been neighbours +for generations, had intermarried freely, and were related in various +degrees. He was too fond of his brother to feel ashamed, but he was glad +when the visit was over and they were out of their host's house. Jim had +even declined to drink with him. + +"They're good fellows on the island," said Tom on their way home, "but +not specially entertaining, perhaps. We all stick together though. You +can trust 'em mostly." + +"I never was a talker, Tom," came the gruff reply. "You know that." And +Tom, understanding more than he understood, accepted the apology and +made generous allowances. + +"John likes to talk," he helped him. "He appreciates a good listener." + +"It's the kind of talk I'm finished with," was the rejoinder. "The +Company and their goings-on don't interest me any more. I've had +enough." + +Tom noticed other things as well with those affectionate eyes of his +that did not want to see yet would not close. As the days drew in, for +instance, Jim seemed reluctant to leave the house towards evening. Once +the full light of day had passed, he kept indoors. He was eager and +ready enough to shoot in the early morning, no matter at what hour he +had to get up, but he refused point blank to go with his brother to the +lake for an evening flight. No excuse was offered; he simply declined to +go. + +The gap between them thus widened and deepened, while yet in another +sense it grew less formidable. Both knew, that is, that a secret lay +between them for the first time in their lives, yet both knew also that +at the right and proper moment it would be revealed. Jim only waited +till the proper moment came. And Tom understood. His deep, simple love +was equal to all emergencies. He respected his brother's reserve. The +obvious desire of John Rossiter to talk and ask questions, for instance, +he resisted staunchly as far as he was able. Only when he could help and +protect his brother did he yield a little. The talk was brief, even +monosyllabic; neither the old Hudson Bay fellow nor the Orkney farmer +ran to many words: + +"He ain't right with himself," offered John, taking his pipe out of his +mouth and leaning forward. "That's what I don't like to see." He put a +skinny hand on Tom's knee, and looked earnestly into his face as he said +it. + +"Jim!" replied the other. "Jim ill, you mean!" It sounded ridiculous. + +"His mind is sick." + +"I don't understand," Tom said, though the truth bit like rough-edged +steel into the brother's heart. + +"His soul, then, if you like that better." + +Tom fought with himself a moment, then asked him to be more explicit. + +"More'n I can say," rejoined the laconic old backwoodsman. "I don't know +myself. The woods heal some men and make others sick." + +"Maybe, John, maybe." Tom fought back his resentment. "You've lived, +like him, in lonely places. You ought to know." His mouth shut with a +snap, as though he had said too much. Loyalty to his suffering brother +caught him strongly. Already his heart ached for Jim. He felt angry with +Rossiter for his divination, but perceived, too, that the old fellow +meant well and was trying to help him. If he lost Jim, he lost the +world--his all. + +A considerable pause followed, during which both men puffed their pipes +with reckless energy. Both, that is, were a bit excited. Yet both had +their code, a code they would not exceed for worlds. + +"Jim," added Tom presently, making an effort to meet the sympathy half +way, "ain't quite up to the mark, I'll admit that." + +There was another long pause, while Rossiter kept his eyes on his +companion steadily, though without a trace of expression in them--a +habit that the woods had taught him. + +"Jim," he said at length, with an obvious effort, "is skeered. And it's +the soul in him that's skeered." + +Tom wavered dreadfully then. He saw that old Rossiter, experienced +backwoodsman and taught by the Company as he was, knew where the secret +lay, if he did not yet know its exact terms. It was easy enough to put +the question, yet he hesitated, because loyalty forbade. + +"It's a dirty outfit somewheres," the old man mumbled to himself. + +Tom sprang to his feet, "If you talk that way," he exclaimed angrily, +"you're no friend of mine--or his." His anger gained upon him as he said +it. "Say that again," he cried, "and I'll knock your teeth----" + +He sat back, stunned a moment. + +"Forgive me, John," he faltered, shamed yet still angry. "It's pain to +me, it's pain. Jim," he went on, after a long breath and a pull at his +glass, "Jim _is_ scared, I know it." He waited a moment, hunting for the +words that he could use without disloyalty. "But it's nothing he's done +himself," he said, "nothing to his discredit. I know _that_." + +Old Rossiter looked up, a strange light in his eyes. + +"No offence," he said quietly. + +"Tell me what you know," cried Tom suddenly, standing up again. + +The old factor met his eye squarely, steadfastly. He laid his pipe +aside. + +"D'ye really want to hear?" he asked in a lowered voice. "Because, if +you don't--why, say so right now. I'm all for justice," he added, "and +always was." + +"Tell me," said Tom, his heart in his mouth. "Maybe, if I knew--I might +help him." The old man's words woke fear in him. He well knew his +passionate, remorseless sense of justice. + +"Help him," repeated the other. "For a man skeered in his soul there +ain't no help. But--if you want to hear--I'll tell you." + +"Tell me," cried Tom. "I _will_ help him," while rising anger fought +back rising fear. + +John took another pull at his glass. + +"Jest between you and me like." + +"Between you and me," said Tom. "Get on with it." + +There was a deep silence in the little room. Only the sound of the sea +came in, the wind behind it. + +"The Wolves," whispered old Rossiter. "The Wolves of God." + +Tom sat still in his chair, as though struck in the face. He shivered. +He kept silent and the silence seemed to him long and curious. His heart +was throbbing, the blood in his veins played strange tricks. All he +remembered was that old Rossiter had gone on talking. The voice, +however, sounded far away and distant. It was all unreal, he felt, as he +went homewards across the bleak, wind-swept upland, the sound of the sea +for ever in his ears.... + +Yes, old John Rossiter, damned be his soul, had gone on talking. He had +said wild, incredible things. Damned be his soul! His teeth should be +smashed for that. It was outrageous, it was cowardly, it was not true. + +"Jim," he thought, "my brother, Jim!" as he ploughed his way wearily +against the wind. "I'll teach him. I'll teach him to spread such wicked +tales!" He referred to Rossiter. "God blast these fellows! They come +home from their outlandish places and think they can say anything! I'll +knock his yellow dog's teeth...!" + +While, inside, his heart went quailing, crying for help, afraid. + +He tried hard to remember exactly what old John had said. Round Garden +Lake--that's where Jim was located in his lonely Post--there was a tribe +of Redskins. They were of unusual type. Malefactors among them--thieves, +criminals, murderers--were not punished. They were merely turned out by +the Tribe to die. + +But how? + +The Wolves of God took care of them. What were the Wolves of God? + +A pack of wolves the Redskins held in awe, a sacred pack, a spirit +pack--God curse the man! Absurd, outlandish nonsense! Superstitious +humbug! A pack of wolves that punished malefactors, killing but never +eating them. "Torn but not eaten," the words came back to him, "white +men as well as red. They could even cross the sea...." + +"He ought to be strung up for telling such wild yarns. By God--I'll +teach him!" + +"Jim! My brother, Jim! It's monstrous." + +But the old man, in his passionate cold justice, had said a yet more +terrible thing, a thing that Tom would never forget, as he never could +forgive it: "You mustn't keep him here; you must send him away. We +cannot have him on the island." And for that, though he could scarcely +believe his ears, wondering afterwards whether he heard aright, for +that, the proper answer to which was a blow in the mouth, Tom knew that +his old friendship and affection had turned to bitter hatred. + +"If I don't kill him, for that cursed lie, may God--and Jim--forgive +me!" + + +3 + +It was a few days later that the storm caught the islands, making them +tremble in their sea-born bed. The wind tearing over the treeless +expanse was terrible, the lightning lit the skies. No such rain had ever +been known. The building shook and trembled. It almost seemed the sea +had burst her limits, and the waves poured in. Its fury and the noises +that the wind made affected both the brothers, but Jim disliked the +uproar most. It made him gloomy, silent, morose. It made him--Tom +perceived it at once--uneasy. "Scared in his soul"--the ugly phrase came +back to him. + +"God save anyone who's out to-night," said Jim anxiously, as the old +farm rattled about his head. Whereupon the door opened as of itself. +There was no knock. It flew wide, as if the wind had burst it. Two +drenched and beaten figures showed in the gap against the lurid sky--old +John Rossiter and Sandy. They laid their fowling pieces down and took +off their capes; they had been up at the lake for the evening flight and +six birds were in the game bag. So suddenly had the storm come up that +they had been caught before they could get home. + +And, while Tom welcomed them, looked after their creature wants, and +made them feel at home as in duty bound, no visit, he felt at the same +time, could have been less opportune. Sandy did not matter--Sandy never +did matter anywhere, his personality being negligible--but John Rossiter +was the last man Tom wished to see just then. He hated the man; hated +that sense of implacable justice that he knew was in him; with the +slightest excuse he would have turned him out and sent him on to his own +home, storm or no storm. But Rossiter provided no excuse; he was all +gratitude and easy politeness, more pleasant and friendly to Jim even +than to his brother. Tom set out the whisky and sugar, sliced the lemon, +put the kettle on, and furnished dry coats while the soaked garments +hung up before the roaring fire that Orkney makes customary even when +days are warm. + +"It might be the equinoctials," observed Sandy, "if it wasn't late +October." He shivered, for the tropics had thinned his blood. + +"This ain't no ordinary storm," put in Rossiter, drying his drenched +boots. "It reminds me a bit"--he jerked his head to the window that +gave seawards, the rush of rain against the panes half drowning his +voice--"reminds me a bit of yonder." He looked up, as though to find +someone to agree with him, only one such person being in the room. + +"Sure, it ain't," agreed Jim at once, but speaking slowly, "no ordinary +storm." His voice was quiet as a child's. Tom, stooping over the kettle, +felt something cold go trickling down his back. "It's from acrost the +Atlantic too." + +"All our big storms come from the sea," offered Sandy, saying just what +Sandy was expected to say. His lank red hair lay matted on his forehead, +making him look like an unhappy collie dog. + +"There's no hospitality," Rossiter changed the talk, "like an +islander's," as Tom mixed and filled the glasses. "He don't even ask +'Say when?'" He chuckled in his beard and turned to Sandy, well pleased +with the compliment to his host. "Now, in Malay," he added dryly, "it's +probably different, I guess." And the two men, one from Labrador, the +other from the tropics, fell to bantering one another with heavy humour, +while Tom made things comfortable and Jim stood silent with his back to +the fire. At each blow of the wind that shook the building, a suitable +remark was made, generally by Sandy: "Did you hear that now?" "Ninety +miles an hour at least." "Good thing you build solid in this country!" +while Rossiter occasionally repeated that it was an "uncommon storm" and +that "it reminded" him of the northern tempests he had known "out +yonder." + +Tom said little, one thought and one thought only in his heart--the wish +that the storm would abate and his guests depart. He felt uneasy about +Jim. He hated Rossiter. In the kitchen he had steadied himself already +with a good stiff drink, and was now half-way through a second; the +feeling was in him that he would need their help before the evening was +out. Jim, he noticed, had left his glass untouched. His attention, +clearly, went to the wind and the outer night; he added little to the +conversation. + +"Hark!" cried Sandy's shrill voice. "Did you hear that? That wasn't +wind, I'll swear." He sat up, looking for all the world like a dog +pricking its ears to something no one else could hear. + +"The sea coming over the dunes," said Rossiter. "There'll be an awful +tide to-night and a terrible sea off the Swarf. Moon at the full, too." +He cocked his head sideways to listen. The roaring was tremendous, waves +and wind combining with a result that almost shook the ground. Rain hit +the glass with incessant volleys like duck shot. + +It was then that Jim spoke, having said no word for a long time. + +"It's good there's no trees," he mentioned quietly. "I'm glad of that." + +"There'd be fearful damage, wouldn't there?" remarked Sandy. "They might +fall on the house too." + +But it was the tone Jim used that made Rossiter turn stiffly in his +chair, looking first at the speaker, then at his brother. Tom caught +both glances and saw the hard keen glitter in the eyes. This kind of +talk, he decided, had got to stop, yet how to stop it he hardly knew, +for his were not subtle methods, and rudeness to his guests ran too +strong against the island customs. He refilled the glasses, thinking in +his blunt fashion how best to achieve his object, when Sandy helped the +situation without knowing it. + +"That's my first," he observed, and all burst out laughing. For Sandy's +tenth glass was equally his "first," and he absorbed his liquor like +a sponge, yet showed no effects of it until the moment when he would +suddenly collapse and sink helpless to the ground. The glass in +question, however, was only his third, the final moment still far away. + +"Three in one and one in three," said Rossiter, amid the general +laughter, while Sandy, grave as a judge, half emptied it at a single +gulp. Good-natured, obtuse as a cart-horse, the tropics, it seemed, had +first worn out his nerves, then removed them entirely from his body. +"That's Malay theology, I guess," finished Rossiter. And the laugh broke +out again. Whereupon, setting his glass down, Sandy offered his usual +explanation that the hot lands had thinned his blood, that he felt the +cold in these "arctic islands," and that alcohol was a necessity of life +with him. Tom, grateful for the unexpected help, encouraged him to talk, +and Sandy, accustomed to neglect as a rule, responded readily. Having +saved the situation, however, he now unwittingly led it back into the +danger zone. + +"A night for tales, eh?" he remarked, as the wind came howling with +a burst of strangest noises against the house. "Down there in the +States," he went on, "they'd say the evil spirits were out. They're a +superstitious crowd, the natives. I remember once----" And he told a +tale, half foolish, half interesting, of a mysterious track he had seen +when following buffalo in the jungle. It ran close to the spoor of a +wounded buffalo for miles, a track unlike that of any known animal, and +the natives, though unable to name it, regarded it with awe. It was +a good sign, a kill was certain. They said it was a spirit track. + +"You got your buffalo?" asked Tom. + +"Found him two miles away, lying dead. The mysterious spoor came to an +end close beside the carcass. It didn't continue." + +"And that reminds me----" began old Rossiter, ignoring Tom's attempt to +introduce another subject. He told them of the haunted island at Eagle +River, and a tale of the man who would not stay buried on another island +off the coast. From that he went on to describe the strange man-beast +that hides in the deep forests of Labrador, manifesting but rarely, and +dangerous to men who stray too far from camp, men with a passion for +wild life over-strong in their blood--the great mythical Wendigo. And +while he talked, Tom noticed that Sandy used each pause as a good moment +for a drink, but that Jim's glass still remained untouched. + +The atmosphere of incredible things, thus, grew in the little room, much +as it gathers among the shadows round a forest camp-fire when men who +have seen strange places of the world give tongue about them, knowing +they will not be laughed at--an atmosphere, once established, it is +vain to fight against. The ingrained superstition that hides in every +mother's son comes up at such times to breathe. It came up now. Sandy, +closer by several glasses to the moment, Tom saw, when he would be +suddenly drunk, gave birth again, a tale this time of a Scottish planter +who had brutally dismissed a native servant for no other reason than +that he disliked him. The man disappeared completely, but the villagers +hinted that he would--soon indeed that he had--come back, though "not +quite as he went." The planter armed, knowing that vengeance might +be violent. A black panther, meanwhile, was seen prowling about the +bungalow. One night a noise outside his door on the veranda roused him. +Just in time to see the black brute leaping over the railings into the +compound, he fired, and the beast fell with a savage growl of pain. Help +arrived and more shots were fired into the animal, as it lay, mortally +wounded already, lashing its tail upon the grass. The lanterns, however, +showed that instead of a panther, it was the servant they had shot to +shreds. + +Sandy told the story well, a certain odd conviction in his tone and +manner, neither of them at all to the liking of his host. Uneasiness and +annoyance had been growing in Tom for some time already, his inability +to control the situation adding to his anger. Emotion was accumulating +in him dangerously; it was directed chiefly against Rossiter, who, +though saying nothing definite, somehow deliberately encouraged both +talk and atmosphere. Given the conditions, it was natural enough the +talk should take the turn it did take, but what made Tom more and more +angry was that, if Rossiter had not been present, he could have stopped +it easily enough. It was the presence of the old Hudson Bay man that +prevented his taking decided action. He was afraid of Rossiter, afraid +of putting his back up. That was the truth. His recognition of it made +him furious. + +"Tell us another, Sandy McKay," said the veteran. "There's a lot in such +tales. They're found the world over--men turning into animals and the +like." + +And Sandy, yet nearer to his moment of collapse, but still showing no +effects, obeyed willingly. He noticed nothing; the whisky was good, his +tales were appreciated, and that sufficed him. He thanked Tom, who just +then refilled his glass, and went on with his tale. But Tom, hatred +and fury in his heart, had reached the point where he could no longer +contain himself, and Rossiter's last words inflamed him. He went over, +under cover of a tremendous clap of wind, to fill the old man's glass. +The latter refused, covering the tumbler with his big, lean hand. +Tom stood over him a moment, lowering his face. "You keep still," he +whispered ferociously, but so that no one else heard it. He glared into +his eyes with an intensity that held danger, and Rossiter, without +answering, flung back that glare with equal, but with a calmer, anger. + +The wind, meanwhile, had a trick of veering, and each time it shifted, +Jim shifted his seat too. Apparently, he preferred to face the sound, +rather than have his back to it. + +"Your turn now for a tale," said Rossiter with purpose, when Sandy +finished. He looked across at him, just as Jim, hearing the burst of +wind at the walls behind him, was in the act of moving his chair again. +The same moment the attack rattled the door and windows facing him. Jim, +without answering, stood for a moment still as death, not knowing which +way to turn. + +"It's beatin' up from all sides," remarked Rossiter, "like it was goin' +round the building." + +There was a moment's pause, the four men listening with awe to the roar +and power of the terrific wind. Tom listened too, but at the same time +watched, wondering vaguely why he didn't cross the room and crash his +fist into the old man's chattering mouth. Jim put out his hand and took +his glass, but did not raise it to his lips. And a lull came abruptly in +the storm, the wind sinking into a moment's dreadful silence. Tom and +Rossiter turned their heads in the same instant and stared into each +other's eyes. For Tom the instant seemed enormously prolonged. He +realized the challenge in the other and that his rudeness had roused it +into action. It had become a contest of wills--Justice battling against +Love. + +Jim's glass had now reached his lips, and the chattering of his teeth +against its rim was audible. + +But the lull passed quickly and the wind began again, though so gently +at first, it had the sound of innumerable swift footsteps treading +lightly, of countless hands fingering the doors and windows, but then +suddenly with a mighty shout as it swept against the walls, rushed +across the roof and descended like a battering-ram against the farther +side. + +"God, did you hear that?" cried Sandy. "It's trying to get in!" and +having said it, he sank in a heap beside his chair, all of a sudden +completely drunk. "It's wolves or panthersh," he mumbled in his stupor +on the floor, "but whatsh's happened to Malay?" It was the last thing he +said before unconsciousness took him, and apparently he was insensible +to the kick on the head from a heavy farmer's boot. For Jim's glass had +fallen with a crash and the second kick was stopped midway. Tom stood +spell-bound, unable to move or speak, as he watched his brother suddenly +cross the room and open a window into the very teeth of the gale. + +"Let be! Let be!" came the voice of Rossiter, an authority in it, a +curious gentleness too, both of them new. He had risen, his lips were +still moving, but the words that issued from them were inaudible, as the +wind and rain leaped with a galloping violence into the room, smashing +the glass to atoms and dashing a dozen loose objects helter-skelter on +to the floor. + +"I saw it!" cried Jim, in a voice that rose above the din and clamour of +the elements. He turned and faced the others, but it was at Rossiter he +looked. "I saw the leader." He shouted to make himself heard, although +the tone was quiet. "A splash of white on his great chest. I saw them +all!" + +At the words, and at the expression in Jim's eyes, old Rossiter, white +to the lips, dropped back into his chair as if a blow had struck him. +Tom, petrified, felt his own heart stop. For through the broken window, +above yet within the wind, came the sound of a wolf-pack running, +howling in deep, full-throated chorus, mad for blood. It passed like a +whirlwind and was gone. And, of the three men so close together, one +sitting and two standing, Jim alone was in that terrible moment wholly +master of himself. + +Before the others could move or speak, he turned and looked full into +the eyes of each in succession. His speech went back to his wilderness +days: + +"I done it," he said calmly. "I killed him--and I got ter go." + +With a look of mystical horror on his face, he took one stride, flung +the door wide, and vanished into the darkness. + +So quick were both words and action, that Tom's paralysis passed only as +the draught from the broken window banged the door behind him. He seemed +to leap across the room, old Rossiter, tears on his cheeks and his lips +mumbling foolish words, so close upon his heels that the backward blow +of fury Tom aimed at his face caught him only in the neck and sent him +reeling sideways to the floor instead of flat upon his back. + +"Murderer! My brother's death upon you!" he shouted as he tore the door +open again and plunged out into the night. + +And the odd thing that happened then, the thing that touched old John +Rossiter's reason, leaving him from that moment till his death a foolish +man of uncertain mind and memory, happened when he and the unconscious, +drink-sodden Sandy lay alone together on the stone floor of that +farm-house room. + +Rossiter, dazed by the blow and his fall, but in full possession of his +senses, and the anger gone out of him owing to what he had brought +about, this same John Rossiter sat up and saw Sandy also sitting up and +staring at him hard. And Sandy was sober as a judge, his eyes and +speech both clear, even his face unflushed. + +"John Rossiter," he said, "it was not God who appointed you executioner. +It was the devil." And his eyes, thought Rossiter, were like the eyes of +an angel. + +"Sandy McKay," he stammered, his teeth chattering and breath failing +him. "Sandy McKay!" It was all the words that he could find. But Sandy, +already sunk back into his stupor again, was stretched drunk and +incapable upon the farm-house floor, and remained in that condition till +the dawn. + +Jim's body lay hidden among the dunes for many months and in spite of +the most careful and prolonged searching. It was another storm that laid +it bare. The sand had covered it. The clothes were gone, and the flesh, +torn but not eaten, was naked to the December sun and wind. + + + + +II + +CHINESE MAGIC + + +1 + +Dr. Owen Francis felt a sudden wave of pleasure and admiration sweep +over him as he saw her enter the room. He was in the act of going out; +in fact, he had already said good-bye to his hostess, glad to make his +escape from the chattering throng, when the tall and graceful young +woman glided past him. Her carriage was superb; she had black eyes with +a twinkling happiness in them; her mouth was exquisite. Round her +neck, in spite of the warm afternoon, she wore a soft thing of fur or +feathers; and as she brushed by to shake the hand he had just shaken +himself, the tail of this touched his very cheek. Their eyes met fair +and square. He felt as though her eyes also touched him. + +Changing his mind, he lingered another ten minutes, chatting with +various ladies he did not in the least remember, but who remembered him. +He did not, of course, desire to exchange banalities with these other +ladies, yet did so gallantly enough. If they found him absent-minded +they excused him since he was the famous mental specialist whom +everybody was proud to know. And all the time his eyes never left the +tall graceful figure that allured him almost to the point of casting a +spell upon him. + +His first impression deepened as he watched. He was aware of excitement, +curiosity, longing; there was a touch even of exaltation in him; yet +he took no steps to seek the introduction which was easily enough +procurable. He checked himself, if with an effort. Several times +their eyes met across the crowded room; he dared to believe--he felt +instinctively--that his interest was returned. Indeed, it was more than +instinct, for she was certainly aware of his presence, and he even +caught her indicating him to a woman she spoke with, and evidently +asking who he was. Once he half bowed, and once, in spite of himself, he +went so far as to smile, and there came, he was sure, a faint, delicious +brightening of the eyes in answer. There was, he fancied, a look of +yearning in the face. The young woman charmed him inexpressibly; the +very way she moved delighted him. Yet at last he slipped out of the room +without a word, without an introduction, without even knowing her name. +He chose his moment when her back was turned. It was characteristic of +him. + +For Owen Francis had ever regarded marriage, for himself at least, as a +disaster that could be avoided. He was in love with his work, and his +work was necessary to humanity. Others might perpetuate the race, but he +must heal it. He had come to regard love as the bait wherewith Nature +lays her trap to fulfill her own ends. A man in love was a man enjoying +a delusion, a deluded man. In his case, and he was nearing forty-five, +the theory had worked admirably, and the dangerous exception that proved +it had as yet not troubled him. + +"It's come at last--I do believe," he thought to himself, as he walked +home, a new tumultuous emotion in his blood; "the exception, quite +possibly, has come at last. I wonder...." + +And it seemed he said it to the tall graceful figure by his side, who +turned up dark eyes smilingly to meet his own, and whose lips repeated +softly his last two words "I wonder...." + +The experience, being new to him, was baffling. A part of his nature, +long dormant, received the authentic thrill that pertains actually to +youth. He was a man of chaste, abstemious custom. The reaction was +vehement. That dormant part of him became obstreperous. He thought of +his age, his appearance, his prospects; he looked thirty-eight, he was +not unhandsome, his position was secure, even remarkable. That gorgeous +young woman--he called her gorgeous--haunted him. Never could he forget +that face, those eyes. It was extraordinary--he had left her there +unspoken to, unknown, when an introduction would have been the simplest +thing in the world. + +"But it still is," he replied. And the reflection filled his being with +a flood of joy. + +He checked himself again. Not so easily is established habit routed. He +felt instinctively that, at last, he had met his mate; if he followed it +up he was a man in love, a lost man enjoying a delusion, a deluded man. +But the way she had looked at him! That air of intuitive invitation +which not even the sweetest modesty could conceal! He felt an immense +confidence in himself; also he felt oddly sure of her. + +The presence of that following figure, already precious, came with him +into his house, even into his study at the back where he sat over a +number of letters by the open window. The pathetic little London garden +showed its pitiful patch. The lilac had faded, but a smell of roses +entered. The sun was just behind the buildings opposite, and the garden +lay soft and warm in summer shadows. + +He read and tossed aside the letters; one only interested him, from +Edward Farque, whose journey to China had interrupted a friendship of +long standing. Edward Farque's work on eastern art and philosophy, on +Chinese painting and Chinese thought in particular, had made its mark. +He was an authority. He was to be back about this time, and his friend +smiled with pleasure. "Dear old unpractical dreamer, as I used to call +him," he mused. "He's a success, anyhow!" And as he mused, the presence +that sat beside him came a little closer, yet at the same time faded. +Not that he forgot her--that was impossible--but that just before +opening the letter from his friend, he had come to a decision. He had +definitely made up his mind to seek acquaintance. The reality replaced +the remembered substitute. + + "As the newspapers may have warned you," ran the familiar and kinky + writing, "I am back in England after what the scribes term my ten + years of exile in Cathay. I have taken a little house in Hampstead + for six months, and am just settling in. Come to us to-morrow night + and let me prove it to you. Come to dinner. We shall have much to + say; we both are ten years wiser. You know how glad I shall be to + see my old-time critic and disparager, but let me add frankly + that I want to ask you a few professional, or, rather, technical, + questions. So prepare yourself to come as doctor and as friend. I + am writing, as the papers said truthfully, a treatise on Chinese + thought. But--don't shy!--it is about Chinese Magic that I want + your technical advice [the last two words were substituted for + "professional wisdom," which had been crossed out] and the benefit + of your vast experience. So come, old friend, come quickly, and come + hungry! I'll feed your body as you shall feed my mind.--Yours, + + "EDWARD FARQUE." + + "P.S.--'The coming of a friend from a far-off land--is not this true + joy?'" + +Dr. Francis laid down the letter with a pleased anticipatory chuckle, +and it was the touch in the final sentence that amused him. In spite of +being an authority, Farque was clearly the same fanciful, poetic dreamer +as of old. He quoted Confucius as in other days. The firm but kinky +writing had not altered either. The only sign of novelty he noticed was +the use of scented paper, for a faint and pungent aroma clung to the big +quarto sheet. + +"A Chinese habit, doubtless," he decided, sniffing it with a puzzled air +of disapproval. Yet it had nothing in common with the scented sachets +some ladies use too lavishly, so that even the air of the street is +polluted by their passing for a dozen yards. He was familiar with every +kind of perfumed note-paper used in London, Paris, and Constantinople. +This one was difficult. It was delicate and penetrating for all its +faintness, pleasurable too. He rather liked it, and while annoyed that +he could not name it, he sniffed at the letter several times, as though +it were a flower. + +"I'll go," he decided at once, and wrote an acceptance then and there. +He went out and posted it. He meant to prolong his walk into the Park, +taking his chief preoccupation, the face, the eyes, the figure, with +him. Already he was composing the note of inquiry to Mrs. Malleson, his +hostess of the tea-party, the note whose willing answer should give him +the name, the address, the means of introduction he had now determined +to secure. He visualized that note of inquiry, seeing it in his mind's +eye; only, for some odd reason, he saw the kinky writing of Farque +instead of his own more elegant script. Association of ideas and +emotions readily explained this. Two new and unexpected interests had +entered his life on the same day, and within half an hour of each other. +What he could not so readily explain, however, was that two words in his +friend's ridiculous letter, and in that kinky writing, stood out sharply +from the rest. As he slipped his envelope into the mouth of the red +pillar-box they shone vividly in his mind. These two words were "Chinese +Magic." + + +2 + +It was the warmth of his friend's invitation as much as his own state of +inward excitement that decided him suddenly to anticipate his visit by +twenty-four hours. It would clear his judgment and help his mind, if he +spent the evening at Hampstead rather than alone with his own thoughts. +"A dose of China," he thought, with a smile, "will do me good. Edward +won't mind. I'll telephone." + +He left the Park soon after six o'clock and acted upon his impulse. The +connexion was bad, the wire buzzed and popped and crackled; talk was +difficult; he did not hear properly. The Professor had not yet come in, +apparently. Francis said he would come up anyhow on the chance. + +"Velly pleased," said the voice in his ear, as he rang off. + +Going into his study, he drafted the note that should result in the +introduction that was now, it appeared, the chief object of his life. +The way this woman with the black, twinkling eyes obsessed him was--he +admitted it with joy--extraordinary. The draft he put in his pocket, +intending to re-write it next morning, and all the way up to Hampstead +Heath the gracious figure glided silently beside him, the eyes were ever +present, his cheek still glowed where the feather boa had touched his +skin. Edward Farque remained in the background. In fact, it was on the +very door-step, having rung the bell, that Francis realized he must pull +himself together. "I've come to see old Farque," he reminded himself, +with a smile. "I've got to be interested in him and his, and, probably, +for an hour or two, to talk Chinese----" when the door opened +noiselessly, and he saw facing him, with a grin of celestial welcome on +his yellow face, a China-man. + +"Oh!" he said, with a start. He had not expected a Chinese servant. + +"Velly pleased," the man bowed him in. + +Dr. Francis stared round him with astonishment he could not conceal. A +great golden idol faced him in the hall, its gleaming visage blazing out +of a sort of miniature golden palanquin, with a grin, half dignified, +half cruel. Fully double human size, it blocked the way, looking so +life-like that it might have moved to meet him without too great a shock +to what seemed possible. It rested on a throne with four massive legs, +carved, the doctor saw, with serpents, dragons, and mythical monsters +generally. Round it on every side were other things in keeping. Name +them he could not, describe them he did not try. He summed them up in +one word--China: pictures, weapons, cloths and tapestries, bells, gongs, +and figures of every sort and kind imaginable. + +Being ignorant of Chinese matters, Dr. Francis stood and looked about +him in a mental state of some confusion. He had the feeling that he had +entered a Chinese temple, for there was a faint smell of incense hanging +about the house that was, to say the least, un-English. Nothing English, +in fact, was visible at all. The matting on the floor, the swinging +curtains of bamboo beads that replaced the customary doors, the silk +draperies and pictured cushions, the bronze and ivory, the screens hung +with fantastic embroideries, everything was Chinese. Hampstead vanished +from his thoughts. The very lamps were in keeping, the ancient lacquered +furniture as well. The value of what he saw, an expert could have told +him, was considerable. + +"You likee?" queried the voice at his side. + +He had forgotten the servant. He turned sharply. + +"Very much; it's wonderfully done," he said. "Makes you feel at home, +John, eh?" he added tactfully, with a smile, and was going to ask how +long all this preparation had taken, when a voice sounded on the stairs +beyond. It was a voice he knew, a note of hearty welcome in its deep +notes. + +"The coming of a friend from a far-off land, even from Harley Street--is +not this true joy?" he heard, and the next minute was shaking the hand +of his old and valued friend. The intimacy between them had always been +of the truest. + +"I almost expected a pigtail," observed Francis, looking him +affectionately up and down, "but, really--why, you've hardly changed at +all!" + +"Outwardly, not as much, perhaps, as Time expects," was the happy +reply, "but inwardly----!" He scanned appreciatively the burly figure of +the doctor in his turn. "And I can say the same of you," he declared, +still holding his hand tight. "This is a real pleasure, Owen," he went +on in his deep voice, "to see you again is a joy to me. Old friends +meeting again--there's nothing like it in life, I believe, nothing." He +gave the hand another squeeze before he let it go. "And we," he added, +leading the way into a room across the hall, "neither of us is a +fugitive from life. We take what we can, I mean." + +The doctor smiled as he noted the un-English turn of language, and +together they entered a sitting-room that was, again, more like some +inner chamber of a Chinese temple than a back room in a rented Hampstead +house. + +"I only knew ten minutes ago that you were coming, my dear fellow," +the scholar was saying, as his friend gazed round him with increased +astonishment, "or I would have prepared more suitably for your +reception. I was out till late. All this"--he waved his hand--"surprises +you, of course, but the fact is I have been home some days already, and +most of what you see was arranged for me in advance of my arrival. Hence +its apparent completion. I say 'apparent,' because, actually, it is far +from faithfully carried out. Yet to exceed," he added, "is as bad as to +fall short." + +The doctor watched him while he listened to a somewhat lengthy +explanation of the various articles surrounding them. The speaker--he +confirmed his first impression--had changed little during the long +interval; the same enthusiasm was in him as before, the same fire and +dreaminess alternately in the fine grey eyes, the same humour and +passion about the mouth, the same free gestures, and the same big voice. +Only the lines had deepened on the forehead, and on the fine face the +air of thoughtfulness was also deeper. It was Edward Farque as of old, +scholar, poet, dreamer and enthusiast, despiser of western civilization, +contemptuous of money, generous and upright, a type of value, an +individual. + +"You've done well, done splendidly, Edward, old man," said his friend +presently, after hearing of Chinese wonders that took him somewhat +beyond his depth perhaps. "No one is more pleased than I. I've watched +your books. You haven't regretted England, I'll be bound?" he asked. + +"The philosopher has no country, in any case," was the reply, steadily +given. "But out there, I confess, I've found my home." He leaned +forward, a deeper earnestness in his tone and expression. And into his +face, as he spoke, came a glow of happiness. "My heart," he said, "is in +China." + +"I see it is, I see it is," put in the other, conscious that he could +not honestly share his friend's enthusiasm. "And you're fortunate to be +free to live where your treasure is," he added after a moment's pause. +"You must be a happy man. Your passion amounts to nostalgia, I suspect. +Already yearning to get back there, probably?" + +Farque gazed at him for some seconds with shining eyes. "You remember +the Persian saying, I'm sure," he said. "'You see a man drink, but you +do not see his thirst.' Well," he added, laughing happily, "you may see +me off in six months' time, but you will not see my happiness." + +While he went on talking, the doctor glanced round the room, marvelling +still at the exquisite taste of everything, the neat arrangement, the +perfect matching of form and colour. A woman might have done this thing, +occurred to him, as the haunting figure shifted deliciously into the +foreground of his mind again. The thought of her had been momentarily +replaced by all he heard and saw. She now returned, filling him with +joy, anticipation and enthusiasm. Presently, when it was his turn to +talk, he would tell his friend about this new, unimagined happiness that +had burst upon him like a sunrise. Presently, but not just yet. He +remembered, too, with a passing twinge of possible boredom to come, that +there must be some delay before his own heart could unburden itself in +its turn. Farque wanted to ask some professional questions, of course. +He had for the moment forgotten that part of the letter in his general +interest and astonishment. + +"Happiness, yes...." he murmured, aware that his thoughts had wandered, +and catching at the last word he remembered hearing. "As you said just +now in your own queer way--you haven't changed a bit, let me tell you, +in your picturesqueness of quotation, Edward--one must not be fugitive +from life; one must seize happiness when and where it offers." + +He said it lightly enough, hugging internally his own sweet secret; but +he was a little surprised at the earnestness of his friend's rejoinder: +"Both of us, I see," came the deep voice, backed by the flash of the +far-seeing grey eyes, "have made some progress in the doctrine of life +and death." He paused, gazing at the other with sight that was obviously +turned inwards upon his own thoughts. "Beauty," he went on presently, +his tone even more serious, "has been my lure; yours, Reality...." + +"You don't flatter either of us, Edward. That's too exclusive a +statement," put in the doctor. He was becoming every minute more and +more interested in the workings of his friend's mind. Something about +the signs offered eluded his understanding. "Explain yourself, old +scholar-poet. I'm a dull, practical mind, remember, and can't keep pace +with Chinese subtleties." + +"_You've_ left out Beauty," was the quiet rejoinder, "while _I_ left out +Reality. That's neither Chinese nor subtle. It is simply true." + +"A bit wholesale, isn't it?" laughed Francis. "A big generalization, +rather." + +A bright light seemed to illuminate the scholar's face. It was as though +an inner lamp was suddenly lit. At the same moment the sound of a soft +gong floated in from the hall outside, so soft that the actual strokes +were not distinguishable in the wave of musical vibration that reached +the ear. + +Farque rose to lead the way in to dinner. + +"What if I----" he whispered, "have combined the two?" And upon his face +was a look of joy that reached down into the other's own full heart with +its unexpectedness and wonder. It was the last remark in the world he +had looked for. He wondered for a moment whether he interpreted it +correctly. + +"By Jove...!" he exclaimed. "Edward, what d'you mean?" + +"You shall hear--after dinner," said Farque, his voice mysterious, his +eyes still shining with his inner joy. "I told you I have some questions +to ask you--professionally." And they took their seats round an ancient, +marvellous table, lit by two swinging lamps of soft green jade, while +the Chinese servant waited on them with the silent movements and deft +neatness of his imperturbable celestial race. + + +3 + +To say that he was bored during the meal were an over-statement of Dr. +Francis's mental condition, but to say that he was half-bored seemed the +literal truth; for one-half of him, while he ate his steak and savoury +and watched Farque manipulating _chou chop suey_ and _chou om dong_ most +cleverly with chop-sticks, was too pre-occupied with his own romance to +allow the other half to give its full attention to the conversation. + +He had entered the room, however, with a distinct quickening of what may +be termed his instinctive and infallible sense of diagnosis. That last +remark of his friend's had stimulated him. He was aware of surprise, +curiosity, and impatience. Willy-nilly, he began automatically to study +him with a profounder interest. Something, he gathered, was not quite as +it should be in Edward Farque's mental composition. There was what might +be called an elusive emotional disturbance. He began to wonder and to +watch. + +They talked, naturally, of China and of things Chinese, for the scholar +responded to little else, and Francis listened with what sympathy and +patience he could muster. Of art and beauty he had hitherto known +little, his mind was practical and utilitarian. He now learned that all +art was derived from China, where a high, fine, subtle culture had +reigned since time immemorial. Older than Egypt was their wisdom. When +the western races were eating one another, before Greece was even heard +of, the Chinese had reached a level of knowledge and achievement that +few realized. Never had they, even in earliest times, been deluded by +anthropomorphic conceptions of the Deity, but perceived in everything +the expressions of a single whole whose giant activities they reverently +worshipped. Their contempt for the western scurry after knowledge, +wealth, machinery, was justified, if Farque was worthy of belief. He +seemed saturated with Chinese thought, art, philosophy, and his natural +bias towards the celestial race had hardened into an attitude to life +that had now become ineradicable. + +"They deal, as it were, in essences," he declared; "they discern the +essence of everything, leaving out the superfluous, the unessential, the +trivial. Their pictures alone prove it. Come with me," he concluded, +"and see the 'Earthly Paradise,' now in the British Museum. It is like +Botticelli, but better than anything Botticelli ever did. It was +painted"--he paused for emphasis--"600 years B.C." + +The wonder of this quiet, ancient civilization, a sense of its depth, +its wisdom, grew upon his listener as the enthusiastic poet described +its charm and influence upon himself. He willingly allowed the +enchantment of the other's Paradise to steal upon his own awakened +heart. There was a good deal Francis might have offered by way of +criticism and objection, but he preferred on the whole to keep his own +views to himself, and to let his friend wander unhindered through the +mazes of his passionate evocation. All men, he well knew, needed a dream +to carry them through life's disappointments, a dream that they could +enter at will and find peace, contentment, happiness. Farque's dream was +China. Why not? It was as good as another, and a man like Farque was +entitled to what dream he pleased. + +"And their women?" he inquired at last, letting both halves of his mind +speak together for the first time. + +But he was not prepared for the expression that leaped upon his friend's +face at the simple question. Nor for his method of reply. It was no +reply, in point of fact. It was simply an attack upon all other types of +woman, and upon the white, the English, in particular--their emptiness, +their triviality, their want of intuitive imagination, of spiritual +grace, of everything, in a word, that should constitute woman a meet +companion for man, and a little higher than the angels into the bargain. +The doctor listened spellbound. Too humorous to be shocked, he was, at +any rate, disturbed by what he heard, displeased a little, too. It +threatened too directly his own new tender dream. + +Only with the utmost self-restraint did he keep his temper under, and +prevent hot words he would have regretted later from tearing his +friend's absurd claim into ragged shreds. He was wounded personally as +well. Never now could he bring himself to tell his own secret to him. +The outburst chilled and disappointed him. But it had another effect--it +cooled his judgment. His sense of diagnosis quickened. He divined an +_idee fixe_, a mania possibly. His interest deepened abruptly. He +watched. He began to look about him with more wary eyes, and a sense of +uneasiness, once the anger passed, stirred in his friendly and +affectionate heart. + +They had been sitting alone over their port for some considerable time, +the servant having long since left the room. The doctor had sought to +change the subject many times without much success, when suddenly +Farque changed it for him. + +"Now," he announced, "I'll tell you something," and Francis guessed that +the professional questions were on the way at last. "We must pity the +living, remember, and part with the dead. Have you forgotten old +Shan-Yu?" + +The forgotten name came back to him, the picturesque East End dealer of +many years ago. "The old merchant who taught you your first Chinese? I +do recall him dimly; now you mention it. You made quite a friend of him, +didn't you? He thought very highly of you--ah, it comes back to me +now--he offered something or other very wonderful in his gratitude, +unless my memory fails me?" + +"His most valuable possession," Farque went on, a strange look deepening +on his face, an expression of mysterious rapture, as it were, and one +that Francis recognized and swiftly pigeon-holed in his now attentive +mind. + +"Which was?" he asked sympathetically. "You told me once, but so long +ago that really it's slipped my mind. Something magical, wasn't it?" He +watched closely for his friend's reply. + +Farque lowered his voice to a whisper almost devotional: + +"The Perfume of the Garden of Happiness," he murmured, with an +expression in his eyes as though the mere recollection gave him joy. +"'Burn it,' he told me, 'in a brazier; then inhale. You will enter the +Valley of a Thousand Temples wherein lies the Garden of Happiness, and +there you will meet your Love. You will have seven years of happiness +with your Love before the Waters of Separation flow between you. I give +this to you who alone of men here have appreciated the wisdom of my +land. Follow my body towards the Sunrise. You, an eastern soul in a +barbarian body, will meet your Destiny.'" + +The doctor's attention, such is the power of self-interest, quickened +amazingly as he heard. His own romance flamed up with power. His +friend--it dawned upon him suddenly--loved a woman. + +"Come," said Farque, rising quietly, "we will go into the other room, +and I will show you what I have shown to but one other in the world +before. You are a doctor," he continued, as he led the way to the +silk-covered divan where golden dragons swallowed crimson suns, and +wonderful jade horses hovered near. "You understand the mind and nerves. +States of consciousness you also can explain, and the effect of drugs +is, doubtless, known to you." He swung to the heavy curtains that took +the place of door, handed a lacquered box of cigarettes to his friend, +and lit one himself. "Perfumes, too," he added, "you probably have +studied, with their extraordinary evocative power." He stood in the +middle of the room, the green light falling on his interesting and +thoughtful face, and for a passing second Francis, watching keenly, +observed a change flit over it and vanish. The eyes grew narrow and slid +tilted upwards, the skin wore a shade of yellow underneath the green +from the lamp of jade, the nose slipped back a little, the cheek-bones +forward. + +"Perfumes," said the doctor, "no. Of perfumes I know nothing, beyond +their interesting effect upon the memory. I cannot help you there. +But, you, I suspect," and he looked up with an inviting sympathy that +concealed the close observation underneath, "you yourself, I feel sure, +can tell me something of value about them?" + +"Perhaps," was the calm reply, "perhaps, for I have smelt the perfume of +the Garden of Happiness, and I have been in the Valley of a Thousand +Temples." He spoke with a glow of joy and reverence almost devotional. + +The doctor waited in some suspense, while his friend moved towards an +inlaid cabinet across the room. More than broad-minded, he was that much +rarer thing, an open-minded man, ready at a moment's notice to discard +all preconceived ideas, provided new knowledge that necessitated the +holocaust were shown to him. At present, none the less, he held very +definite views of his own. "Please ask me any questions you like," he +added. "All I know is entirely yours, as always." He was aware of +suppressed excitement in his friend that betrayed itself in every word +and look and gesture, an excitement intense, and not as yet explained by +anything he had seen or heard. + +The scholar, meanwhile, had opened a drawer in the cabinet and taken +from it a neat little packet tied up with purple silk. He held it with +tender, almost loving care, as he came and sat down on the divan beside +his friend. + +"This," he said, in a tone, again, of something between reverence and +worship, "contains what I have to show you first." He slowly unrolled +it, disclosing a yet smaller silken bag within, coloured a deep rich +orange. There were two vertical columns of writing on it, painted in +Chinese characters. The doctor leaned forward to examine them. His +friend translated: + +"The Perfume of the Garden of Happiness," he read aloud, tracing +the letters of the first column with his finger. "The Destroyer of +Honourable Homes," he finished, passing to the second, and then +proceeded to unwrap the little silken bag. Before it was actually open, +however, and the pale shredded material resembling coloured chaff +visible to the eyes, the doctor's nostrils had recognized the strange +aroma he had first noticed about his friend's letter received earlier +in the day. The same soft, penetrating odour, sharply piercing, sweet +and delicate, rose to his brain. It stirred at once a deep emotional +pleasure in him. Having come to him first when he was aglow with his own +unexpected romance, his mind and heart full of the woman he had just +left, that delicious, torturing state revived in him quite naturally. +The evocative power of perfume with regard to memory is compelling. A +livelier sympathy towards his friend, and towards what he was about to +hear, awoke in him spontaneously. + +He did not mention the letter, however. He merely leaned over to smell +the fragrant perfume more easily. + +Farque drew back the open packet instantly, at the same time holding +out a warning hand. "Careful," he said gravely, "be careful, my old +friend--unless you desire to share the rapture and the risk that have +been mine. To enjoy its full effect, true, this dust must be burned in a +brazier and its smoke inhaled; but even sniffed, as you now would sniff +it, and you are in danger----" + +"Of what?" asked Francis, impressed by the other's extraordinary +intensity of voice and manner. + +"Of Heaven; but, possibly, of Heaven before your time." + + +4 + +The tale that Farque unfolded then had certainly a strange celestial +flavour, a glory not of this dull world; and as his friend listened, his +interest deepened with every minute, while his bewilderment increased. +He watched closely, expert that he was, for clues that might guide his +deductions aright, but for all his keen observation and experience he +could detect no inconsistency, no weakness, nothing that betrayed the +smallest mental aberration. The origin and nature of what he already +decided was an _idee fixe_, a mania, evaded him entirely. This evasion +piqued and vexed him; he had heard a thousand tales of similar type +before; that this one in particular should baffle his unusual skill +touched his pride. Yet he faced the position honestly, he confessed +himself baffled until the end of the evening. When he went away, +however, he went away satisfied, even forgetful--because a new problem +of yet more poignant interest had replaced the first. + +"It was after three years out there," said Farque, "that a sense of my +loneliness first came upon me. It came upon me bitterly. My work had +not then been recognized; obstacles and difficulties had increased; I +felt a failure; I had accomplished nothing. And it seemed to me I had +misjudged my capacities, taken a wrong direction, and wasted my life +accordingly. For my move to China, remember, was a radical move, and my +boats were burnt behind me. This sense of loneliness was really +devastating." + +Francis, already fidgeting, put up his hand. + +"One question, if I may," he said, "and I'll not interrupt again." + +"By all means," said the other patiently, "what is it?" + +"Were you--we are such old friends"--he apologized--"were you still +celibate as ever?" + +Farque looked surprised, then smiled. "My habits had not changed," he +replied, "I was, as always, celibate." + +"Ah!" murmured the doctor, and settled down to listen. + +"And I think now," his friend went on, "that it was the lack of +companionship that first turned my thoughts towards conscious +disappointment. However that may be, it was one evening, as I walked +homewards to my little house, that I caught my imagination lingering +upon English memories, though chiefly, I admit, upon my old Chinese +tutor, the dead Shan-Yu. + +"It was dusk, the stars were coming out in the pale evening air, and the +orchards, as I passed them, stood like wavering ghosts of unbelievable +beauty. The effect of thousands upon thousands of these trees, flooding +the twilight of a spring evening with their sea of blossom, is almost +unearthly. They seem transparencies, their colour hangs sheets upon the +very sky. I crossed a small wooden bridge that joined two of these +orchards above a stream, and in the dark water I watched a moment the +mingled reflection of stars and flowering branches on the quiet surface. +It seemed too exquisite to belong to earth, this fairy garden of stars +and blossoms, shining faintly in the crystal depths, and my thought, as +I gazed, dived suddenly down the little avenue that memory opened into +former days. I remembered Shan-Yu's present, given to me when he died. +His very words came back to me: The Garden of Happiness in the Valley +of the Thousand Temples, with its promise of love, of seven years of +happiness, and the prophecy that I should follow his body towards the +Sunrise and meet my destiny. + +"This memory I took home with me into my lonely little one-storey house +upon the hill. My servants did not sleep there. There was no one near. I +sat by the open window with my thoughts, and you may easily guess that +before very long I had unearthed the long-forgotten packet from among my +things, spread a portion of its contents on a metal tray above a lighted +brazier, and was comfortably seated before it, inhaling the light blue +smoke with its exquisite and fragrant perfume. + +"A light air entered through the window, the distant orchards below me +trembled, rose and floated through the dusk, and I found myself, almost +at once, in a pavilion of flowers; a blue river lay shining in the sun +before me, as it wandered through a lovely valley where I saw groves of +flowering trees among a thousand scattered temples. Drenched in light +and colour, the Valley lay dreaming amid a peaceful loveliness that woke +what seemed impossible, unrealizable, longings in my heart. I yearned +towards its groves and temples, I would bathe my soul in that flood of +tender light, and my body in the blue coolness of that winding river. +In a thousand temples must I worship. Yet these impossible yearnings +instantly were satisfied. I found myself there at once ... and the time +that passed over my head you may reckon in centuries, if not in ages. I +was in the Garden of Happiness and its marvellous perfume banished time +and sorrow, there was no end to chill the soul, nor any beginning, which +is its foolish counterpart. + +"Nor was there loneliness." The speaker clasped his thin hands, and +closed his eyes a moment in what was evidently an ecstasy of the +sweetest memory man may ever know. A slight trembling ran through his +frame, communicating itself to his friend upon the divan beside +him--this understanding, listening, sympathetic friend, whose eyes had +never once yet withdrawn their attentive gaze from the narrator's face. + +"I was not alone," the scholar resumed, opening his eyes again, and +smiling out of some deep inner joy. "Shan-Yu came down the steps of the +first temple and took my hand, while the great golden figures in the dim +interior turned their splendid shining heads to watch. Then, breathing +the soul of his ancient wisdom in my ear, he led me through all the +perfumed ways of that enchanted garden, worshipping with me at a hundred +deathless shrines, led me, I tell you, to the sound of soft gongs and +gentle bells, by fragrant groves and sparkling streams, mid a million +gorgeous flowers, until, beneath that unsetting sun, we reached the +heart of the Valley, where the source of the river gushed forth beneath +the lighted mountains. He stopped and pointed across the narrow waters. +I saw the woman----" + +"_The_ woman," his listener murmured beneath his breath, though Farque +seemed unaware of interruption. + +"She smiled at me and held her hands out, and while she did so, even +before I could express my joy and wonder in response, Shan-Yu, I saw, +had crossed the narrow stream and stood beside her. I made to follow +then, my heart burning with inexpressible delight. But Shan-Yu held up +his hand, as they began to move down the flowered bank together, making +a sign that I should keep pace with them, though on my own side. + +"Thus, side by side, yet with the blue sparkling stream between us, +we followed back along its winding course, through the heart of that +enchanted valley, my hands stretched out towards the radiant figure of +my Love, and hers stretched out towards me. They did not touch, but our +eyes, our smiles, our thoughts, these met and mingled in a sweet union +of unimagined bliss, so that the absence of physical contact was +unnoticed and laid no injury on our marvellous joy. It was a spirit +union, and our kiss a spirit kiss. Therein lay the subtlety and glory of +the Chinese wonder, for it was our _essences_ that met, and for such +union there is no satiety and, equally, no possible end. The Perfume of +the Garden of Happiness is an essence. We were in Eternity. + +"The stream, meanwhile, widened between us, and as it widened, my Love +grew farther from me in space, smaller, less visibly defined, yet ever +essentially more perfect, and never once with a sense of distance that +made our union less divinely close. Across the widening reaches of blue, +sunlit water I still knew her smile, her eyes, the gestures of her +radiant being; I saw her exquisite reflection in the stream; and, mid +the music of those soft gongs and gentle bells, the voice of Shan-Yu +came like a melody to my ears: + +"'You have followed me into the sunrise, and have found your destiny. +Behold now your Love. In this Valley of a Thousand Temples you have +known the Garden of Happiness, and its Perfume your soul now inhales.' + +"'I am bathed,' I answered, 'in a happiness divine. It is forever.' + +"'The Waters of Separation,' his answer floated like a bell, 'lie +widening between you.' + +"I moved nearer to the bank, impelled by the pain in his words to take +my Love and hold her to my breast. + +"'But I would cross to her,' I cried, and saw that, as I moved, Shan-Yu +and my Love came likewise closer to the water's edge across the widening +river. They both obeyed, I was aware, my slightest wish. + +"'Seven years of Happiness you may know,' sang his gentle tones across +the brimming flood, 'if you would cross to her. Yet the Destroyer of +Honourable Homes lies in the shadows that you must cast outside.' + +"I heard his words, I noticed for the first time that in the blaze of +this radiant sunshine we cast no shadows on the sea of flowers at our +feet, and--I stretched out my arms towards my Love across the river. + +"'I accept my destiny,' I cried, 'I will have my seven years of bliss,' +and stepped forward into the running flood. As the cool water took my +feet, my Love's hands stretched out both to hold me and to bid me stay. +There was acceptance in her gesture, but there was warning too. + +"I did not falter. I advanced until the water bathed my knees, and my +Love, too, came to meet me, the stream already to her waist, while our +arms stretched forth above the running flood towards each other. + +"The change came suddenly. Shan-Yu first faded behind her advancing +figure into air; there stole a chill upon the sunlight; a cool mist rose +from the water, hiding the Garden and the hills beyond; our fingers +touched, I gazed into her eyes, our lips lay level with the water--and +the room was dark and cold about me. The brazier stood extinguished at +my side. The dust had burnt out, and no smoke rose. I slowly left my +chair and closed the window, for the air was chill." + + +5 + +It was difficult at first to return to Hampstead and the details of +ordinary life about him. Francis looked round him slowly, freeing +himself gradually from the spell his friend's words had laid even upon +his analytical temperament. The transition was helped, however, by the +details that everywhere met his eye. The Chinese atmosphere remained. +More, its effect had gained, if anything. The embroideries of yellow +gold, the pictures, the lacquered stools and inlaid cabinets, above all, +the exquisite figures in green jade upon the shelf beside him, all this, +in the shimmering pale olive light the lamps shed everywhere, helped his +puzzled mind to bridge the gulf from the Garden of Happiness into the +decorated villa upon Hampstead Heath. + +There was silence between the two men for several minutes. Far was it +from the doctor's desire to injure his old friend's delightful fantasy. +For he called it fantasy, although something in him trembled. He +remained, therefore, silent. Truth to tell, perhaps, he knew not exactly +what to say. + +Farque broke the silence himself. He had not moved since the story +ended; he sat motionless, his hands tightly clasped, his eyes alight +with the memory of his strange imagined joy, his face rapt and almost +luminous, as though he still wandered through the groves of the +Enchanted Garden and inhaled the perfume of its perfect happiness in the +Valley of the Thousand Temples. + +"It was two days later," he went on suddenly in his quiet voice, "only +two days afterwards, that I met her." + +"You met her? You met the woman of your dream?" Francis's eyes opened +very wide. + +"In that little harbour town," repeated Farque calmly, "I met her in the +flesh. She had just landed in a steamer from up the coast. The details +are of no particular interest. She knew me, of course, at once. And, +naturally, I knew her." + +The doctor's tongue refused to act as he heard. It dawned upon him +suddenly that his friend was married. He remembered the woman's touch +about the house; he recalled, too, for the first time that the letter of +invitation to dinner had said "come to _us_." He was full of a +bewildered astonishment. + +The reaction upon himself was odd, perhaps, yet wholly natural. His +heart warmed towards his imaginative friend. He could now tell him his +own new strange romance. The woman who haunted him crept back into the +room and sat between them. He found his tongue. + +"You married her, Edward?" he exclaimed. + +"She is my wife," was the reply, in a gentle, happy voice. + +"A Ch----" he could not bring himself to say the word. "A foreigner?" + +"My wife is a Chinese woman," Farque helped him easily, with a delighted +smile. + +So great was the other's absorption in the actual moment, that he had +not heard the step in the passage that his host had heard. The latter +stood up suddenly. + +"I hear her now," he said. "I'm glad she's come back before you left." +He stepped towards the door. + +But before he reached it, the door was opened and in came the woman +herself. Francis tried to rise, but something had happened to him. His +heart missed a beat. Something, it seemed, broke in him. He faced +a tall, graceful young English woman with black eyes of sparkling +happiness, the woman of his own romance. She still wore the feather boa +round her neck. She was no more Chinese than he was. + +"My wife," he heard Farque introducing them, as he struggled to his +feet, searching feverishly for words of congratulation, normal, everyday +words he ought to use, "I'm so pleased, oh, so pleased," Farque was +saying--he heard the sound from a distance, his sight was blurred as +well--"my two best friends in the world, my English comrade and my +Chinese wife." His voice was absolutely sincere with conviction and +belief. + +"But we have already met," came the woman's delightful voice, her eyes +full upon his face with smiling pleasure, "I saw you at Mrs. Malleson's +tea only this afternoon." + +And Francis remembered suddenly that the Mallesons were old +acquaintances of Farque's as well as of himself. "And I even dared to +ask who you were," the voice went on, floating from some other space, it +seemed, to his ears, "I had you pointed out to me. I had heard of you +from Edward, of course. But you vanished before I could be introduced." + +The doctor mumbled something or other polite and, he hoped, adequate. +But the truth had flashed upon him with remorseless suddenness. She had +"heard of" him--the famous mental specialist. Her interest in him was +cruelly explained, cruelly both for himself and for his friend. Farque's +delusion lay clear before his eyes. An awakening to reality might +involve dislocation of the mind. _She_, too, moreover, knew the truth. +She was involved as well. And her interest in himself was--consultation. + +"Seven years we've been married, just seven years to-day," Farque was +saying thoughtfully, as he looked at them. "Curious, rather, isn't it?" + +"Very," said Francis, turning his regard from the black eyes to the +grey. + +Thus it was that Owen Francis left the house a little later with a mind +in a measure satisfied, yet in a measure forgetful too--forgetful of his +own deep problem, because another of even greater interest had replaced +it. + +"Why undeceive him?" ran his thought. "He need never know. It's harmless +anyhow--I can tell her that." + +But, side by side with this reflection, ran another that was oddly +haunting, considering his type of mind: "Destroyer of Honourable Homes," +was the form of words it took. And with a sigh he added "Chinese +Magic." + + + + +III + +RUNNING WOLF + + +The man who enjoys an adventure outside the general experience of the +race, and imparts it to others, must not be surprised if he is taken for +either a liar or a fool, as Malcolm Hyde, hotel clerk on a holiday, +discovered in due course. Nor is "enjoy" the right word to use in +describing his emotions; the word he chose was probably "survive." + +When he first set eyes on Medicine Lake he was struck by its still, +sparkling beauty, lying there in the vast Canadian backwoods; next, by +its extreme loneliness; and, lastly--a good deal later, this--by its +combination of beauty, loneliness, and singular atmosphere, due to the +fact that it was the scene of his adventure. + +"It's fairly stiff with big fish," said Morton of the Montreal Sporting +Club. "Spend your holiday there--up Mattawa way, some fifteen miles west +of Stony Creek. You'll have it all to yourself except for an old Indian +who's got a shack there. Camp on the east side--if you'll take a tip +from me." He then talked for half an hour about the wonderful sport; yet +he was not otherwise very communicative, and did not suffer questions +gladly, Hyde noticed. Nor had he stayed there very long himself. If it +was such a paradise as Morton, its discoverer and the most experienced +rod in the province, claimed, why had he himself spent only three days +there? + +"Ran short of grub," was the explanation offered; but to another +friend he had mentioned briefly, "flies," and to a third, so Hyde +learned later, he gave the excuse that his half-breed "took sick," +necessitating a quick return to civilization. + +Hyde, however, cared little for the explanations; his interest in these +came later. "Stiff with fish" was the phrase he liked. He took the +Canadian Pacific train to Mattawa, laid in his outfit at Stony Creek, +and set off thence for the fifteen-mile canoe-trip without a care in the +world. + +Travelling light, the portages did not trouble him; the water was swift +and easy, the rapids negotiable; everything came his way, as the saying +is. Occasionally he saw big fish making for the deeper pools, and was +sorely tempted to stop; but he resisted. He pushed on between the +immense world of forests that stretched for hundreds of miles, known to +deer, bear, moose, and wolf, but strange to any echo of human tread, a +deserted and primeval wilderness. The autumn day was calm, the water +sang and sparkled, the blue sky hung cloudless over all, ablaze with +light. Toward evening he passed an old beaver-dam, rounded a little +point, and had his first sight of Medicine Lake. He lifted his dripping +paddle; the canoe shot with silent glide into calm water. He gave an +exclamation of delight, for the loveliness caught his breath away. + +Though primarily a sportsman, he was not insensible to beauty. The lake +formed a crescent, perhaps four miles long, its width between a mile and +half a mile. The slanting gold of sunset flooded it. No wind stirred its +crystal surface. Here it had lain since the redskin's god first made +it; here it would lie until he dried it up again. Towering spruce and +hemlock trooped to its very edge, majestic cedars leaned down as if to +drink, crimson sumachs shone in fiery patches, and maples gleamed orange +and red beyond belief. The air was like wine, with the silence of a +dream. + +It was here the red men formerly "made medicine," with all the wild +ritual and tribal ceremony of an ancient day. But it was of Morton, +rather than of Indians, that Hyde thought. If this lonely, hidden +paradise was really stiff with big fish, he owed a lot to Morton for the +information. Peace invaded him, but the excitement of the hunter lay +below. + +He looked about him with quick, practised eye for a camping-place before +the sun sank below the forests and the half-lights came. The Indian's +shack, lying in full sunshine on the eastern shore, he found at once; +but the trees lay too thick about it for comfort, nor did he wish to be +so close to its inhabitant. Upon the opposite side, however, an ideal +clearing offered. This lay already in shadow, the huge forest darkening +it toward evening; but the open space attracted. He paddled over quickly +and examined it. The ground was hard and dry, he found, and a little +brook ran tinkling down one side of it into the lake. This outfall, too, +would be a good fishing spot. Also it was sheltered. A few low willows +marked the mouth. + +An experienced camper soon makes up his mind. It was a perfect site, +and some charred logs, with traces of former fires, proved that he +was not the first to think so. Hyde was delighted. Then, suddenly, +disappointment came to tinge his pleasure. His kit was landed, and +preparations for putting up the tent were begun, when he recalled +a detail that excitement had so far kept in the background of his +mind--Morton's advice. But not Morton's only, for the storekeeper +at Stony Creek had reinforced it. The big fellow with straggling +moustache and stooping shoulders, dressed in shirt and trousers, had +handed him out a final sentence with the bacon, flour, condensed milk, +and sugar. He had repeated Morton's half-forgotten words: + +"Put yer tent on the east shore. I should," he had said at parting. + +He remembered Morton, too, apparently. "A shortish fellow, brown as an +Indian and fairly smelling of the woods. Travelling with Jake, the +half-breed." That assuredly was Morton. "Didn't stay long, now, did +he?" he added in a reflective tone. + +"Going Windy Lake way, are yer? Or Ten Mile Water, maybe?" he had first +inquired of Hyde. + +"Medicine Lake." + +"Is that so?" the man said, as though he doubted it for some obscure +reason. He pulled at his ragged moustache a moment. "Is that so, now?" +he repeated. And the final words followed him down-stream after a +considerable pause--the advice about the best shore on which to put his +tent. + +All this now suddenly flashed back upon Hyde's mind with a tinge of +disappointment and annoyance, for when two experienced men agreed, their +opinion was not to be lightly disregarded. He wished he had asked the +storekeeper for more details. He looked about him, he reflected, he +hesitated. His ideal camping-ground lay certainly on the forbidden +shore. What in the world, he pondered, could be the objection to it? + +But the light was fading; he must decide quickly one way or the other. +After staring at his unpacked dunnage and the tent, already half +erected, he made up his mind with a muttered expression that consigned +both Morton and the storekeeper to less pleasant places. "They must have +_some_ reason," he growled to himself; "fellows like that usually know +what they're talking about. I guess I'd better shift over to the other +side--for to-night, at any rate." + +He glanced across the water before actually reloading. No smoke rose +from the Indian's shack. He had seen no sign of a canoe. The man, he +decided, was away. Reluctantly, then, he left the good camping-ground +and paddled across the lake, and half an hour later his tent was up, +firewood collected, and two small trout were already caught for supper. +But the bigger fish, he knew, lay waiting for him on the other side by +the little outfall, and he fell asleep at length on his bed of balsam +boughs, annoyed and disappointed, yet wondering how a mere sentence +could have persuaded him so easily against his own better judgment. He +slept like the dead; the sun was well up before he stirred. + +But his morning mood was a very different one. The brilliant light, the +peace, the intoxicating air, all this was too exhilarating for the mind +to harbour foolish fancies, and he marvelled that he could have been so +weak the night before. No hesitation lay in him anywhere. He struck camp +immediately after breakfast, paddled back across the strip of shining +water, and quickly settled in upon the forbidden shore, as he now called +it, with a contemptuous grin. And the more he saw of the spot, the +better he liked it. There was plenty of wood, running water to drink, +an open space about the tent, and there were no flies. The fishing, +moreover, was magnificent. Morton's description was fully justified, and +"stiff with big fish" for once was not an exaggeration. + +The useless hours of the early afternoon he passed dozing in the sun, or +wandering through the underbrush beyond the camp. He found no sign of +anything unusual. He bathed in a cool, deep pool; he revelled in the +lonely little paradise. Lonely it certainly was, but the loneliness was +part of its charm; the stillness, the peace, the isolation of this +beautiful backwoods lake delighted him. The silence was divine. He was +entirely satisfied. + +After a brew of tea, he strolled toward evening along the shore, looking +for the first sign of a rising fish. A faint ripple on the water, with +the lengthening shadows, made good conditions. _Plop_ followed _plop_, +as the big fellows rose, snatched at their food, and vanished into the +depths. He hurried back. Ten minutes later he had taken his rods and was +gliding cautiously in the canoe through the quiet water. + +So good was the sport, indeed, and so quickly did the big trout pile up +in the bottom of the canoe that, despite the growing lateness, he found +it hard to tear himself away. "One more," he said, "and then I really +will go." He landed that "one more," and was in act of taking it off the +hook, when the deep silence of the evening was curiously disturbed. He +became abruptly aware that someone watched him. A pair of eyes, it +seemed, were fixed upon him from some point in the surrounding shadows. + +Thus, at least, he interpreted the odd disturbance in his happy mood; +for thus he felt it. The feeling stole over him without the slightest +warning. He was not alone. The slippery big trout dropped from his +fingers. He sat motionless, and stared about him. + +Nothing stirred; the ripple on the lake had died away; there was no +wind; the forest lay a single purple mass of shadow; the yellow sky, +fast fading, threw reflections that troubled the eye and made distances +uncertain. But there was no sound, no movement; he saw no figure +anywhere. Yet he knew that someone watched him, and a wave of quite +unreasoning terror gripped him. The nose of the canoe was against the +bank. In a moment, and instinctively, he shoved it off and paddled into +deeper water. The watcher, it came to him also instinctively, was quite +close to him upon that bank. But where? And who? Was it the Indian? + +Here, in deeper water, and some twenty yards from the shore, he paused +and strained both sight and hearing to find some possible clue. He felt +half ashamed, now that the first strange feeling passed a little. But +the certainty remained. Absurd as it was, he felt positive that someone +watched him with concentrated and intent regard. Every fibre in his +being told him so; and though he could discover no figure, no new +outline on the shore, he could even have sworn in which clump of willow +bushes the hidden person crouched and stared. His attention seemed drawn +to that particular clump. + +The water dripped slowly from his paddle, now lying across the thwarts. +There was no other sound. The canvas of his tent gleamed dimly. A star +or two were out. He waited. Nothing happened. + +Then, as suddenly as it had come, the feeling passed, and he knew that +the person who had been watching him intently had gone. It was as if a +current had been turned off; the normal world flowed back; the landscape +emptied as if someone had left a room. The disagreeable feeling left him +at the same time, so that he instantly turned the canoe in to the shore +again, landed, and, paddle in hand, went over to examine the clump of +willows he had singled out as the place of concealment. There was no one +there, of course, nor any trace of recent human occupancy. No leaves, +no branches stirred, nor was a single twig displaced; his keen and +practised sight detected no sign of tracks upon the ground. Yet, for all +that, he felt positive that a little time ago someone had crouched among +these very leaves and watched him. He remained absolutely convinced of +it. The watcher, whether Indian, hunter, stray lumberman, or wandering +half-breed, had now withdrawn, a search was useless, and dusk was +falling. He returned to his little camp, more disturbed perhaps than he +cared to acknowledge. He cooked his supper, hung up his catch on a +string, so that no prowling animal could get at it during the night, and +prepared to make himself comfortable until bedtime. Unconsciously, he +built a bigger fire than usual, and found himself peering over his pipe +into the deep shadows beyond the firelight, straining his ears to catch +the slightest sound. He remained generally on the alert in a way that +was new to him. + +A man under such conditions and in such a place need not know discomfort +until the sense of loneliness strikes him as too vivid a reality. +Loneliness in a backwoods camp brings charm, pleasure, and a happy sense +of calm until, and unless, it comes too near. It should remain an +ingredient only among other conditions; it should not be directly, +vividly noticed. Once it has crept within short range, however, it may +easily cross the narrow line between comfort and discomfort, and +darkness is an undesirable time for the transition. A curious dread may +easily follow--the dread lest the loneliness suddenly be disturbed, and +the solitary human feel himself open to attack. + +For Hyde, now, this transition had been already accomplished; the too +intimate sense of his loneliness had shifted abruptly into the worse +condition of no longer being quite alone. It was an awkward moment, and +the hotel clerk realized his position exactly. He did not quite like it. +He sat there, with his back to the blazing logs, a very visible object +in the light, while all about him the darkness of the forest lay like an +impenetrable wall. He could not see a foot beyond the small circle of +his camp-fire; the silence about him was like the silence of the dead. +No leaf rustled, no wave lapped; he himself sat motionless as a log. + +Then again he became suddenly aware that the person who watched him had +returned, and that same intent and concentrated gaze as before was fixed +upon him where he lay. There was no warning; he heard no stealthy tread +or snapping of dry twigs, yet the owner of those steady eyes was very +close to him, probably not a dozen feet away. This sense of proximity +was overwhelming. + +It is unquestionable that a shiver ran down his spine. This time, +moreover, he felt positive that the man crouched just beyond the +firelight, the distance he himself could see being nicely calculated, +and straight in front of him. For some minutes he sat without stirring a +single muscle, yet with each muscle ready and alert, straining his eyes +in vain to pierce the darkness, but only succeeding in dazzling his +sight with the reflected light. Then, as he shifted his position slowly, +cautiously, to obtain another angle of vision, his heart gave two big +thumps against his ribs and the hair seemed to rise on his scalp with +the sense of cold that shot horribly up his spine. In the darkness +facing him he saw two small and greenish circles that were certainly +a pair of eyes, yet not the eyes of Indian, hunter, or of any human +being. It was a pair of animal eyes that stared so fixedly at him out of +the night. And this certainly had an immediate and natural effect upon +him. + +For, at the menace of those eyes, the fears of millions of long dead +hunters since the dawn of time woke in him. Hotel clerk though he was, +heredity surged through him in an automatic wave of instinct. His hand +groped for a weapon. His fingers fell on the iron head of his small camp +axe, and at once he was himself again. Confidence returned; the vague, +superstitious dread was gone. This was a bear or wolf that smelt +his catch and came to steal it. With beings of that sort he knew +instinctively how to deal, yet admitting, by this very instinct, that +his original dread had been of quite another kind. + +"I'll damned quick find out what it is," he exclaimed aloud, and +snatching a burning brand from the fire, he hurled it with good aim +straight at the eyes of the beast before him. + +The bit of pitch-pine fell in a shower of sparks that lit the dry grass +this side of the animal, flared up a moment, then died quickly down +again. But in that instant of bright illumination he saw clearly what +his unwelcome visitor was. A big timber wolf sat on its hindquarters, +staring steadily at him through the firelight. He saw its legs and +shoulders, he saw its hair, he saw also the big hemlock trunks lit up +behind it, and the willow scrub on each side. It formed a vivid, +clear-cut picture shown in clear detail by the momentary blaze. To his +amazement, however, the wolf did not turn and bolt away from the burning +log, but withdrew a few yards only, and sat there again on its haunches, +staring, staring as before. Heavens, how it stared! He "shoo-ed" it, but +without effect; it did not budge. He did not waste another good log on +it, for his fear was dissipated now; a timber wolf was a timber wolf, +and it might sit there as long as it pleased, provided it did not try to +steal his catch. No alarm was in him any more. He knew that wolves were +harmless in the summer and autumn, and even when "packed" in the winter, +they would attack a man only when suffering desperate hunger. So he lay +and watched the beast, threw bits of stick in its direction, even talked +to it, wondering only that it never moved. "You can stay there for ever, +if you like," he remarked to it aloud, "for you cannot get at my fish, +and the rest of the grub I shall take into the tent with me!" + +The creature blinked its bright green eyes, but made no move. + +Why, then, if his fear was gone, did he think of certain things as he +rolled himself in the Hudson Bay blankets before going to sleep? The +immobility of the animal was strange, its refusal to turn and bolt was +still stranger. Never before had he known a wild creature that was not +afraid of fire. Why did it sit and watch him, as with purpose in its +dreadful eyes? How had he felt its presence earlier and instantly? A +timber wolf, especially a solitary timber wolf, was a timid thing, yet +this one feared neither man nor fire. Now, as he lay there wrapped in +his blankets inside the cosy tent, it sat outside beneath the stars, +beside the fading embers, the wind chilly in its fur, the ground cooling +beneath its planted paws, watching him, steadily watching him, perhaps +until the dawn. + +It was unusual, it was strange. Having neither imagination nor +tradition, he called upon no store of racial visions. Matter of fact, a +hotel clerk on a fishing holiday, he lay there in his blankets, merely +wondering and puzzled. A timber wolf was a timber wolf and nothing more. +Yet this timber wolf--the idea haunted him--was different. In a word, +the deeper part of his original uneasiness remained. He tossed about, he +shivered sometimes in his broken sleep; he did not go out to see, but he +woke early and unrefreshed. + +Again, with the sunshine and the morning wind, however, the incident of +the night before was forgotten, almost unreal. His hunting zeal was +uppermost. The tea and fish were delicious, his pipe had never tasted so +good, the glory of this lonely lake amid primeval forests went to his +head a little; he was a hunter before the Lord, and nothing else. He +tried the edge of the lake, and in the excitement of playing a big fish, +knew suddenly that _it_, the wolf, was there. He paused with the rod, +exactly as if struck. He looked about him, he looked in a definite +direction. The brilliant sunshine made every smallest detail clear and +sharp--boulders of granite, burned stems, crimson sumach, pebbles along +the shore in neat, separate detail--without revealing where the watcher +hid. Then, his sight wandering farther inshore among the tangled +undergrowth, he suddenly picked up the familiar, half-expected outline. +The wolf was lying behind a granite boulder, so that only the head, the +muzzle, and the eyes were visible. It merged in its background. Had he +not known it was a wolf, he could never have separated it from the +landscape. The eyes shone in the sunlight. + +There it lay. He looked straight at it. Their eyes, in fact, actually +met full and square. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed aloud, "why, it's like +looking at a human being!" From that moment, unwittingly, he established +a singular personal relation with the beast. And what followed confirmed +this undesirable impression, for the animal rose instantly and came down +in leisurely fashion to the shore, where it stood looking back at him. +It stood and stared into his eyes like some great wild dog, so that he +was aware of a new and almost incredible sensation--that it courted +recognition. + +"Well! well!" he exclaimed again, relieving his feelings by addressing +it aloud, "if this doesn't beat everything I ever saw! What d'you want, +anyway?" + +He examined it now more carefully. He had never seen a wolf so big +before; it was a tremendous beast, a nasty customer to tackle, he +reflected, if it ever came to that. It stood there absolutely fearless +and full of confidence. In the clear sunlight he took in every detail of +it--a huge, shaggy, lean-flanked timber wolf, its wicked eyes staring +straight into his own, almost with a kind of purpose in them. He saw its +great jaws, its teeth, and its tongue, hung out, dropping saliva a +little. And yet the idea of its savagery, its fierceness, was very +little in him. + +He was amazed and puzzled beyond belief. He wished the Indian would come +back. He did not understand this strange behaviour in an animal. Its +eyes, the odd expression in them, gave him a queer, unusual, difficult +feeling. Had his nerves gone wrong, he almost wondered. + +The beast stood on the shore and looked at him. He wished for the first +time that he had brought a rifle. With a resounding smack he brought his +paddle down flat upon the water, using all his strength, till the echoes +rang as from a pistol-shot that was audible from one end of the lake to +the other. The wolf never stirred. He shouted, but the beast remained +unmoved. He blinked his eyes, speaking as to a dog, a domestic animal, +a creature accustomed to human ways. It blinked its eyes in return. + +At length, increasing his distance from the shore, he continued fishing, +and the excitement of the marvellous sport held his attention--his +surface attention, at any rate. At times he almost forgot the attendant +beast; yet whenever he looked up, he saw it there. And worse; when he +slowly paddled home again, he observed it trotting along the shore as +though to keep him company. Crossing a little bay, he spurted, hoping to +reach the other point before his undesired and undesirable attendant. +Instantly the brute broke into that rapid, tireless lope that, except on +ice, can run down anything on four legs in the woods. When he reached +the distant point, the wolf was waiting for him. He raised his paddle +from the water, pausing a moment for reflection; for this very close +attention--there were dusk and night yet to come--he certainly did not +relish. His camp was near; he had to land; he felt uncomfortable even +in the sunshine of broad day, when, to his keen relief, about half a +mile from the tent, he saw the creature suddenly stop and sit down in +the open. He waited a moment, then paddled on. It did not follow. There +was no attempt to move; it merely sat and watched him. After a few +hundred yards, he looked back. It was still sitting where he left it. +And the absurd, yet significant, feeling came to him that the beast +divined his thought, his anxiety, his dread, and was now showing him, as +well as it could, that it entertained no hostile feeling and did not +meditate attack. + +He turned the canoe toward the shore; he landed; he cooked his supper in +the dusk; the animal made no sign. Not far away it certainly lay and +watched, but it did not advance. And to Hyde, observant now in a new +way, came one sharp, vivid reminder of the strange atmosphere into which +his commonplace personality had strayed: he suddenly recalled that his +relations with the beast, already established, had progressed distinctly +a stage further. This startled him, yet without the accompanying +alarm he must certainly have felt twenty-four hours before. He had an +understanding with the wolf. He was aware of friendly thoughts toward +it. He even went so far as to set out a few big fish on the spot where +he had first seen it sitting the previous night. "If he comes," he +thought, "he is welcome to them. I've got plenty, anyway." He thought of +it now as "he." + +Yet the wolf made no appearance until he was in the act of entering +his tent a good deal later. It was close on ten o'clock, whereas nine +was his hour, and late at that, for turning in. He had, therefore, +unconsciously been waiting for him. Then, as he was closing the flap, he +saw the eyes close to where he had placed the fish. He waited, hiding +himself, and expecting to hear sounds of munching jaws; but all was +silence. Only the eyes glowed steadily out of the background of pitch +darkness. He closed the flap. He had no slightest fear. In ten minutes +he was sound asleep. + +He could not have slept very long, for when he woke up he could see the +shine of a faint red light through the canvas, and the fire had not died +down completely. He rose and cautiously peeped out. The air was very +cold; he saw his breath. But he also saw the wolf, for it had come in, +and was sitting by the dying embers, not two yards away from where he +crouched behind the flap. And this time, at these very close quarters, +there was something in the attitude of the big wild thing that caught +his attention with a vivid thrill of startled surprise and a sudden +shock of cold that held him spellbound. He stared, unable to believe his +eyes; for the wolf's attitude conveyed to him something familiar that at +first he was unable to explain. Its pose reached him in the terms of +another thing with which he was entirely at home. What was it? Did his +senses betray him? Was he still asleep and dreaming? + +Then, suddenly, with a start of uncanny recognition, he knew. Its +attitude was that of a dog. Having found the clue, his mind then made +an awful leap. For it was, after all, no dog its appearance aped, but +something nearer to himself, and more familiar still. Good heavens! +It sat there with the pose, the attitude, the gesture in repose of +something almost human. And then, with a second shock of biting wonder, +it came to him like a revelation. The wolf sat beside that camp-fire as +a man might sit. + +Before he could weigh his extraordinary discovery, before he could +examine it in detail or with care, the animal, sitting in this ghastly +fashion, seemed to feel his eyes fixed on it. It slowly turned and +looked him in the face, and for the first time Hyde felt a full-blooded, +superstitious fear flood through his entire being. He seemed transfixed +with that nameless terror that is said to attack human beings who +suddenly face the dead, finding themselves bereft of speech and +movement. This moment of paralysis certainly occurred. Its passing, +however, was as singular as its advent. For almost at once he was aware +of something beyond and above this mockery of human attitude and pose, +something that ran along unaccustomed nerves and reached his feeling, +even perhaps his heart. The revulsion was extraordinary, its result +still more extraordinary and unexpected. Yet the fact remains. He was +aware of another thing that had the effect of stilling his terror as +soon as it was born. He was aware of appeal, silent, half expressed, +yet vastly pathetic. He saw in the savage eyes a beseeching, even a +yearning, expression that changed his mood as by magic from dread to +natural sympathy. The great grey brute, symbol of cruel ferocity, sat +there beside his dying fire and appealed for help. + +This gulf betwixt animal and human seemed in that instant bridged. It +was, of course, incredible. Hyde, sleep still possibly clinging to his +inner being with the shades and half shapes of dream yet about his +soul, acknowledged, how he knew not, the amazing fact. He found himself +nodding to the brute in half consent, and instantly, without more ado, +the lean grey shape rose like a wraith and trotted off swiftly, but with +stealthy tread, into the background of the night. + +When Hyde woke in the morning his first impression was that he must have +dreamed the entire incident. His practical nature asserted itself. There +was a bite in the fresh autumn air; the bright sun allowed no half +lights anywhere; he felt brisk in mind and body. Reviewing what had +happened, he came to the conclusion that it was utterly vain to +speculate; no possible explanation of the animal's behaviour occurred to +him; he was dealing with something entirely outside his experience. His +fear, however, had completely left him. The odd sense of friendliness +remained. The beast had a definite purpose, and he himself was included +in that purpose. His sympathy held good. + +But with the sympathy there was also an intense curiosity. "If it shows +itself again," he told himself, "I'll go up close and find out what it +wants." The fish laid out the night before had not been touched. + +It must have been a full hour after breakfast when he next saw the +brute; it was standing on the edge of the clearing, looking at him in +the way now become familiar. Hyde immediately picked up his axe and +advanced toward it boldly, keeping his eyes fixed straight upon its own. +There was nervousness in him, but kept well under; nothing betrayed it; +step by step he drew nearer until some ten yards separated them. The +wolf had not stirred a muscle as yet. Its jaws hung open, its eyes +observed him intently; it allowed him to approach without a sign of what +its mood might be. Then, with these ten yards between them, it turned +abruptly and moved slowly off, looking back first over one shoulder and +then over the other, exactly as a dog might do, to see if he was +following. + +A singular journey it was they then made together, animal and man. The +trees surrounded them at once, for they left the lake behind them, +entering the tangled bush beyond. The beast, Hyde noticed, obviously +picked the easiest track for him to follow; for obstacles that meant +nothing to the four-legged expert, yet were difficult for a man, were +carefully avoided with an almost uncanny skill, while yet the general +direction was accurately kept. Occasionally there were windfalls to be +surmounted; but though the wolf bounded over these with ease, it was +always waiting for the man on the other side after he had laboriously +climbed over. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the lonely forest +they penetrated in this singular fashion, cutting across the arc of the +lake's crescent, it seemed to Hyde; for after two miles or so, he +recognized the big rocky bluff that overhung the water at its northern +end. This outstanding bluff he had seen from his camp, one side of it +falling sheer into the water; it was probably the spot, he imagined, +where the Indians held their medicine-making ceremonies, for it stood +out in isolated fashion, and its top formed a private plateau not easy +of access. And it was here, close to a big spruce at the foot of the +bluff upon the forest side, that the wolf stopped suddenly and for the +first time since its appearance gave audible expression to its feelings. +It sat down on its haunches, lifted its muzzle with open jaws, and gave +vent to a subdued and long-drawn howl that was more like the wail of a +dog than the fierce barking cry associated with a wolf. + +By this time Hyde had lost not only fear, but caution too; nor, oddly +enough, did this warning howl revive a sign of unwelcome emotion in +him. In that curious sound he detected the same message that the eyes +conveyed--appeal for help. He paused, nevertheless, a little startled, +and while the wolf sat waiting for him, he looked about him quickly. +There was young timber here; it had once been a small clearing, +evidently. Axe and fire had done their work, but there was evidence to +an experienced eye that it was Indians and not white men who had once +been busy here. Some part of the medicine ritual, doubtless, took place +in the little clearing, thought the man, as he advanced again towards +his patient leader. The end of their queer journey, he felt, was close +at hand. + +He had not taken two steps before the animal got up and moved very +slowly in the direction of some low bushes that formed a clump just +beyond. It entered these, first looking back to make sure that its +companion watched. The bushes hid it; a moment later it emerged again. +Twice it performed this pantomime, each time, as it reappeared, standing +still and staring at the man with as distinct an expression of appeal in +the eyes as an animal may compass, probably. Its excitement, meanwhile, +certainly increased, and this excitement was, with equal certainty, +communicated to the man. Hyde made up his mind quickly. Gripping his axe +tightly, and ready to use it at the first hint of malice, he moved +slowly nearer to the bushes, wondering with something of a tremor what +would happen. + +If he expected to be startled, his expectation was at once fulfilled; +but it was the behaviour of the beast that made him jump. It positively +frisked about him like a happy dog. It frisked for joy. Its excitement +was intense, yet from its open mouth no sound was audible. With a sudden +leap, then, it bounded past him into the clump of bushes, against whose +very edge he stood, and began scraping vigorously at the ground. Hyde +stood and stared, amazement and interest now banishing all his +nervousness, even when the beast, in its violent scraping, actually +touched his body with its own. He had, perhaps, the feeling that he was +in a dream, one of those fantastic dreams in which things may happen +without involving an adequate surprise; for otherwise the manner of +scraping and scratching at the ground must have seemed an impossible +phenomenon. No wolf, no dog certainly, used its paws in the way those +paws were working. Hyde had the odd, distressing sensation that it was +hands, not paws, he watched. And yet, somehow, the natural, adequate +surprise he should have felt was absent. The strange action seemed not +entirely unnatural. In his heart some deep hidden spring of sympathy and +pity stirred instead. He was aware of pathos. + +The wolf stopped in its task and looked up into his face. Hyde acted +without hesitation then. Afterwards he was wholly at a loss to explain +his own conduct. It seemed he knew what to do, divined what was asked, +expected of him. Between his mind and the dumb desire yearning through +the savage animal there was intelligent and intelligible communication. +He cut a stake and sharpened it, for the stones would blunt his +axe-edge. He entered the clump of bushes to complete the digging his +four-legged companion had begun. And while he worked, though he did not +forget the close proximity of the wolf, he paid no attention to it; +often his back was turned as he stooped over the laborious clearing +away of the hard earth; no uneasiness or sense of danger was in him any +more. The wolf sat outside the clump and watched the operations. Its +concentrated attention, its patience, its intense eagerness, the +gentleness and docility of the grey, fierce, and probably hungry brute, +its obvious pleasure and satisfaction, too, at having won the human to +its mysterious purpose--these were colours in the strange picture that +Hyde thought of later when dealing with the human herd in his hotel +again. At the moment he was aware chiefly of pathos and affection. The +whole business was, of course, not to be believed, but that discovery +came later, too, when telling it to others. + +The digging continued for fully half an hour before his labour was +rewarded by the discovery of a small whitish object. He picked it up and +examined it--the finger-bone of a man. Other discoveries then followed +quickly and in quantity. The _cache_ was laid bare. He collected nearly +the complete skeleton. The skull, however, he found last, and might not +have found at all but for the guidance of his strangely alert companion. +It lay some few yards away from the central hole now dug, and the wolf +stood nuzzling the ground with its nose before Hyde understood that he +was meant to dig exactly in that spot for it. Between the beast's very +paws his stake struck hard upon it. He scraped the earth from the bone +and examined it carefully. It was perfect, save for the fact that some +wild animal had gnawed it, the teeth-marks being still plainly visible. +Close beside it lay the rusty iron head of a tomahawk. This and the +smallness of the bones confirmed him in his judgment that it was the +skeleton not of a white man, but of an Indian. + +During the excitement of the discovery of the bones one by one, and +finally of the skull, but, more especially, during the period of intense +interest while Hyde was examining them, he had paid little, if any, +attention to the wolf. He was aware that it sat and watched him, never +moving its keen eyes for a single moment from the actual operations, but +of sign or movement it made none at all. He knew that it was pleased and +satisfied, he knew also that he had now fulfilled its purpose in a great +measure. The further intuition that now came to him, derived, he felt +positive, from his companion's dumb desire, was perhaps the cream of the +entire experience to him. Gathering the bones together in his coat, he +carried them, together with the tomahawk, to the foot of the big spruce +where the animal had first stopped. His leg actually touched the +creature's muzzle as he passed. It turned its head to watch, but did not +follow, nor did it move a muscle while he prepared the platform of +boughs upon which he then laid the poor worn bones of an Indian who had +been killed, doubtless, in sudden attack or ambush, and to whose remains +had been denied the last grace of proper tribal burial. He wrapped the +bones in bark; he laid the tomahawk beside the skull; he lit the +circular fire round the pyre, and the blue smoke rose upward into the +clear bright sunshine of the Canadian autumn morning till it was lost +among the mighty trees far overhead. + +In the moment before actually lighting the little fire he had turned to +note what his companion did. It sat five yards away, he saw, gazing +intently, and one of its front paws was raised a little from the ground. +It made no sign of any kind. He finished the work, becoming so absorbed +in it that he had eyes for nothing but the tending and guarding of his +careful ceremonial fire. It was only when the platform of boughs +collapsed, laying their charred burden gently on the fragrant earth +among the soft wood ashes, that he turned again, as though to show the +wolf what he had done, and seek, perhaps, some look of satisfaction in +its curiously expressive eyes. But the place he searched was empty. The +wolf had gone. + +He did not see it again; it gave no sign of its presence anywhere; he +was not watched. He fished as before, wandered through the bush about +his camp, sat smoking round his fire after dark, and slept peacefully +in his cosy little tent. He was not disturbed. No howl was ever audible +in the distant forest, no twig snapped beneath a stealthy tread, he saw +no eyes. The wolf that behaved like a man had gone for ever. + +It was the day before he left that Hyde, noticing smoke rising from the +shack across the lake, paddled over to exchange a word or two with the +Indian, who had evidently now returned. The Redskin came down to meet +him as he landed, but it was soon plain that he spoke very little +English. He emitted the familiar grunts at first; then bit by bit Hyde +stirred his limited vocabulary into action. The net result, however, was +slight enough, though it was certainly direct: + +"You camp there?" the man asked, pointing to the other side. + +"Yes." + +"Wolf come?" + +"Yes." + +"You see wolf?" + +"Yes." + +The Indian stared at him fixedly a moment, a keen, wondering look upon +his coppery, creased face. + +"You 'fraid wolf?" he asked after a moment's pause. + +"No," replied Hyde, truthfully. He knew it was useless to ask questions +of his own, though he was eager for information. The other would have +told him nothing. It was sheer luck that the man had touched on the +subject at all, and Hyde realized that his own best role was merely to +answer, but to ask no questions. Then, suddenly, the Indian became +comparatively voluble. There was awe in his voice and manner. + +"Him no wolf. Him big medicine wolf. Him spirit wolf." + +Whereupon he drank the tea the other had brewed for him, closed his lips +tightly, and said no more. His outline was discernible on the shore, +rigid and motionless, an hour later, when Hyde's canoe turned the +corner of the lake three miles away, and landed to make the portages up +the first rapid of his homeward stream. + +It was Morton who, after some persuasion, supplied further details +of what he called the legend. Some hundred years before, the tribe +that lived in the territory beyond the lake began their annual +medicine-making ceremonies on the big rocky bluff at the northern end; +but no medicine could be made. The spirits, declared the chief medicine +man, would not answer. They were offended. An investigation followed. It +was discovered that a young brave had recently killed a wolf, a thing +strictly forbidden, since the wolf was the totem animal of the tribe. To +make matters worse, the name of the guilty man was Running Wolf. The +offence being unpardonable, the man was cursed and driven from the +tribe: + +"Go out. Wander alone among the woods, and if we see you we slay you. +Your bones shall be scattered in the forest, and your spirit shall not +enter the Happy Hunting Grounds till one of another race shall find and +bury them." + +"Which meant," explained Morton laconically, his only comment on the +story, "probably for ever." + + + + +IV + +FIRST HATE + + +They had been shooting all day; the weather had been perfect and the +powder straight, so that when they assembled in the smoking-room after +dinner they were well pleased with themselves. From discussing the day's +sport and the weather outlook, the conversation drifted to other, though +still cognate, fields. Lawson, the crack shot of the party, mentioned +the instinctive recognition all animals feel for their natural enemies, +and gave several instances in which he had tested it--tame rats with a +ferret, birds with a snake, and so forth. + +"Even after being domesticated for generations," he said, "they +recognize their natural enemy at once by instinct, an enemy they can +never even have seen before. It's infallible. They know instantly." + +"Undoubtedly," said a voice from the corner chair; "and so do we." + +The speaker was Ericssen, their host, a great hunter before the Lord, +generally uncommunicative but a good listener, leaving the talk to +others. For this latter reason, as well as for a certain note of +challenge in his voice, his abrupt statement gained attention. + +"What do you mean exactly by 'so do we'?" asked three men together, +after waiting some seconds to see whether he meant to elaborate, which +he evidently did not. + +"We belong to the animal kingdom, of course," put in a fourth, for +behind the challenge there obviously lay a story, though a story that +might be difficult to drag out of him. It was. + +Ericssen, who had leaned forward a moment so that his strong, humorous +face was in clear light, now sank back again into his chair, his +expression concealed by the red lampshade at his side. The light played +tricks, obliterating the humorous, almost tender lines, while +emphasizing the strength of the jaw and nose. The red glare lent to the +whole a rather grim expression. + +Lawson, man of authority among them, broke the little pause. + +"You're dead right," he observed, "but how do you know it?"--for John +Ericssen never made a positive statement without a good reason for it. +That good reason, he felt sure, involved a personal proof, but a story +Ericssen would never tell before a general audience. He would tell it +later, however, when the others had left. "There's such a thing as +instinctive antipathy, of course," he added, with a laugh, looking +around him. "That's what you mean probably." + +"I meant exactly what I said," replied the host bluntly. "There's first +love. There's first hate, too." + +"Hate's a strong word," remarked Lawson. + +"So is love," put in another. + +"Hate's strongest," said Ericssen grimly. "In the animal kingdom, at +least," he added suggestively, and then kept his lips closed, except to +sip his liquor, for the rest of the evening--until the party at length +broke up, leaving Lawson and one other man, both old trusted friends of +many years' standing. + +"It's not a tale I'd tell to everybody," he began, when they were alone. +"It's true, for one thing; for another, you see, some of those good +fellows"--he indicated the empty chairs with an expressive nod of his +great head--"some of 'em knew him. You both knew him too, probably." + +"The man you hated," said the understanding Lawson. + +"And who hated me," came the quiet confirmation. "My other reason," he +went on, "for keeping quiet was that the tale involves my wife." + +The two listeners said nothing, but each remembered the curiously long +courtship that had been the prelude to his marriage. No engagement had +been announced, the pair were devoted to one another, there was no known +rival on either side; yet the courtship continued without coming to its +expected conclusion. Many stories were afloat in consequence. It was a +social mystery that intrigued the gossips. + +"I may tell you two," Ericssen continued, "the reason my wife refused +for so long to marry me. It is hard to believe, perhaps, but it is true. +Another man wished to make her his wife, and she would not consent to +marry me until that other man was dead. Quixotic, absurd, unreasonable? +If you like. I'll tell you what she said." He looked up with a +significant expression in his face which proved that he, at least, did +not now judge her reason foolish. "'Because it would be murder,' she +told me. 'Another man who wants to marry me would kill you.'" + +"She had some proof for the assertion, no doubt?" suggested Lawson. + +"None whatever," was the reply. "Merely her woman's instinct. Moreover, +_I_ did not know who the other man was, nor would she ever tell me." + +"Otherwise you might have murdered him instead?" said Baynes, the second +listener. + +"I did," said Ericssen grimly. "But without knowing he was the man." He +sipped his whisky and relit his pipe. The others waited. + +"Our marriage took place two months later--just after Hazel's +disappearance." + +"Hazel?" exclaimed Lawson and Baynes in a single breath. "Hazel! Member +of the Hunters!" His mysterious disappearance had been a nine days' +wonder some ten years ago. It had never been explained. They had all +been members of the Hunters' Club together. + +"That's the chap," Ericssen said. "Now I'll tell you the tale, if you +care to hear it." They settled back in their chairs to listen, and +Ericssen, who had evidently never told the affair to another living soul +except his own wife, doubtless, seemed glad this time to tell it to two +men. + +"It began some dozen years ago when my brother Jack and I came home from +a shooting trip in China. I've often told you about our adventures +there, and you see the heads hanging up here in the smoking-room--some +of 'em." He glanced round proudly at the walls. "We were glad to be in +town again after two years' roughing it, and we looked forward to our +first good dinner at the club, to make up for the rotten cooking we had +endured so long. We had ordered that dinner in anticipatory detail many +a time together. Well, we had it and enjoyed it up to a point--the point +of the _entree_, to be exact. + +"Up to that point it was delicious, and we let ourselves go, I can tell +you. We had ordered the very wine we had planned months before when we +were snow-bound and half starving in the mountains." He smacked his lips +as he mentioned it. "I was just starting on a beautifully cooked +grouse," he went on, "when a figure went by our table, and Jack looked +up and nodded. The two exchanged a brief word of greeting and +explanation, and the other man passed on. Evidently they knew each other +just enough to make a word or two necessary, but enough. + +"'Who's that?' I asked. + +"'A new member, named Hazel,' Jack told me. 'A great shot.' He knew him +slightly, he explained; he had once been a client of his--Jack was a +barrister, you remember--and had defended him in some financial case or +other. Rather an unpleasant case, he added. Jack did not 'care about' +the fellow, he told me, as he went on with his tender wing of grouse." + +Ericssen paused to relight his pipe a moment. + +"Not care about him!" he continued. "It didn't surprise me, for my own +feeling, the instant I set eyes on the fellow, was one of violent, +instinctive dislike that amounted to loathing. Loathing! No. I'll give +it the right word--hatred. I simply couldn't help myself; I hated the +man from the very first go off. A wave of repulsion swept over me as I +followed him down the room a moment with my eyes, till he took his seat +at a distant table and was out of sight. Ugh! He was a big, fat-faced +man, with an eyeglass glued into one of his pale-blue cod-like eyes--out +of condition, ugly as a toad, with a smug expression of intense +self-satisfaction on his jowl that made me long to---- + +"I leave it to you to guess what I would have liked to do to him. But +the instinctive loathing he inspired in me had another aspect, too. Jack +had not introduced us during the momentary pause beside our table, but +as I looked up I caught the fellow's eye on mine--he was glaring at +me instead of at Jack, to whom he was talking--with an expression of +malignant dislike, as keen evidently as my own. That's the other aspect +I meant. He hated me as violently as I hated him. We were instinctive +enemies, just as the rat and ferret are instinctive enemies. Each +recognized a mortal foe. It was a case--I swear it--of whoever got first +chance." + +"Bad as that!" exclaimed Baynes. "I knew him by sight. He wasn't pretty, +I'll admit." + +"I knew him to nod to," Lawson mentioned. "I never heard anything +particular against him." He shrugged his shoulders. + +Ericssen went on. "It was not his character or qualities I hated," he +said. "I didn't even know them. That's the whole point. There's no +reason you fellows should have disliked him. _My_ hatred--our mutual +hatred--was instinctive, as instinctive as first love. A man knows his +natural mate; also he knows his natural enemy. I did, at any rate, both +with him and with my wife. Given the chance, Hazel would have done me +in; just as surely, given the chance, I would have done him in. No +blame to either of us, what's more, in my opinion." + +"I've felt dislike, but never hatred like that," Baynes mentioned. "I +came across it in a book once, though. The writer did not mention the +instinctive fear of the human animal for its natural enemy, or anything +of that sort. He thought it was a continuance of a bitter feud begun in +an earlier existence. He called it memory." + +"Possibly," said Ericssen briefly. "My mind is not speculative. But I'm +glad you spoke of fear. I left that out. The truth is, I feared the +fellow, too, in a way; and had we ever met face to face in some wild +country without witnesses I should have felt justified in drawing on him +at sight, and he would have felt the same. Murder? If you like. I should +call it self-defence. Anyhow, the fellow polluted the room for me. He +spoilt the enjoyment of that dinner we had ordered months before in +China." + +"But you saw him again, of course, later?" + +"Lots of times. Not that night, because we went on to a theatre. But in +the club we were always running across one another--in the houses of +friends at lunch or dinner; at race meetings; all over the place; in +fact, I even had some trouble to avoid being introduced to him. And +every time we met our eyes betrayed us. He felt in his heart what I felt +in mine. Ugh! He was as loathsome to me as leprosy, and as dangerous. +Odd, isn't it? The most intense feeling, except love, I've ever known. I +remember"--he laughed gruffly--"I used to feel quite sorry for him. If +he felt what I felt, and I'm convinced he did, he must have suffered. +His one object--to get me out of the way for good--was so impossible. +Then Fate played a hand in the game. I'll tell you how. + +"My brother died a year or two later, and I went abroad to try and +forget it. I went salmon fishing in Canada. But, though the sport was +good, it was not like the old times with Jack. The camp never felt the +same without him. I missed him badly. But I forgot Hazel for the time; +hating did not seem worth while, somehow. + +"When the best of the fishing was over on the Atlantic side, I took a +run back to Vancouver and fished there for a bit. I went up the Campbell +River, which was not so crowded then as it is now, and had some rattling +sport. Then I grew tired of the rod and decided to go after wapiti for a +change. I came back to Victoria and learned what I could about the best +places, and decided finally to go up the west coast of the island. By +luck I happened to pick up a good guide, who was in the town at the +moment on business, and we started off together in one of the little +Canadian Pacific Railway boats that ply along that coast. + +"Outfitting two days later at a small place the steamer stopped at, the +guide said we needed another man to help pack our kit over portages, +and so forth, but the only fellow available was a Siwash of whom he +disapproved. My guide would not have him at any price; he was lazy, a +drunkard, a liar, and even worse, for on one occasion he came back +without the sportsman he had taken up country on a shooting trip, and +his story was not convincing, to say the least. These disappearances are +always awkward, of course, as you both know. We preferred, anyhow, to go +without the Siwash, and off we started. + +"At first our luck was bad. I saw many wapiti, but no good heads; only +after a fortnight's hunting did I manage to get a decent head, though +even that was not so good as I should have liked. + +"We were then near the head waters of a little river that ran down into +the Inlet; heavy rains had made the river rise; running downstream was a +risky job, what with old log-jams shifting and new ones forming; and, +after many narrow escapes, we upset one afternoon and had the misfortune +to lose a lot of our kit, amongst it most of our cartridges. We could +only muster a few between us. The guide had a dozen; I had two--just +enough, we considered, to take us out all right. Still, it was an +infernal nuisance. We camped at once to dry out our soaked things in +front of a big fire, and while this laundry work was going on, the guide +suggested my filling in the time by taking a look at the next little +valley, which ran parallel to ours. He had seen some good heads over +there a few weeks ago. Possibly I might come upon the herd. I started at +once, taking my two cartridges with me. + +"It was the devil of a job getting over the divide, for it was a badly +bushed-up place, and where there were no bushes there were boulders and +fallen trees, and the going was slow and tiring. But I got across at +last and came out upon another stream at the bottom of the new valley. +Signs of wapiti were plentiful, though I never came up with a single +beast all the afternoon. Blacktail deer were everywhere, but the wapiti +remained invisible. Providence, or whatever you like to call that which +there is no escaping in our lives, made me save my two cartridges." + +Ericssen stopped a minute then. It was not to light his pipe or sip his +whisky. Nor was it because the remainder of his story failed in the +recollection of any vivid detail. He paused a moment to think. + +"Tell us the lot," pleaded Lawson. "Don't leave out anything." + +Ericssen looked up. His friend's remark had helped him to make up his +mind apparently. He _had_ hesitated about something or other, but the +hesitation passed. He glanced at both his listeners. + +"Right," he said. "I'll tell you everything. I'm not imaginative, as you +know, and my amount of superstition, I should judge, is microscopic." He +took a longer breath, then lowered his voice a trifle. "Anyhow," he went +on, "it's true, so I don't see why I should feel shy about admitting +it--but as I stood there in that lonely valley, where only the noises of +wind and water were audible, and no human being, except my guide, some +miles away, was within reach, a curious feeling came over me I find +difficult to describe. I felt"--obviously he made an effort to get the +word out--"I felt creepy." + +"You," murmured Lawson, with an incredulous smile--"you creepy?" he +repeated under his breath. + +"I felt creepy and afraid," continued the other, with conviction. "I +had the sensation of being seen by someone--as if someone, I mean, +was watching me. It was so unlikely that anyone was near me in that +God-forsaken bit of wilderness, that I simply couldn't believe it at +first. But the feeling persisted. I felt absolutely positive somebody +was not far away among the red maples, behind a boulder, across the +little stream, perhaps, somewhere, at any rate, so near that I was +plainly visible to him. It was not an animal. It was human. Also, it +was hostile. + +"I was in danger. + +"You may laugh, both of you, but I assure you the feeling was so +positive that I crouched down instinctively to hide myself behind a +rock. My first thought, that the guide had followed me for some reason +or other, I at once discarded. It was not the guide. It was an enemy. + +"No, no, I thought of no one in particular. No name, no face occurred to +me. Merely that an enemy was on my trail, that he saw me, and I did not +see him, and that he was near enough to me to--well, to take instant +action. This deep instinctive feeling of danger, of fear, of anything +you like to call it, was simply overwhelming. + +"Another curious detail I must also mention. About half an hour before, +having given up all hope of seeing wapiti, I had decided to kill a +blacktail deer for meat. A good shot offered itself, not thirty yards +away. I aimed. But just as I was going to pull the trigger a queer +emotion touched me, and I lowered the rifle. It was exactly as though a +voice said, 'Don't!' I heard no voice, mind you; it was an emotion only, +a feeling, a sudden inexplicable change of mind--a warning, if you +like. I didn't fire, anyhow. + +"But now, as I crouched behind that rock, I remembered this curious +little incident, and was glad I had not used up my last two cartridges. +More than that I cannot tell you. Things of that kind are new to me. +They're difficult enough to tell, let alone to explain. But they were +_real_. + +"I crouched there, wondering what on earth was happening to me, and, +feeling a bit of a fool, if you want to know, when suddenly, over the +top of the boulder, I saw something moving. It was a man's hat. I peered +cautiously. Some sixty yards away the bushes parted, and two men came +out on to the river's bank, and I knew them both. One was the Siwash I +had seen at the store. The other was Hazel. Before I had time to think +I cocked my rifle." + +"Hazel. Good Lord!" exclaimed the listeners. + +"For a moment I was too surprised to do anything but cock that rifle. I +waited, for what puzzled me was that, after all, Hazel had _not_ seen +me. It was only the feeling of his beastly proximity that had made me +feel I was seen and watched by him. There was something else, too, that +made me pause before--er--doing anything. Two other things, in fact. One +was that I was so intensely interested in watching the fellow's actions. +Obviously he had the same uneasy sensation that I had. He shared with me +the nasty feeling that danger was about. His rifle, I saw, was cocked +and ready; he kept looking behind him, over his shoulder, peering this +way and that, and sometimes addressing a remark to the Siwash at his +side. I caught the laughter of the latter. The Siwash evidently did not +think there was danger anywhere. It was, of course, unlikely enough----" + +"And the other thing that stopped you?" urged Lawson, impatiently +interrupting. + +Ericssen turned with a look of grim humour on his face. + +"Some confounded or perverted sense of chivalry in me, I suppose," he +said, "that made it impossible to shoot him down in cold blood, or, +rather, without letting him have a chance. For my blood, as a matter of +fact, was far from cold at the moment. Perhaps, too, I wanted the added +satisfaction of letting him know who fired the shot that was to end his +vile existence." + +He laughed again. "It was rat and ferret in the human kingdom," he went +on, "but I wanted my rat to have a chance, I suppose. Anyhow, though I +had a perfect shot in front of me at easy distance, I did not fire. +Instead I got up, holding my cocked rifle ready, finger on trigger, and +came out of my hiding place. I called to him. 'Hazel, you beast! So +there you are--at last!' + +"He turned, but turned away from me, offering his horrid back. The +direction of the voice he misjudged. He pointed down stream, and the +Siwash turned to look. Neither of them had seen me yet. There was a big +log-jam below them. The roar of the water in their ears concealed my +footsteps. I was, perhaps, twenty paces from them when Hazel, with a +jerk of his whole body, abruptly turned clean round and faced me. We +stared into each other's eyes. + +"The amazement on his face changed instantly to hatred and resolve. He +acted with incredible rapidity. I think the unexpected suddenness of his +turn made me lose a precious second or two. Anyhow he was ahead of me. +He flung his rifle to his shoulder. 'You devil!' I heard his voice. +'I've got you at last!' His rifle cracked, for he let drive the same +instant. The hair stirred just above my ear. + +"He had missed! + +"Before he could draw back his bolt for another shot I had acted. + +"'You're not fit to live!' I shouted, as my bullet crashed into his +temple. I had the satisfaction, too, of knowing that he heard my words. +I saw the swift expression of frustrated loathing in his eyes. + +"He fell like an ox, his face splashing in the stream. I shoved the body +out. I saw it sucked beneath the log-jam instantly. It disappeared. +There could be no inquest on him, I reflected comfortably. Hazel was +gone--gone from this earth, from my life, our mutual hatred over at +last." + +The speaker paused a moment. "Odd," he continued presently--"very odd +indeed." He turned to the others. "I felt quite sorry for him suddenly. +I suppose," he added, "the philosophers are right when they gas about +hate being very close to love." + +His friends contributed no remark. + +"Then I came away," he resumed shortly. "My wife--well, you know the +rest, don't you? I told her the whole thing. She--she said nothing. But +she married me, you see." + +There was a moment's silence. Baynes was the first to break it. +"But--the Siwash?" he asked. "The witness?" + +Lawson turned upon him with something of contemptuous impatience. + +"He told you he had _two_ cartridges." + +Ericssen, smiling grimly, said nothing at all. + + + + +V + +THE TARN OF SACRIFICE + + +John Holt, a vague excitement in him, stood at the door of the little +inn, listening to the landlord's directions as to the best way of +reaching Scarsdale. He was on a walking tour through the Lake District, +exploring the smaller dales that lie away from the beaten track and are +accessible only on foot. + +The landlord, a hard-featured north countryman, half innkeeper, half +sheep farmer, pointed up the valley. His deep voice had a friendly burr +in it. + +"You go straight on till you reach the head," he said, "then take to the +fell. Follow the 'sheep-trod' past the Crag. Directly you're over the +top you'll strike the road." + +"A road up there!" exclaimed his customer incredulously. + +"Aye," was the steady reply. "The old Roman road. The same road," he +added, "the savages came down when they burst through the Wall and burnt +everything right up to Lancaster----" + +"They were held--weren't they--at Lancaster?" asked the other, yet not +knowing quite why he asked it. + +"I don't rightly know," came the answer slowly. "Some say they were. But +the old town has been that built over since, it's hard to tell." He +paused a moment. "At Ambleside," he went on presently, "you can still +see the marks of the burning, and at the little fort on the way to +Ravenglass." + +Holt strained his eyes into the sunlit distance, for he would soon have +to walk that road and he was anxious to be off. But the landlord was +communicative and interesting. "You can't miss it," he told him. "It +runs straight as a spear along the fell top till it meets the Wall. You +must hold to it for about eight miles. Then you'll come to the Standing +Stone on the left of the track----" + +"The Standing Stone, yes?" broke in the other a little eagerly. + +"You'll see the Stone right enough. It was where the Romans came. Then +bear to the left down another 'trod' that comes into the road there. +They say it was the war-trail of the folk that set up the Stone." + +"And what did they use the Stone for?" Holt inquired, more as though he +asked it of himself than of his companion. + +The old man paused to reflect. He spoke at length. + +"I mind an old fellow who seemed to know about such things called it a +Sighting Stone. He reckoned the sun shone over it at dawn on the longest +day right on to the little holm in Blood Tarn. He said they held +sacrifices in a stone circle there." He stopped a moment to puff at his +black pipe. "Maybe he was right. I have seen stones lying about that may +well be that." + +The man was pleased and willing to talk to so good a listener. Either he +had not noticed the curious gesture the other made, or he read it as a +sign of eagerness to start. The sun was warm, but a sharp wind from the +bare hills went between them with a sighing sound. Holt buttoned his +coat about him. "An odd name for a mountain lake--Blood Tarn," he +remarked, watching the landlord's face expectantly. + +"Aye, but a good one," was the measured reply. "When I was a boy the old +folk had a tale that the savages flung three Roman captives from that +crag into the water. There's a book been written about it; they say it +was a sacrifice, but most likely they were tired of dragging them along, +_I_ say. Anyway, that's what the writer said. One, I mind, now you ask +me, was a priest of some heathen temple that stood near the Wall, and +the other two were his daughter and her lover." He guffawed. At least he +made a strange noise in his throat. Evidently, thought Holt, he was +sceptical yet superstitious. "It's just an old tale handed down, +whatever the learned folk may say," the old man added. + +"A lonely place," began Holt, aware that a fleeting touch of awe was +added suddenly to his interest. + +"Aye," said the other, "and a bad spot too. Every year the Crag takes +its toll of sheep, and sometimes a man goes over in the mist. It's right +beside the track and very slippery. Ninety foot of a drop before you hit +the water. Best keep round the tarn and leave the Crag alone if there's +any mist about. Fishing? Yes, there's some quite fair trout in the tarn, +but it's not much fished. Happen one of the shepherd lads from Tyson's +farm may give it a turn with an 'otter,'" he went on, "once in a while, +but he won't stay for the evening. He'll clear out before sunset." + +"Ah! Superstitious, I suppose?" + +"It's a gloomy, chancy spot--and with the dusk falling," agreed the +innkeeper eventually. "None of our folk care to be caught up there with +night coming on. Most handy for a shepherd, too--but Tyson can't get +a man to bide there." He paused again, then added significantly: +"Strangers don't seem to mind it though. It's only our own folk----" + +"Strangers!" repeated the other sharply, as though he had been waiting +all along for this special bit of information. "You don't mean to say +there are people living up there?" A curious thrill ran over him. + +"Aye," replied the landlord, "but they're daft folk--a man and his +daughter. They come every spring. It's early in the year yet, but I mind +Jim Backhouse, one of Tyson's men, talking about them last week." He +stopped to think. "So they've come back," he went on decidedly. "They +get milk from the farm." + +"And what on earth are they doing up there?" Holt asked. + +He asked many other questions as well, but the answers were poor, the +information not forthcoming. The landlord would talk for hours about +the Crag, the tarn, the legends and the Romans, but concerning the two +strangers he was uncommunicative. Either he knew little, or he did not +want to discuss them; Holt felt it was probably the former. They were +educated town-folk, he gathered with difficulty, rich apparently, and +they spent their time wandering about the fell, or fishing. The man was +often seen upon the Crag, his girl beside him, bare-legged, dressed as +a peasant. "Happen they come for their health, happen the father is a +learned man studying the Wall"--exact information was not forthcoming. + +The landlord "minded his own business," and inhabitants were too few and +far between for gossip. All Holt could extract amounted to this: the +couple had been in a motor accident some years before, and as a result +they came every spring to spend a month or two in absolute solitude, +away from cities and the excitement of modern life. They troubled no one +and no one troubled them. + +"Perhaps I may see them as I go by the tarn," remarked the walker +finally, making ready to go. He gave up questioning in despair. The +morning hours were passing. + +"Happen you may," was the reply, "for your track goes past their door +and leads straight down to Scarsdale. The other way over the Crag saves +half a mile, but it's rough going along the scree." He stopped dead. +Then he added, in reply to Holt's good-bye: "In my opinion it's not +worth it," yet what he meant exactly by "it" was not quite clear. + + * * * * * + +The walker shouldered his knapsack. Instinctively he gave the little +hitch to settle it on his shoulders--much as he used to give to his pack +in France. The pain that shot through him as he did so was another +reminder of France. The bullet he had stopped on the Somme still made +its presence felt at times.... Yet he knew, as he walked off briskly, +that he was one of the lucky ones. How many of his old pals would never +walk again, condemned to hobble on crutches for the rest of their lives! +How many, again, would never even hobble! More terrible still, he +remembered, were the blind.... The dead, it seemed to him, had been more +fortunate.... + +He swung up the narrowing valley at a good pace and was soon climbing +the fell. It proved far steeper than it had appeared from the door of +the inn, and he was glad enough to reach the top and fling himself down +on the coarse springy turf to admire the view below. + +The spring day was delicious. It stirred his blood. The world beneath +looked young and stainless. Emotion rose through him in a wave of +optimistic happiness. The bare hills were half hidden by a soft blue +haze that made them look bigger, vaster, less earthly than they really +were. He saw silver streaks in the valleys that he knew were distant +streams and lakes. Birds soared between. The dazzling air seemed painted +with exhilarating light and colour. The very clouds were floating +gossamer that he could touch. There were bees and dragon-flies and +fluttering thistle-down. Heat vibrated. His body, his physical +sensations, so-called, retired into almost nothing. He felt himself, +like his surroundings, made of air and sunlight. A delicious sense of +resignation poured upon him. He, too, like his surroundings, was +composed of air and sunshine, of insect wings, of soft, fluttering +vibrations that the gorgeous spring day produced.... It seemed that he +renounced the heavy dues of bodily life, and enjoyed the delights, +momentarily at any rate, of a more ethereal consciousness. + +Near at hand, the hills were covered with the faded gold of last year's +bracken, which ran down in a brimming flood till it was lost in the +fresh green of the familiar woods below. Far in the hazy distance swam +the sea of ash and hazel. The silver birch sprinkled that lower world +with fairy light. + +Yes, it was all natural enough. He could see the road quite clearly now, +only a hundred yards away from where he lay. How straight it ran along +the top of the hill! The landlord's expression recurred to him: +"Straight as a spear." Somehow, the phrase seemed to describe exactly +the Romans and all their works.... The Romans, yes, and all their +works.... + +He became aware of a sudden sympathy with these long dead conquerors of +the world. With them, he felt sure, there had been no useless, foolish +talk. They had known no empty words, no bandying of foolish phrases. +"War to end war," and "Regeneration of the race"--no hypocritical +nonsense of that sort had troubled their minds and purposes. They had +not attempted to cover up the horrible in words. With them had been no +childish, vain pretence. They had gone straight to their ends. + +Other thoughts, too, stole over him, as he sat gazing down upon the +track of that ancient road; strange thoughts, not wholly welcome. New, +yet old, emotions rose in a tide upon him. He began to wonder.... Had +he, after all, become brutalized by the War? He knew quite well that the +little "Christianity" he inherited had soon fallen from him like a +garment in France. In his attitude to Life and Death he had become, +frankly, pagan. He now realized, abruptly, another thing as well: in +reality he had never been a "Christian" at any time. Given to him with +his mother's milk, he had never accepted, felt at home with Christian +dogmas. To him they had always been an alien creed. Christianity met +none of his requirements.... + +But what were his "requirements"? He found it difficult to answer. + +Something, at any rate, different and more primitive, he thought.... + +Even up here, alone on the mountain-top, it was hard to be absolutely +frank with himself. With a kind of savage, honest determination, he bent +himself to the task. It became suddenly important for him. He must know +exactly where he stood. It seemed he had reached a turning point in his +life. The War, in the objective world, had been one such turning point; +now he had reached another, in the subjective life, and it was more +important than the first. + +As he lay there in the pleasant sunshine, his thoughts went back to +the fighting. A friend, he recalled, had divided people into those who +enjoyed the War and those who didn't. He was obliged to admit that he +had been one of the former--he had thoroughly enjoyed it. Brought up +from a youth as an engineer, he had taken to a soldier's life as a +duck takes to water. There had been plenty of misery, discomfort, +wretchedness; but there had been compensations that, for him, outweighed +them. The fierce excitement, the primitive, naked passions, the wild +fury, the reckless indifference to pain and death, with the loss of the +normal, cautious, pettifogging little daily self all these involved, had +satisfied him. Even the actual killing.... + +He started. A slight shudder ran down his back as the cool wind from the +open moorlands came sighing across the soft spring sunshine. Sitting up +straight, he looked behind him a moment, as with an effort to turn away +from something he disliked and dreaded because it was, he knew, too +strong for him. But the same instant he turned round again. He faced the +vile and dreadful thing in himself he had hitherto sought to deny, +evade. Pretence fell away. He could not disguise from himself, that he +had thoroughly enjoyed the killing; or, at any rate, had not been +shocked by it as by an unnatural and ghastly duty. The shooting and +bombing he performed with an effort always, but the rarer moments when +he had been able to use the bayonet ... the joy of feeling the steel go +home.... + +He started again, hiding his face a moment in his hands, but he did not +try to evade the hideous memories that surged. At times, he knew, he had +gone quite mad with the lust of slaughter; he had gone on long after he +should have stopped. Once an officer had pulled him up sharply for it, +but the next instant had been killed by a bullet. He thought he had gone +on killing, but he did not know. It was all a red mist before his eyes +and he could only remember the sticky feeling of the blood on his hands +when he gripped his rifle.... + +And now, at this moment of painful honesty with himself, he realized +that his creed, whatever it was, must cover all that; it must provide +some sort of a philosophy for it; must neither apologize nor ignore it. +The heaven that it promised must be a man's heaven. The Christian heaven +made no appeal to him, he could not believe in it. The ritual must be +simple and direct. He felt that in some dim way he understood why those +old people had thrown their captives from the Crag. The sacrifice of an +animal victim that could be eaten afterwards with due ceremonial did not +shock him. Such methods seemed simple, natural, effective. Yet would it +not have been better--the horrid thought rose unbidden in his inmost +mind--better to have cut their throats with a flint knife ... slowly? + +Horror-stricken, he sprang to his feet. These terrible thoughts he could +not recognize as his own. Had he slept a moment in the sunlight, +dreaming them? Was it some hideous nightmare flash that touched him as +he dozed a second? Something of fear and awe stole over him. He stared +round for some minutes into the emptiness of the desolate landscape, +then hurriedly ran down to the road, hoping to exorcize the strange +sudden horror by vigorous movement. Yet when he reached the track he +knew that he had not succeeded. The awful pictures were gone perhaps, +but the mood remained. It was as though some new attitude began to take +definite form and harden within him. + +He walked on, trying to pretend to himself that he was some forgotten +legionary marching up with his fellows to defend the Wall. Half +unconsciously he fell into the steady tramping pace of his old regiment: +the words of the ribald songs they had sung going to the front came +pouring into his mind. Steadily and almost mechanically he swung along +till he saw the Stone as a black speck on the left of the track, and the +instant he saw it there rose in him the feeling that he stood upon the +edge of an adventure that he feared yet longed for. He approached the +great granite monolith with a curious thrill of anticipatory excitement, +born he knew not whence. + +But, of course, there was nothing. Common sense, still operating +strongly, had warned him there would be, could be, nothing. In the waste +the great Stone stood upright, solitary, forbidding, as it had stood for +thousands of years. It dominated the landscape somewhat ominously. The +sheep and cattle had used it as a rubbing-stone, and bits of hair and +wool clung to its rough, weather-eaten edges; the feet of generations +had worn a cup-shaped hollow at its base. The wind sighed round it +plaintively. Its bulk glistened as it took the sun. + +A short mile away the Blood Tarn was now plainly visible; he could +see the little holm lying in a direct line with the Stone, while, +overhanging the water as a dark shadow on one side, rose the cliff-like +rock they called "the Crag." Of the house the landlord had mentioned, +however, he could see no trace, as he relieved his shoulders of the +knapsack and sat down to enjoy his lunch. The tarn, he reflected, +was certainly a gloomy place; he could understand that the simple +superstitious shepherds did not dare to live there, for even on this +bright spring day it wore a dismal and forbidding look. With failing +light, when the Crag sprawled its big lengthening shadow across the +water, he could well imagine they would give it the widest possible +berth. He strolled down to the shore after lunch, smoking his pipe +lazily--then suddenly stood still. At the far end, hidden hitherto by +a fold in the ground, he saw the little house, a faint column of blue +smoke rising from the chimney, and at the same moment a woman came out +of the low door and began to walk towards the tarn. She had seen him, +she was moving evidently in his direction; a few minutes later she +stopped and stood waiting on the path--waiting, he well knew, for him. + +And his earlier mood, the mood he dreaded yet had forced himself to +recognize, came back upon him with sudden redoubled power. As in some +vivid dream that dominates and paralyses the will, or as in the first +stages of an imposed hypnotic spell, all question, hesitation, refusal +sank away. He felt a pleasurable resignation steal upon him with soft, +numbing effect. Denial and criticism ceased to operate, and common sense +died with them. He yielded his being automatically to the deeps of an +adventure he did not understand. He began to walk towards the woman. + +It was, he saw as he drew nearer, the figure of a young girl, nineteen +or twenty years of age, who stood there motionless with her eyes fixed +steadily on his own. She looked as wild and picturesque as the scene +that framed her. Thick black hair hung loose over her back and +shoulders; about her head was bound a green ribbon; her clothes +consisted of a jersey and a very short skirt which showed her bare legs +browned by exposure to the sun and wind. A pair of rough sandals covered +her feet. Whether the face was beautiful or not he could not tell; he +only knew that it attracted him immensely and with a strength of appeal +that he at once felt curiously irresistible. She remained motionless +against the boulder, staring fixedly at him till he was close before +her. Then she spoke: + +"I am glad that you have come at last," she said in a clear, strong +voice that yet was soft and even tender. "We have been expecting you." + +"You have been expecting me!" he repeated, astonished beyond words, yet +finding the language natural, right and true. A stream of sweet feeling +invaded him, his heart beat faster, he felt happy and at home in some +extraordinary way he could not understand yet did not question. + +"Of course," she answered, looking straight into his eyes with welcome +unashamed. Her next words thrilled him to the core of his being. "I have +made the room ready for you." + +Quick upon her own, however, flashed back the landlord's words, while +common sense made a last faint effort in his thought. He was the victim +of some absurd mistake evidently. The lonely life, the forbidding +surroundings, the associations of the desolate hills had affected her +mind. He remembered the accident. + +"I am afraid," he offered, lamely enough, "there is some mistake. I am +not the friend you were expecting. I----" He stopped. A thin slight +sound as of distant laughter seemed to echo behind the unconvincing +words. + +"There is no mistake," the girl answered firmly, with a quiet smile, +moving a step nearer to him, so that he caught the subtle perfume of her +vigorous youth. "I saw you clearly in the Mystery Stone. I recognized +you at once." + +"The Mystery Stone," he heard himself saying, bewilderment increasing, a +sense of wild happiness growing with it. + +Laughing, she took his hand in hers. "Come," she said, drawing him along +with her, "come home with me. My father will be waiting for us; he will +tell you everything, and better far than I can." + +He went with her, feeling that he was made of sunlight and that he +walked on air, for at her touch his own hand responded as with a sudden +fierceness of pleasure that he failed utterly to understand, yet did not +question for an instant. Wildly, absurdly, madly it flashed across his +mind: "This is the woman I shall marry--_my_ woman. I am her man." + +They walked in silence for a little, for no words of any sort offered +themselves to his mind, nor did the girl attempt to speak. The total +absence of embarrassment between them occurred to him once or twice +as curious, though the very idea of embarrassment then disappeared +entirely. It all seemed natural and unforced, the sudden intercourse as +familiar and effortless as though they had known one another always. + +"The Mystery Stone," he heard himself saying presently, as the idea rose +again to the surface of his mind. "I should like to know more about it. +Tell me, dear." + +"I bought it with the other things," she replied softly. + +"What other things?" + +She turned and looked up into his face with a slight expression of +surprise; their shoulders touched as they swung along; her hair blew in +the wind across his coat. "The bronze collar," she answered in the low +voice that pleased him so, "and this ornament that I wear in my hair." + +He glanced down to examine it. Instead of a ribbon, as he had first +supposed, he saw that it was a circlet of bronze, covered with a +beautiful green patina and evidently very old. In front, above the +forehead, was a small disk bearing an inscription he could not decipher +at the moment. He bent down and kissed her hair, the girl smiling with +happy contentment, but offering no sign of resistance or annoyance. + +"And," she added suddenly, "the dagger." + +Holt started visibly. This time there was a thrill in her voice that +seemed to pierce down straight into his heart. He said nothing, however. +The unexpectedness of the word she used, together with the note in her +voice that moved him so strangely, had a disconcerting effect that kept +him silent for a time. He did not ask about the dagger. Something +prevented his curiosity finding expression in speech, though the word, +with the marked accent she placed upon it, had struck into him like the +shock of sudden steel itself, causing him an indecipherable emotion of +both joy and pain. He asked instead, presently, another question, and a +very commonplace one: he asked where she and her father had lived before +they came to these lonely hills. And the form of his question--his voice +shook a little as he said it--was, again, an effort of his normal self +to maintain its already precarious balance. + +The effect of his simple query, the girl's reply above all, increased in +him the mingled sensations of sweetness and menace, of joy and dread, +that half alarmed, half satisfied him. For a moment she wore a puzzled +expression, as though making an effort to remember. + +"Down by the sea," she answered slowly, thoughtfully, her voice very +low. "Somewhere by a big harbour with great ships coming in and out. +It was there we had the break--the shock--an accident that broke us, +shattering the dream we share To-day." Her face cleared a little. "We +were in a chariot," she went on more easily and rapidly, "and father--my +father was injured, so that I went with him to a palace beyond the Wall +till he grew well." + +"You were in a chariot?" Holt repeated. "Surely not." + +"Did I say chariot?" the girl replied. "How foolish of me!" She shook +her hair back as though the gesture helped to clear her mind and memory. +"That belongs, of course, to the other dream. No, not a chariot; it was +a car. But it had wheels like a chariot--the old war-chariots. You +know." + +"Disk-wheels," thought Holt to himself. He did not ask about the palace. +He asked instead where she had bought the Mystery Stone, as she called +it, and the other things. Her reply bemused and enticed him farther, +for he could not unravel it. His whole inner attitude was shifting +with uncanny rapidity and completeness. They walked together, he now +realized, with linked arms, moving slowly in step, their bodies +touching. He felt the blood run hot and almost savage in his veins. He +was aware how amazingly precious she was to him, how deeply, absolutely +necessary to his life and happiness. Her words went past him in the +mountain wind like flying birds. + +"My father was fishing," she went on, "and I was on my way to join him, +when the old woman called me into her dwelling and showed me the things. +She wished to give them to me, but I refused the present and paid for +them in gold. I put the fillet on my head to see if it would fit, and +took the Mystery Stone in my hand. Then, as I looked deep into the +stone, this present dream died all away. It faded out. I saw the older +dreams again--_our_ dreams." + +"The older dreams!" interrupted Holt. "Ours!" But instead of saying the +words aloud, they issued from his lips in a quiet whisper, as though +control of his voice had passed a little from him. The sweetness in him +became more wonderful, unmanageable; his astonishment had vanished; he +walked and talked with his old familiar happy Love, the woman he had +sought so long and waited for, the woman who was his mate, as he was +hers, she who alone could satisfy his inmost soul. + +"The old dream," she replied, "the very old--the oldest of all +perhaps--when we committed the terrible sacrilege. I saw the High Priest +lying dead--whom my father slew--and the other whom _you_ destroyed. I +saw you prise out the jewel from the image of the god--with your short +bloody spear. I saw, too, our flight to the galley through the hot, +awful night beneath the stars--and our escape...." + +Her voice died away and she fell silent. + +"Tell me more," he whispered, drawing her closer against his side. "What +had _you_ done?" His heart was racing now. Some fighting blood surged +uppermost. He felt that he could kill, and the joy of violence and +slaughter rose in him. + +"Have you forgotten so completely?" she asked very low, as he pressed +her more tightly still against his heart. And almost beneath her breath +she whispered into his ear, which he bent to catch the little sound: "I +had broken my vows with you." + +"What else, my lovely one--my best beloved--what more did you see?" he +whispered in return, yet wondering why the fierce pain and anger that he +felt behind still lay hidden from betrayal. + +"Dream after dream, and always we were punished. But the last time was +the clearest, for it was here--here where we now walk together in the +sunlight and the wind--it was here the savages hurled us from the rock." + +A shiver ran through him, making him tremble with an unaccountable touch +of cold that communicated itself to her as well. Her arm went instantly +about his shoulder, as he stooped and kissed her passionately. "Fasten +your coat about you," she said tenderly, but with troubled breath, +when he released her, "for this wind is chill although the sun shines +brightly. We were glad, you remember, when they stopped to kill us, for +we were tired and our feet were cut to pieces by the long, rough journey +from the Wall." Then suddenly her voice grew louder again and the +smile of happy confidence came back into her eyes. There was the deep +earnestness of love in it, of love that cannot end or die. She looked up +into his face. "But soon now," she said, "we shall be free. For you have +come, and it is nearly finished--this weary little present dream." + +"How," he asked, "shall we get free?" A red mist swam momentarily before +his eyes. + +"My father," she replied at once, "will tell you all. It is quite easy." + +"Your father, too, remembers?" + +"The moment the collar touches him," she said, "he is a priest again. +See! Here he comes forth already to meet us, and to bid you welcome." + +Holt looked up, startled. He had hardly noticed, so absorbed had he been +in the words that half intoxicated him, the distance they had covered. +The cottage was now close at hand, and a tall, powerfully built man, +wearing a shepherd's rough clothing, stood a few feet in front of +him. His stature, breadth of shoulder and thick black beard made up a +striking figure. The dark eyes, with fire in them, gazed straight into +his own, and a kindly smile played round the stern and vigorous mouth. + +"Greeting, my son," said a deep, booming voice, "for I shall call you my +son as I did of old. The bond of the spirit is stronger than that of the +flesh, and with us three the tie is indeed of triple strength. You come, +too, at an auspicious hour, for the omens are favourable and the time of +our liberation is at hand." He took the other's hand in a grip that +might have killed an ox and yet was warm with gentle kindliness, while +Holt, now caught wholly into the spirit of some deep reality he could +not master yet accepted, saw that the wrist was small, the fingers +shapely, the gesture itself one of dignity and refinement. + +"Greeting, my father," he replied, as naturally as though he said more +modern words. + +"Come in with me, I pray," pursued the other, leading the way, "and let +me show you the poor accommodation we have provided, yet the best that +we can offer." + +He stooped to pass the threshold, and as Holt stooped likewise the girl +took his hand and he knew that his bewitchment was complete. Entering +the low doorway, he passed through a kitchen, where only the roughest, +scantiest furniture was visible, into another room that was completely +bare. A heap of dried bracken had been spread on the floor in one corner +to form a bed. Beside it lay two cheap, coloured blankets. There was +nothing else. + +"Our place is poor," said the man, smiling courteously, but with that +dignity and air of welcome which made the hovel seem a palace. "Yet it +may serve, perhaps, for the short time that you will need it. Our little +dream here is wellnigh over, now that you have come. The long weary +pilgrimage at last draws to a close." The girl had left them alone a +moment, and the man stepped closer to his guest. His face grew solemn, +his voice deeper and more earnest suddenly, the light in his eyes seemed +actually to flame with the enthusiasm of a great belief. "Why have you +tarried thus so long, and where?" he asked in a lowered tone that +vibrated in the little space. "We have sought you with prayer and +fasting, and she has spent her nights for you in tears. You lost the +way, it must be. The lesser dreams entangled your feet, I see." A touch +of sadness entered the voice, the eyes held pity in them. "It is, alas, +too easy, I well know," he murmured. "It is too easy." + +"I lost the way," the other replied. It seemed suddenly that his heart +was filled with fire. "But now," he cried aloud, "now that I have found +her, I will never, never let her go again. My feet are steady and my way +is sure." + +"For ever and ever, my son," boomed the happy, yet almost solemn answer, +"she is yours. Our freedom is at hand." + +He turned and crossed the little kitchen again, making a sign that his +guest should follow him. They stood together by the door, looking out +across the tarn in silence. The afternoon sunshine fell in a golden +blaze across the bare hills that seemed to smoke with the glory of the +fiery light. But the Crag loomed dark in shadow overhead, and the little +lake lay deep and black beneath it. + +"Acella, Acella!" called the man, the name breaking upon his companion +as with a shock of sweet delicious fire that filled his entire being, as +the girl came the same instant from behind the cottage. "The Gods call +me," said her father. "I go now to the hill. Protect our guest and +comfort him in my absence." + +Without another word, he strode away up the hillside and presently was +visible standing on the summit of the Crag, his arms stretched out above +his head to heaven, his great head thrown back, his bearded face turned +upwards. An impressive, even a majestic figure he looked, as his bulk +and stature rose in dark silhouette against the brilliant evening sky. +Holt stood motionless, watching him for several minutes, his heart +swelling in his breast, his pulses thumping before some great nameless +pressure that rose from the depths of his being. That inner attitude +which seemed a new and yet more satisfying attitude to life than he had +known hitherto, had crystallized. Define it he could not, he only knew +that he accepted it as natural. It satisfied him. The sight of that +dignified, gaunt figure worshipping upon the hill-top enflamed him.... + +"I have brought the stone," a voice interrupted his reflections, and +turning, he saw the girl beside him. She held out for his inspection a +dark square object that looked to him at first like a black stone lying +against the brown skin of her hand. "The Mystery Stone," the girl added, +as their faces bent down together to examine it. "It is there I see the +dreams I told you of." + +He took it from her and found that it was heavy, composed apparently +of something like black quartz, with a brilliant polished surface that +revealed clear depths within. Once, evidently, it had been set in a +stand or frame, for the marks where it had been attached still showed, +and it was obviously of great age. He felt confused, the mind in him +troubled yet excited, as he gazed. The effect upon him was as though a +wind rose suddenly and passed across his inmost subjective life, setting +its entire contents in rushing motion. + +"And here," the girl said, "is the dagger." + +He took from her the short bronze weapon, feeling at once instinctively +its ragged edge, its keen point, sharp and effective still. The handle +had long since rotted away, but the bronze tongue, and the holes where +the rivets had been, remained, and, as he touched it, the confusion and +trouble in his mind increased to a kind of turmoil, in which violence, +linked to something tameless, wild and almost savage, was the dominating +emotion. He turned to seize the girl and crush her to him in a +passionate embrace, but she held away, throwing back her lovely head, +her eyes shining, her lips parted, yet one hand stretched out to stop +him. + +"First look into it with me," she said quietly. "Let us see together." + +She sat down on the turf beside the cottage door, and Holt, obeying, +took his place beside her. She remained very still for some minutes, +covering the stone with both hands as though to warm it. Her lips moved. +She seemed to be repeating some kind of invocation beneath her breath, +though no actual words were audible. Presently her hands parted. They +sat together gazing at the polished surface. They looked within. + +"There comes a white mist in the heart of the stone," the girl +whispered. "It will soon open. The pictures will then grow. Look!" she +exclaimed after a brief pause, "they are forming now." + +"I see only mist," her companion murmured, gazing intently. "Only mist +I see." + +She took his hand and instantly the mist parted. He found himself +peering into another landscape which opened before his eyes as though it +were a photograph. Hills covered with heather stretched away on every +side. + +"Hills, I see," he whispered. "The ancient hills----" + +"Watch closely," she replied, holding his hand firmly. + +At first the landscape was devoid of any sign of life; then suddenly it +surged and swarmed with moving figures. Torrents of men poured over the +hill-crests and down their heathery sides in columns. He could see them +clearly--great hairy men, clad in skins, with thick shields on their +left arms or slung over their backs, and short stabbing spears in their +hands. Thousands upon thousands poured over in an endless stream. In the +distance he could see other columns sweeping in a turning movement. A +few of the men rode rough ponies and seemed to be directing the march, +and these, he knew, were the chiefs.... + +The scene grew dimmer, faded, died away completely. Another took its +place: + +By the faint light he knew that it was dawn. The undulating country, +less hilly than before, was still wild and uncultivated. A great wall, +with towers at intervals, stretched away till it was lost in shadowy +distance. On the nearest of these towers he saw a sentinel clad in +armour, gazing out across the rolling country. The armour gleamed +faintly in the pale glimmering light, as the man suddenly snatched up a +bugle and blew upon it. From a brazier burning beside him he next seized +a brand and fired a great heap of brushwood. The smoke rose in a dense +column into the air almost immediately, and from all directions, with +incredible rapidity, figures came pouring up to man the wall. Hurriedly +they strung their bows, and laid spare arrows close beside them on the +coping. The light grew brighter. The whole country was alive with +savages; like the waves of the sea they came rolling in enormous +numbers. For several minutes the wall held. Then, in an impetuous, +fearful torrent, they poured over.... + +It faded, died away, was gone again, and a moment later yet another took +its place: + +But this time the landscape was familiar, and he recognized the tarn. He +saw the savages upon the ledge that flanked the dominating Crag; they +had three captives with them. He saw two men. The other was a woman. But +the woman had fallen exhausted to the ground, and a chief on a rough +pony rode back to see what had delayed the march. Glancing at the +captives, he made a fierce gesture with his arm towards the water far +below. Instantly the woman was jerked cruelly to her feet and forced +onwards till the summit of the Crag was reached. A man snatched +something from her hand. A second later she was hurled over the brink. + +The two men were next dragged on to the dizzy spot where she had stood. +Dead with fatigue, bleeding from numerous wounds, yet at this awful +moment they straightened themselves, casting contemptuous glances at the +fierce savages surrounding them. They were Romans and would die like +Romans. Holt saw their faces clearly for the first time. + +He sprang up with a cry of anguished fury. + +"The second man!" he exclaimed. "You saw the second man!" + +The girl, releasing his hand, turned her eyes slowly up to his, so that +he met the flame of her ancient and undying love shining like stars upon +him out of the night of time. + +"Ever since that moment," she said in a low voice that trembled, "I have +been looking, waiting for you----" + +He took her in his arms and smothered her words with kisses, holding her +fiercely to him as though he would never let her go. "I, too," he said, +his whole being burning with his love, "I have been looking, waiting for +you. Now I have found you. We have found each other...!" + +The dusk fell slowly, imperceptibly. As twilight slowly draped the gaunt +hills, blotting out familiar details, so the strong dream, veil upon +veil, drew closer over the soul of the wanderer, obliterating finally +the last reminder of To-day. The little wind had dropped and the +desolate moors lay silent, but for the hum of distant water falling to +its valley bed. His life, too, and the life of the girl, he knew, were +similarly falling, falling into some deep shadowed bed where rest would +come at last. No details troubled him, he asked himself no questions. A +profound sense of happy peace numbed every nerve and stilled his +beating heart. + +He felt no fear, no anxiety, no hint of alarm or uneasiness vexed his +singular contentment. He realized one thing only--that the girl lay in +his arms, he held her fast, her breath mingled with his own. They had +found each other. What else mattered? + +From time to time, as the daylight faded and the sun went down behind +the moors, she spoke. She uttered words he vaguely heard, listening, +though with a certain curious effort, before he closed the thing she +said with kisses. Even the fierceness of his blood was gone. The world +lay still, life almost ceased to flow. Lapped in the deeps of his great +love, he was redeemed, perhaps, of violence and savagery.... + +"Three dark birds," she whispered, "pass across the sky ... they fall +beyond the ridge. The omens are favourable. A hawk now follows them, +cleaving the sky with pointed wings." + +"A hawk," he murmured. "The badge of my old Legion." + +"My father will perform the sacrifice," he heard again, though it seemed +a long interval had passed, and the man's figure was now invisible on +the Crag amid the gathering darkness. "Already he prepares the fire. +Look, the sacred island is alight. He has the black cock ready for the +knife." + +Holt roused himself with difficulty, lifting his face from the garden of +her hair. A faint light, he saw, gleamed fitfully on the holm within the +tarn. Her father, then, had descended from the Crag, and had lit the +sacrificial fire upon the stones. But what did the doings of the father +matter now to him? + +"The dark bird," he repeated dully, "the black victim the Gods of the +Underworld alone accept. It is good, Acella, it is good!" He was about +to sink back again, taking her against his breast as before, when she +resisted and sat up suddenly. + +"It is time," she said aloud. "The hour has come. My father climbs, and +we must join him on the summit. Come!" + +She took his hand and raised him to his feet, and together they began +the rough ascent towards the Crag. As they passed along the shore of the +Tarn of Blood, he saw the fire reflected in the ink-black waters; he +made out, too, though dimly, a rough circle of big stones, with a larger +flag-stone lying in the centre. Three small fires of bracken and wood, +placed in a triangle with its apex towards the Standing Stone on the +distant hill, burned briskly, the crackling material sending out sparks +that pierced the columns of thick smoke. And in this smoke, peering, +shifting, appearing and disappearing, it seemed he saw great faces +moving. The flickering light and twirling smoke made clear sight +difficult. His bliss, his lethargy were very deep. They left the tarn +below them and hand in hand began to climb the final slope. + +Whether the physical effort of climbing disturbed the deep pressure of +the mood that numbed his senses, or whether the cold draught of wind +they met upon the ridge restored some vital detail of To-day, Holt does +not know. Something, at any rate, in him wavered suddenly, as though +a centre of gravity had shifted slightly. There was a perceptible +alteration in the balance of thought and feeling that had held +invariable now for many hours. It seemed to him that something heavy +lifted, or rather, began to lift--a weight, a shadow, something +oppressive that obstructed light. A ray of light, as it were, struggled +through the thick darkness that enveloped him. To him, as he paused on +the ridge to recover his breath, came this vague suggestion of faint +light breaking across the blackness. It was objective. + +"See," said the girl in a low voice, "the moon is rising. It lights the +sacred island. The blood-red waters turn to silver." + +He saw, indeed, that a huge three-quarter moon now drove with almost +visible movement above the distant line of hills; the little tarn +gleamed as with silvery armour; the glow of the sacrificial fires showed +red across it. He looked down with a shudder into the sheer depth that +opened at his feet, then turned to look at his companion. He started and +shrank back. Her face, lit by the moon and by the fire, shone pale as +death; her black hair framed it with a terrible suggestiveness; the +eyes, though brilliant as ever, had a film upon them. She stood in an +attitude of both ecstasy and resignation, and one outstretched arm +pointed towards the summit where her father stood. + +Her lips parted, a marvellous smile broke over her features, her voice +was suddenly unfamiliar: "He wears the collar," she uttered. "Come. Our +time is here at last, and we are ready. See, he waits for us!" + +There rose for the first time struggle and opposition in him; he +resisted the pressure of her hand that had seized his own and drew him +forcibly along. Whence came the resistance and the opposition he could +not tell, but though he followed her, he was aware that the refusal in +him strengthened. The weight of darkness that oppressed him shifted a +little more, an inner light increased; The same moment they reached the +summit and stood beside--the priest. There was a curious sound of +fluttering. The figure, he saw, was naked, save for a rough blanket tied +loosely about the waist. + +"The hour has come at last," cried his deep booming voice that woke +echoes from the dark hills about them. "We are alone now with our Gods." +And he broke then into a monotonous rhythmic chanting that rose and fell +upon the wind, yet in a tongue that sounded strange; his erect figure +swayed slightly with its cadences; his black beard swept his naked +chest; and his face, turned skywards, shone in the mingled light of moon +above and fire below, yet with an added light as well that burned +within him rather than without. He was a weird, magnificent figure, a +priest of ancient rites invoking his deathless deities upon the +unchanging hills. + +But upon Holt, too, as he stared in awed amazement, an inner light +had broken suddenly. It came as with a dazzling blaze that at first +paralysed thought and action. His mind cleared, but too abruptly for +movement, either of tongue or hand, to be possible. Then, abruptly, the +inner darkness rolled away completely. The light in the wild eyes of the +great chanting, swaying figure, he now knew was the light of mania. + +The faint fluttering sound increased, and the voice of the girl was +oddly mingled with it. The priest had ceased his invocation. Holt, aware +that he stood alone, saw the girl go past him carrying a big black bird +that struggled with vainly beating wings. + +"Behold the sacrifice," she said, as she knelt before her father and +held up the victim. "May the Gods accept it as presently They shall +accept us too!" + +The great figure stooped and took the offering, and with one blow of the +knife he held, its head was severed from its body. The blood spattered +on the white face of the kneeling girl. Holt was aware for the first +time that she, too, was now unclothed; but for a loose blanket, her +white body gleamed against the dark heather in the moonlight. At the +same moment she rose to her feet, stood upright, turned towards him so +that he saw the dark hair streaming across her naked shoulders, and, +with a face of ecstasy, yet ever that strange film upon her eyes, her +voice came to him on the wind: + +"Farewell, yet not farewell! We shall meet, all three, in the +underworld. The Gods accept us!" + +Turning her face away, she stepped towards the ominous figure behind, +and bared her ivory neck and breast to the knife. The eyes of the maniac +were upon her own; she was as helpless and obedient as a lamb before +his spell. + +Then Holt's horrible paralysis, if only just in time, was lifted. The +priest had raised his arm, the bronze knife with its ragged edge gleamed +in the air, with the other hand he had already gathered up the thick +dark hair, so that the neck lay bare and open to the final blow. But it +was two other details, Holt thinks, that set his muscles suddenly +free, enabling him to act with the swift judgment which, being wholly +unexpected, disconcerted both maniac and victim and frustrated the awful +culmination. The dark spots of blood upon the face he loved, and the +sudden final fluttering of the dead bird's wings upon the ground--these +two things, life actually touching death, released the held-back +springs. + +He leaped forward. He received the blow upon his left arm and hand. It +was his right fist that sent the High Priest to earth with a blow that, +luckily, felled him in the direction away from the dreadful brink, and +it was his right arm and hand, he became aware some time afterwards +only, that were chiefly of use in carrying the fainting girl and her +unconscious father back to the shelter of the cottage, and to the best +help and comfort he could provide.... + +It was several years afterwards, in a very different setting, that he +found himself spelling out slowly to a little boy the lettering cut into +a circlet of bronze the child found on his study table. To the child he +told a fairy tale, then dismissed him to play with his mother in the +garden. But, when alone, he rubbed away the verdigris with great care, +for the circlet was thin and frail with age, as he examined again the +little picture of a tripod from which smoke issued, incised neatly in +the metal. Below it, almost as sharp as when the Roman craftsman cut it +first, was the name Acella. He touched the letters tenderly with his +left hand, from which two fingers were missing, then placed it in a +drawer of his desk and turned the key. + +"That curious name," said a low voice behind his chair. His wife had +come in and was looking over his shoulder. "You love it, and I dread +it." She sat on the desk beside him, her eyes troubled. "It was the name +father used to call me in his illness." + +Her husband looked at her with passionate tenderness, but said no word. + +"And this," she went on, taking the broken hand in both her own, "is the +price you paid to me for his life. I often wonder what strange good +deity brought you upon the lonely moor that night, and just in the very +nick of time. You remember...?" + +"The deity who helps true lovers, of course," he said with a smile, +evading the question. The deeper memory, he knew, had closed absolutely +in her since the moment of the attempted double crime. He kissed her, +murmuring to himself as he did so, but too low for her to hear, +"Acella! _My_ Acella...!" + + + + +VI + +THE VALLEY OF THE BEASTS + + +1 + +As they emerged suddenly from the dense forest the Indian halted, and +Grimwood, his employer, stood beside him, gazing into the beautiful +wooded valley that lay spread below them in the blaze of a golden +sunset. Both men leaned upon their rifles, caught by the enchantment of +the unexpected scene. + +"We camp here," said Tooshalli abruptly, after a careful survey. +"To-morrow we make a plan." + +He spoke excellent English. The note of decision, almost of authority, +in his voice was noticeable, but Grimwood set it down to the natural +excitement of the moment. Every track they had followed during the last +two days, but one track in particular as well, had headed straight for +this remote and hidden valley, and the sport promised to be unusual. + +"That's so," he replied, in the tone of one giving an order. "You can +make camp ready at once." And he sat down on a fallen hemlock to take +off his moccasin boots and grease his feet that ached from the arduous +day now drawing to a close. Though under ordinary circumstances he would +have pushed on for another hour or two, he was not averse to a night +here, for exhaustion had come upon him during the last bit of rough +going, his eye and muscles were no longer steady, and it was doubtful if +he could have shot straight enough to kill. He did not mean to miss a +second time. + +With his Canadian friend, Iredale, the latter's half-breed, and his own +Indian, Tooshalli, the party had set out three weeks ago to find the +"wonderful big moose" the Indians reported were travelling in the Snow +River country. They soon found that the tale was true; tracks were +abundant; they saw fine animals nearly every day, but though carrying +good heads, the hunters expected better still and left them alone. +Pushing up the river to a chain of small lakes near its source, they +then separated into two parties, each with its nine-foot bark canoe, +and packed in for three days after the yet bigger animals the Indians +agreed would be found in the deeper woods beyond. Excitement was keen, +expectation keener still. The day before they separated, Iredale shot +the biggest moose of his life, and its head, bigger even than the grand +Alaskan heads, hangs in his house to-day. Grimwood's hunting blood was +fairly up. His blood was of the fiery, not to say ferocious, quality. It +almost seemed he liked killing for its own sake. + +Four days after the party broke into two he came upon a gigantic track, +whose measurements and length of stride keyed every nerve he possessed +to its highest tension. + +Tooshalli examined the tracks for some minutes with care. "It is the +biggest moose in the world," he said at length, a new expression on his +inscrutable red visage. + +Following it all that day, they yet got no sight of the big fellow that +seemed to be frequenting a little marshy dip of country, too small to be +called valley, where willow and undergrowth abounded. He had not yet +scented his pursuers. They were after him again at dawn. Towards the +evening of the second day Grimwood caught a sudden glimpse of the +monster among a thick clump of willows, and the sight of the magnificent +head that easily beat all records set his heart beating like a hammer +with excitement. He aimed and fired. But the moose, instead of crashing, +went thundering away through the further scrub and disappeared, the +sound of his plunging canter presently dying away. Grimwood had missed, +even if he had wounded. + +They camped, and all next day, leaving the canoe behind, they followed +the huge track, but though finding signs of blood, these were not +plentiful, and the shot had evidently only grazed the animal. The +travelling was of the hardest. Towards evening, utterly exhausted, the +spoor led them to the ridge they now stood upon, gazing down into the +enchanting valley that opened at their feet. The giant moose had gone +down into this valley. He would consider himself safe there. Grimwood +agreed with the Indian's judgment. They would camp for the night and +continue at dawn the wild hunt after "the biggest moose in the world." + +Supper was over, the small fire used for cooking dying down, with +Grimwood became first aware that the Indian was not behaving quite as +usual. What particular detail drew his attention is hard to say. He was +a slow-witted, heavy man, full-blooded, unobservant; a fact had to hurt +him through his comfort, through his pleasure, before he noticed it. Yet +anyone else must have observed the changed mood of the Redskin long ago. +Tooshalli had made the fire, fried the bacon, served the tea, and was +arranging the blankets, his own and his employer's, before the latter +remarked upon his--silence. Tooshalli had not uttered a word for over an +hour and a half, since he had first set eyes upon the new valley, to be +exact. And his employer now noticed the unaccustomed silence, because +after food he liked to listen to wood talk and hunting lore. + +"Tired out, aren't you?" said big Grimwood, looking into the dark face +across the firelight. He resented the absence of conversation, now that +he noticed it. He was over-weary himself, he felt more irritable than +usual, though his temper was always vile. + +"Lost your tongue, eh?" he went on with a growl, as the Indian returned +his stare with solemn, expressionless face. That dark inscrutable look +got on his nerves a bit. "Speak up, man!" he exclaimed sharply. "What's +it all about?" + +The Englishman had at last realized that there was something to "speak +up" about. The discovery, in his present state, annoyed him further. +Tooshalli stared gravely, but made no reply. The silence was prolonged +almost into minutes. Presently the head turned sideways, as though the +man listened. The other watched him very closely, anger growing in him. + +But it was the way the Redskin turned his head, keeping his body rigid, +that gave the jerk to Grimwood's nerves, providing him with a sensation +he had never known in his life before--it gave him what is generally +called "the goose-flesh." It seemed to jangle his entire system, yet at +the same time made him cautious. He did not like it, this combination of +emotions puzzled him. + +"Say something, I tell you," he repeated in a harsher tone, raising his +voice. He sat up, drawing his great body closer to the fire. "Say +something, damn it!" + +His voice fell dead against the surrounding trees, making the silence of +the forest unpleasantly noticeable. Very still the great woods stood +about them; there was no wind, no stir of branches; only the crackle of +a snapping twig was audible from time to time, as the night-life moved +unwarily sometimes watching the humans round their little fire. The +October air had a frosty touch that nipped. + +The Redskin did not answer. No muscle of his neck nor of his stiffened +body moved. He seemed all ears. + +"Well?" repeated the Englishman, lowering his voice this time +instinctively. "What d'you hear, God damn it!" The touch of odd +nervousness that made his anger grow betrayed itself in his language. + +Tooshalli slowly turned his head back again to its normal position, the +body rigid as before. + +"I hear nothing, Mr. Grimwood," he said, gazing with quiet dignity into +his employer's eyes. + +This was too much for the other, a man of savage temper at the best of +times. He was the type of Englishman who held strong views as to the +right way of treating "inferior" races. + +"That's a lie, Tooshalli, and I won't have you lie to me. Now what was +it? Tell me at once!" + +"I hear nothing," repeated the other. "I only think." + +"And what is it you're pleased to think?" Impatience made a nasty +expression round the mouth. + +"I go not," was the abrupt reply, unalterable decision in the voice. + +The man's rejoinder was so unexpected that Grimwood found nothing to say +at first. For a moment he did not take its meaning; his mind, always +slow, was confused by impatience, also by what he considered the +foolishness of the little scene. Then in a flash he understood; but he +also understood the immovable obstinacy of the race he had to deal with. +Tooshalli was informing him that he refused to go into the valley where +the big moose had vanished. And his astonishment was so great at first +that he merely sat and stared. No words came to him. + +"It is----" said the Indian, but used a native term. + +"What's that mean?" Grimwood found his tongue, but his quiet tone was +ominous. + +"Mr. Grimwood, it mean the 'Valley of the Beasts,'" was the reply in a +tone quieter still. + +The Englishman made a great, a genuine effort at self-control. He was +dealing, he forced himself to remember, with a superstitious Redskin. He +knew the stubbornness of the type. If the man left him his sport was +irretrievably spoilt, for he could not hunt in this wilderness alone, +and even if he got the coveted head, he could never, never get it out +alone. His native selfishness seconded his effort. Persuasion, if only +he could keep back his rising anger, was his role to play. + +"The Valley of the Beasts," he said, a smile on his lips rather than in +his darkening eyes; "but that's just what we want. It's beasts we're +after, isn't it?" His voice had a false cheery ring that could not have +deceived a child. "But what d'you mean, anyhow--the Valley of the +Beasts?" He asked it with a dull attempt at sympathy. + +"It belong to Ishtot, Mr. Grimwood." The man looked him full in the +face, no flinching in the eyes. + +"My--our--big moose is there," said the other, who recognized the name +of the Indian Hunting God, and understanding better, felt confident +he would soon persuade his man. Tooshalli, he remembered, too, was +nominally a Christian. "We'll follow him at dawn and get the biggest +head the world has ever seen. You will be famous," he added, his temper +better in hand again. "Your tribe will honour you. And the white hunters +will pay you much money." + +"He go there to save himself. I go not." + +The other's anger revived with a leap at this stupid obstinacy. But, in +spite of it, he noticed the odd choice of words. He began to realize +that nothing now would move the man. At the same time he also realized +that violence on his part must prove worse than useless. Yet violence +was natural to his "dominant" type. "That brute Grimwood" was the way +most men spoke of him. + +"Back at the settlement you're a Christian, remember," he tried, in his +clumsy way, another line. "And disobedience means hell-fire. You know +that!" + +"I a Christian--at the post," was the reply, "but out here the Red God +rule. Ishtot keep that valley for himself. No Indian hunt there." It was +as though a granite boulder spoke. + +The savage temper of the Englishman, enforced by the long difficult +suppression, rose wickedly into sudden flame. He stood up, kicking his +blankets aside. He strode across the dying fire to the Indian's side. +Tooshalli also rose. They faced each other, two humans alone in the +wilderness, watched by countless invisible forest eyes. + +Tooshalli stood motionless, yet as though he expected violence from the +foolish, ignorant white-face. "You go alone, Mr. Grimwood." There was no +fear in him. + +Grimwood choked with rage. His words came forth with difficulty, though +he roared them into the silence of the forest: + +"I pay you, don't I? You'll do what _I_ say, not what _you_ say!" His +voice woke the echoes. + +The Indian, arms hanging by his side, gave the old reply. + +"I go not," he repeated firmly. + +It stung the other into uncontrollable fury. + +The beast then came uppermost; it came out. "You've said that once too +often, Tooshalli!" and he struck him brutally in the face. The Indian +fell, rose to his knees again, collapsed sideways beside the fire, then +struggled back into a sitting position. He never once took his eyes from +the white man's face. + +Beside himself with anger, Grimwood stood over him. "Is that enough? +Will you obey me now?" he shouted. + +"I go not," came the thick reply, blood streaming from his mouth. The +eyes had no flinching in them. "That valley Ishtot keep. Ishtot see us +now. _He see you._" The last words he uttered with strange, almost +uncanny emphasis. + +Grimwood, arm raised, fist clenched, about to repeat his terrible +assault, paused suddenly. His arm sank to his side. What exactly +stopped him he could never say. For one thing, he feared his own +anger, feared that if he let himself go he would not stop till he had +killed--committed murder. He knew his own fearful temper and stood +afraid of it. Yet it was not only that. The calm firmness of the +Redskin, his courage under pain, and something in the fixed and +burning eyes arrested him. Was it also something in the words he had +used--"Ishtot see _you_"--that stung him into a queer caution midway in +his violence? + +He could not say. He only knew that a momentary sense of awe came over +him. He became unpleasantly aware of the enveloping forest, so still, +listening in a kind of impenetrable, remorseless silence. This lonely +wilderness, looking silently upon what might easily prove murder, laid a +faint, inexplicable chill upon his raging blood. The hand dropped slowly +to his side again, the fist unclenched itself, his breath came more +evenly. + +"Look you here," he said, adopting without knowing it the local way of +speech. "I ain't a bad man, though your going-on do make a man damned +tired. I'll give you another chance." His voice was sullen, but a new +note in it surprised even himself. "I'll do that. You can have the night +to think it over, Tooshalli--see? Talk it over with your----" + +He did not finish the sentence. Somehow the name of the Redskin God +refused to pass his lips. He turned away, flung himself into his +blankets, and in less than ten minutes, exhausted as much by his anger +as by the day's hard going, he was sound asleep. + +The Indian, crouching beside the dying fire, had said nothing. + +Night held the woods, the sky was thick with stars, the life of the +forest went about its business quietly, with that wondrous skill which +millions of years have perfected. The Redskin, so close to this skill +that he instinctively used and borrowed from it, was silent, alert and +wise, his outline as inconspicuous as though he merged, like his +four-footed teachers, into the mass of the surrounding bush. + +He moved perhaps, yet nothing knew he moved. His wisdom, derived from +that eternal, ancient mother who from infinite experience makes no +mistakes, did not fail him. His soft tread made no sound; his breathing, +as his weight, was calculated. The stars observed him, but they did not +tell; the light air knew his whereabouts, yet without betrayal.... + +The chill dawn gleamed at length between the trees, lighting the pale +ashes of an extinguished fire, also of a bulky, obvious form beneath a +blanket. The form moved clumsily. The cold was penetrating. + +And that bulky form now moved because a dream had come to trouble it. A +dark figure stole across its confused field of vision. The form started, +but it did not wake. The figure spoke: "Take this," it whispered, +handing a little stick, curiously carved. "It is the totem of great +Ishtot. In the valley all memory of the White Gods will leave you. Call +upon Ishtot.... Call on Him if you dare"; and the dark figure glided +away out of the dream and out of all remembrance.... + + +2 + +The first thing Grimwood noticed when he woke was that Tooshalli was not +there. No fire burned, no tea was ready. He felt exceedingly annoyed. He +glared about him, then got up with a curse to make the fire. His mind +seemed confused and troubled. At first he only realized one thing +clearly--his guide had left him in the night. + +It was very cold. He lit the wood with difficulty and made his tea, and +the actual world came gradually back to him. The Red Indian had gone; +perhaps the blow, perhaps the superstitious terror, perhaps both, had +driven him away. He was alone, that was the outstanding fact. For +anything beyond outstanding facts, Grimwood felt little interest. +Imaginative speculation was beyond his compass. Close to the brute +creation, it seemed, his nature lay. + +It was while packing his blankets--he did it automatically, a dull, +vicious resentment in him--that his fingers struck a bit of wood that +he was about to throw away when its unusual shape caught his attention +suddenly. His odd dream came back then. But was it a dream? The bit of +wood was undoubtedly a totem stick. He examined it. He paid it more +attention than he meant to, wished to. Yes, it was unquestionably a +totem stick. The dream, then, was not a dream. Tooshalli had quit, but, +following with Redskin faithfulness some code of his own, had left him +the means of safety. He chuckled sourly, but thrust the stick inside his +belt. "One never knows," he mumbled to himself. + +He faced the situation squarely. He was alone in the wilderness. His +capable, experienced woodsman had deserted him. The situation was +serious. What should he do? A weakling would certainly retrace his +steps, following the track they had made, afraid to be left alone in +this vast hinterland of pathless forest. But Grimwood was of another +build. Alarmed he might be, but he would not give in. He had the defects +of his own qualities. The brutality of his nature argued force. He was +determined and a sportsman. He would go on. And ten minutes after +breakfast, having first made a _cache_ of what provisions were left +over, he was on his way--down across the ridge and into the mysterious +valley, the Valley of the Beasts. + +It looked, in the morning sunlight, entrancing. The trees closed in +behind him, but he did not notice. It led him on.... + +He followed the track of the gigantic moose he meant to kill, and the +sweet, delicious sunshine helped him. The air was like wine, the +seductive spoor of the great beast, with here and there a faint splash +of blood on leaves or ground, lay forever just before his eyes. He found +the valley, though the actual word did not occur to him, enticing; more +and more he noticed the beauty, the desolate grandeur of the mighty +spruce and hemlock, the splendour of the granite bluffs which in places +rose above the forest and caught the sun.... The valley was deeper, +vaster than he had imagined. He felt safe, at home in it, though, again +these actual terms did not occur to him.... Here he could hide for +ever and find peace.... He became aware of a new quality in the deep +loneliness. The scenery for the first time in his life appealed to him, +and the form of the appeal was curious--he felt the comfort of it. + +For a man of his habit, this was odd, yet the new sensations stole over +him so gently, their approach so gradual, that they were first +recognized by his consciousness indirectly. They had already established +themselves in him before he noticed them; and the indirectness took this +form--that the passion of the chase gave place to an interest in the +valley itself. The lust of the hunt, the fierce desire to find and kill, +the keen wish, in a word, to see his quarry within range, to aim, to +fire, to witness the natural consummation of the long expedition--these +had all become measurably less, while the effect of the valley upon him +had increased in strength. There was a welcome about it that he did not +understand. + +The change was singular, yet, oddly enough, it did not occur to him as +singular; it was unnatural, yet it did not strike him so. To a dull mind +of his unobservant, unanalytical type, a change had to be marked and +dramatic before he noticed it; something in the nature of a shock must +accompany it for him to recognize it had happened. And there had been no +shock. The spoor of the great moose was much cleaner, now that he caught +up with the animal that made it; the blood more frequent; he had noticed +the spot where it had rested, its huge body leaving a marked imprint on +the soft ground; where it had reached up to eat the leaves of saplings +here and there was also visible; he had come undoubtedly very near to +it, and any minute now might see its great bulk within range of an easy +shot. Yet his ardour had somehow lessened. + +He first realized this change in himself when it suddenly occurred to +him that the animal itself had grown less cautious. It must scent him +easily now, since a moose, its sight being indifferent, depends chiefly +for its safety upon its unusually keen sense of smell, and the wind +came from behind him. This now struck him as decidedly uncommon: the +moose itself was obviously careless of his close approach. It felt no +fear. + +It was this inexplicable alteration in the animal's behaviour that made +him recognize, at last, the alteration in his own. He had followed it +now for a couple of hours and had descended some eight hundred to a +thousand feet; the trees were thinner and more sparsely placed; there +were open, park-like places where silver birch, sumach and maple +splashed their blazing colours; and a crystal stream, broken by many +waterfalls, foamed past towards the bed of the great valley, yet another +thousand feet below. By a quiet pool against some over-arching rocks, +the moose had evidently paused to drink, paused at its leisure, +moreover. Grimwood, rising from a close examination of the direction the +creature had taken after drinking--the hoof-marks were fresh and very +distinct in the marshy ground about the pool--looked suddenly straight +into the great creature's eyes. It was not twenty yards from where he +stood, yet he had been standing on that spot for at least ten minutes, +caught by the wonder and loneliness of the scene. The moose, therefore, +had been close beside him all this time. It had been calmly drinking, +undisturbed by his presence, unafraid. + +The shock came now, the shock that woke his heavy nature into +realization. For some seconds, probably for minutes, he stood rooted to +the ground, motionless, hardly breathing. He stared as though he saw a +vision. The animal's head was lowered, but turned obliquely somewhat, +so that the eyes, placed sideways in its great head, could see him +properly; its immense proboscis hung as though stuffed upon an English +wall; he saw the fore-feet planted wide apart, the slope of the enormous +shoulders dropping back towards the fine hind-quarters and lean flanks. +It was a magnificent bull. The horns and head justified his wildest +expectations, they were superb, a record specimen, and a phrase--where +had he heard it?--ran vaguely, as from far distance, through his mind: +"the biggest moose in the world." + +There was the extraordinary fact, however, that he did not shoot; nor +feel the wish to shoot. The familiar instinct, so strong hitherto in his +blood, made no sign; the desire to kill apparently had left him. To +raise his rifle, aim and fire had become suddenly an absolute +impossibility. + +He did not move. The animal and the human stared into each other's eyes +for a length of time whose interval he could not measure. Then came a +soft noise close beside him: the rifle had slipped from his grasp and +fallen with a thud into the mossy earth at his feet. And the moose, for +the first time now, was moving. With slow, easy stride, its great weight +causing a squelching sound as the feet drew out of the moist ground, it +came towards him, the bulk of the shoulders giving it an appearance of +swaying like a ship at sea. It reached his side, it almost touched him, +the magnificent head bent low, the spread of the gigantic horns lay +beneath his very eyes. He could have patted, stroked it. He saw, with a +touch of pity, that blood trickled from a sore in its left shoulder, +matting the thick hair. It sniffed the fallen rifle. + +Then, lifting its head and shoulders again, it sniffed the air, this +time with an audible sound that shook from Grimwood's mind the last +possibility that he witnessed a vision or dreamed a dream. One moment +it gazed into his face, its big brown eyes shining and unafraid, then +turned abruptly, and swung away at a speed ever rapidly increasing +across the park-like spaces till it was lost finally among the dark +tangle of undergrowth beyond. And the Englishman's muscles turned to +paper, his paralysis passed, his legs refused to support his weight, and +he sank heavily to the ground.... + + +3 + +It seems he slept, slept long and heavily; he sat up, stretched himself, +yawned and rubbed his eyes. The sun had moved across the sky, for the +shadows, he saw, now ran from west to east, and they were long shadows. +He had slept evidently for hours, and evening was drawing in. He was +aware that he felt hungry. In his pouchlike pockets, he had dried meat, +sugar, matches, tea, and the little billy that never left him. He would +make a fire, boil some tea and eat. + +But he took no steps to carry out his purpose, he felt disinclined to +move, he sat thinking, thinking.... What was he thinking about? He did +not know, he could not say exactly; it was more like fugitive pictures +that passed across his mind. Who, and where, was he? This was the Valley +of the Beasts, that he knew; he felt sure of nothing else. How long had +he been here, and where had he come from, and why? The questions did not +linger for their answers, almost as though his interest in them was +merely automatic. He felt happy, peaceful, unafraid. + +He looked about him, and the spell of this virgin forest came upon +him like a charm; only the sound of falling water, the murmur of wind +sighing among innumerable branches, broke the enveloping silence. +Overhead, beyond the crests of the towering trees, a cloudless evening +sky was paling into transparent orange, opal, mother of pearl. He saw +buzzards soaring lazily. A scarlet tanager flashed by. Soon would the +owls begin to call and the darkness fall like a sweet black veil +and hide all detail, while the stars sparkled in their countless +thousands.... + +A glint of something that shone upon the ground caught his eye--a +smooth, polished strip of rounded metal: his rifle. And he started to +his feet impulsively, yet not knowing exactly what he meant to do. At +the sight of the weapon, something had leaped to life in him, then faded +out, died down, and was gone again. + +"I'm--I'm----" he began muttering to himself, but could not finish what +he was about to say. His name had disappeared completely. "I'm in the +Valley of the Beasts," he repeated in place of what he sought but could +not find. + +This fact, that he was in the Valley of the Beasts, seemed the only +positive item of knowledge that he had. About the name something known +and familiar clung, though the sequence that led up to it he could not +trace. Presently, nevertheless, he rose to his feet, advanced a few +steps, stooped and picked up the shining metal thing, his rifle. He +examined it a moment, a feeling of dread and loathing rising in him, +a sensation of almost horror that made him tremble, then, with a +convulsive movement that betrayed an intense reaction of some sort he +could not comprehend, he flung the thing far from him into the foaming +torrent. He saw the splash it made, he also saw that same instant a +large grizzly bear swing heavily along the bank not a dozen yards from +where he stood. It, too, heard the splash, for it started, turned, +paused a second, then changed its direction and came towards him. It +came up close. Its fur brushed his body. It examined him leisurely, as +the moose had done, sniffed, half rose upon its terrible hind legs, +opened its mouth so that red tongue and gleaming teeth were plainly +visible, then flopped back upon all fours again with a deep growling +that yet had no anger in it, and swung off at a quick trot back to the +bank of the torrent. He had felt its hot breath upon his face, but he +had felt no fear. The monster was puzzled but not hostile. It +disappeared. + +"They know not----" he sought for the word "man," but could not find it. +"They have never been hunted." + +The words ran through his mind, if perhaps he was not entirely certain +of their meaning; they rose, as it were, automatically; a familiar sound +lay in them somewhere. At the same time there rose feelings in him +that were equally, though in another way, familiar and quite natural, +feelings he had once known intimately but long since laid aside. + +What were they? What was their origin? They seemed distant as the stars, +yet were actually in his body, in his blood and nerves, part and parcel +of his flesh. Long, long ago.... Oh, how long, how long? + +Thinking was difficult; feeling was what he most easily and naturally +managed. He could not think for long; feeling rose up and drowned the +effort quickly. + +That huge and awful bear--not a nerve, not a muscle quivered in him as +its acrid smell rose to his nostrils, its fur brushed down his legs. Yet +he was aware that somewhere there was danger, though not here. Somewhere +there was attack, hostility, wicked and calculated plans against him--as +against that splendid, roaming animal that had sniffed, examined, then +gone its own way, satisfied. Yes, active attack, hostility and careful, +cruel plans against his safety, but--not here. Here he was safe, secure, +at peace; here he was happy; here he could roam at will, no eye cast +sideways into forest depths, no ear pricked high to catch sounds not +explained, no nostrils quivering to scent alarm. He felt this, but he +did not think it. He felt hungry, thirsty too. + +Something prompted him now at last to act. His billy lay at his feet, +and he picked it up; the matches--he carried them in a metal case whose +screw top kept out all moisture--were in his hand. Gathering a few dry +twigs, he stooped to light them, then suddenly drew back with the first +touch of fear he had yet known. + +Fire! What _was_ fire? The idea was repugnant to him, it was impossible, +he was afraid of fire. He flung the metal case after the rifle and saw +it gleam in the last rays of sunset, then sink with a little splash +beneath the water. Glancing down at his billy, he realized next that he +could not make use of it either, nor of the dark dry dusty stuff he had +meant to boil in water. He felt no repugnance, certainly no fear, in +connexion with these things, only he could not handle them, he did not +need them, he had forgotten, yes, "forgotten," what they meant exactly. +This strange forgetfulness was increasing in him rapidly, becoming more +and more complete with every minute. Yet his thirst must be quenched. + +The next moment he found himself at the water's edge; he stooped to fill +his billy; paused, hesitated, examined the rushing water, then abruptly +moved a few feet higher up the stream, leaving the metal can behind him. +His handling of it had been oddly clumsy, his gestures awkward, even +unnatural. He now flung himself down with an easy, simple motion of his +entire body, lowered his face to a quiet pool he had found, and drank +his fill of the cool, refreshing liquid. But, though unaware of the +fact, he did not drink. He lapped. + +Then, crouching where he was, he ate the meat and sugar from his +pockets, lapped more water, moved back a short distance again into the +dry ground beneath the trees, but moved this time without rising to his +feet, curled his body into a comfortable position and closed his eyes +again to sleep.... No single question now raised its head in him. He +felt contentment, satisfaction only.... + +He stirred, shook himself, opened half an eye and saw, as he had felt +already in slumber, that he was not alone. In the park-like spaces in +front of him, as in the shadowed fringe of the trees at his back, there +was sound and movement, the sound of stealthy feet, the movement of +innumerable dark bodies. There was the pad and tread of animals, the +stir of backs, of smooth and shaggy beasts, in countless numbers. Upon +this host fell the light of a half moon sailing high in a cloudless sky; +the gleam of stars, sparkling in the clear night air like diamonds, +shone reflected in hundreds of ever-shifting eyes, most of them but a +few feet above the ground. The whole valley was alive. + +He sat upon his haunches, staring, staring, but staring in wonder, not +in fear, though the foremost of the great host were so near that he +could have stretched an arm and touched them. It was an ever-moving, +ever-shifting throng he gazed at, spell-bound, in the pale light of moon +and stars, now fading slowly towards the approaching dawn. And the smell +of the forest itself was not sweeter to him in that moment than the +mingled perfume, raw, pungent, acrid, of this furry host of beautiful +wild animals that moved like a sea, with a strange murmuring, too, like +sea, as the myriad feet and bodies passed to and fro together. Nor was +the gleam of the starry, phosphorescent eyes less pleasantly friendly +than those happy lamps that light home-lost wanderers to cosy rooms and +safety. Through the wild army, in a word, poured to him the deep comfort +of the entire valley, a comfort which held both the sweetness of +invitation and the welcome of some magical home-coming. + +No thoughts came to him, but feeling rose in a tide of wonder and +acceptance. He was in his rightful place. His nature had come home. +There was this dim, vague consciousness in him that after long, futile +straying in another place where uncongenial conditions had forced him to +be unnatural and therefore terrible, he had returned at last where he +belonged. Here, in the Valley of the Beasts, he had found peace, +security and happiness. He would be--he was at last--himself. + +It was a marvellous, even a magical, scene he watched, his nerves at +highest tension yet quite steady, his senses exquisitely alert, yet no +uneasiness in the full, accurate reports they furnished. Strong as some +deep flood-tide, yet dim, as with untold time and distance, rose over +him the spell of long-forgotten memory of a state where he was content +and happy, where he was natural. The outlines, as it were, of mighty, +primitive pictures, flashed before him, yet were gone again before the +detail was filled in. + +He watched the great army of the animals, they were all about him now; +he crouched upon his haunches in the centre of an ever-moving circle of +wild forest life. Great timber wolves he saw pass to and fro, loping +past him with long stride and graceful swing; their red tongues lolling +out; they swarmed in hundreds. Behind, yet mingling freely with them, +rolled the huge grizzlies, not clumsy as their uncouth bodies promised, +but swiftly, lightly, easily, their half tumbling gait masking agility +and speed. They gambolled, sometimes they rose and stood half upright, +they were comely in their mass and power, they rolled past him so close +that he could touch them. And the black bear and the brown went with +them, bears beyond counting, monsters and little ones, a splendid +multitude. Beyond them, yet only a little further back, where the +park-like spaces made free movement easier, rose a sea of horns and +antlers like a miniature forest in the silvery moonlight. The immense +tribe of deer gathered in vast throngs beneath the starlit sky. Moose +and caribou, he saw, the mighty wapiti, and the smaller deer in their +crowding thousands. He heard the sound of meeting horns, the tread of +innumerable hoofs, the occasional pawing of the ground as the bigger +creatures manoeuvred for more space about them. A wolf, he saw, was +licking gently at the shoulder of a great bull-moose that had been +injured. And the tide receded, advanced again, once more receded, rising +and falling like a living sea whose waves were animal shapes, the +inhabitants of the Valley of the Beasts. + +Beneath the quiet moonlight they swayed to and fro before him. They +watched him, knew him, recognized him. They made him welcome. + +He was aware, moreover, of a world of smaller life that formed an +under-sea, as it were, numerous under-currents rather, running in and +out between the great upright legs of the larger creatures. These, +though he could not see them clearly, covered the earth, he was aware, +in enormous numbers, darting hither and thither, now hiding, now +reappearing, too intent upon their busy purposes to pay him attention +like their huger comrades, yet ever and anon tumbling against his back, +cannoning from his sides, scampering across his legs even, then gone +again with a scuttering sound of rapid little feet, and rushing back +into the general host beyond. And with this smaller world also he felt +at home. + +How long he sat gazing, happy in himself, secure, satisfied, contented, +natural, he could not say, but it was long enough for the desire to +mingle with what he saw, to know closer contact, to become one with them +all--long enough for this deep blind desire to assert itself, so that at +length he began to move from his mossy seat towards them, to move, +moreover, as they moved, and not upright on two feet. + +The moon was lower now, just sinking behind a towering cedar whose +ragged crest broke its light into silvery spray. The stars were a little +paler too. A line of faint red was visible beyond the heights at the +valley's eastern end. + +He paused and looked about him, as he advanced slowly, aware that the +host already made an opening in their ranks and that the bear even nosed +the earth in front, as though to show the way that was easiest for him +to follow. Then, suddenly, a lynx leaped past him into the low branches +of a hemlock, and he lifted his head to admire its perfect poise. He saw +in the same instant the arrival of the birds, the army of the eagles, +hawks and buzzards, birds of prey--the awakening flight that just +precedes the dawn. He saw the flocks and streaming lines, hiding the +whitening stars a moment as they passed with a prodigious whirr of +wings. There came the hooting of an owl from the tree immediately +overhead where the lynx now crouched, but not maliciously, along its +branch. + +He started. He half rose to an upright position. He knew not why he did +so, knew not exactly why he started. But in the attempt to find his new, +and, as it now seemed, his unaccustomed balance, one hand fell against +his side and came in contact with a hard straight thing that projected +awkwardly from his clothing. He pulled it out, feeling it all over with +his fingers. It was a little stick. He raised it nearer to his eyes, +examined it in the light of dawn now growing swiftly, remembered, or +half remembered what it was--and stood stock still. + +"The totem stick," he mumbled to himself, yet audibly, finding his +speech, and finding another thing--a glint of peering memory--for the +first time since entering the valley. + +A shock like fire ran through his body; he straightened himself, aware +that a moment before he had been crawling upon his hands and knees; it +seemed that something broke in his brain, lifting a veil, flinging a +shutter free. And Memory peered dreadfully through the widening gap. + +"I'm--I'm Grimwood," his voice uttered, though below his breath. +"Tooshalli's left me. I'm alone...!" + +He was aware of a sudden change in the animals surrounding him. A big, +grey wolf sat three feet away, glaring into his face; at its side an +enormous grizzly swayed itself from one foot to the other; behind it, as +if looking over its shoulder, loomed a gigantic wapiti, its horns merged +in the shadows of the drooping cedar boughs. But the northern dawn was +nearer, the sun already close to the horizon. He saw details with sharp +distinctness now. The great bear rose, balancing a moment on its massive +hind-quarters, then took a step towards him, its front paws spread like +arms. Its wicked head lolled horribly, as a huge bull-moose, lowering +its horns as if about to charge, came up with a couple of long strides +and joined it. A sudden excitement ran quivering over the entire host; +the distant ranks moved in a new, unpleasant way; a thousand heads were +lifted, ears were pricked, a forest of ugly muzzles pointed up to the +wind. + +And the Englishman, beside himself suddenly with a sense of ultimate +terror that saw no possible escape, stiffened and stood rigid. The +horror of his position petrified him. Motionless and silent he faced +the awful army of his enemies, while the white light of breaking day +added fresh ghastliness to the scene which was the setting for his cruel +death in the Valley of the Beasts. + +Above him crouched the hideous lynx, ready to spring the instant he +sought safety in the tree; above it again, he was aware of a thousand +talons of steel, fierce hooked beaks of iron, and the angry beating of +prodigious wings. + +He reeled, for the grizzly touched his body with its outstretched paw; +the wolf crouched just before its deadly spring; in another second +he would have been torn to pieces, crushed, devoured, when terror, +operating naturally as ever, released the muscles of his throat and +tongue. He shouted with what he believed was his last breath on earth. +He called aloud in his frenzy. It was a prayer to whatever gods there +be, it was an anguished cry for help to heaven. + +"Ishtot! Great Ishtot, help me!" his voice rang out, while his hand +still clutched the forgotten totem stick. + +And the Red Heaven heard him. + +Grimwood that same instant was aware of a presence that, but for +his terror of the beasts, must have frightened him into sheer +unconsciousness. A gigantic Red Indian stood before him. Yet, while the +figure rose close in front of him, causing the birds to settle and the +wild animals to crouch quietly where they stood, it rose also from +a great distance, for it seemed to fill the entire valley with its +influence, its power, its amazing majesty. In some way, moreover, that +he could not understand, its vast appearance included the actual valley +itself with all its trees, its running streams, its open spaces and its +rocky bluffs. These marked its outline, as it were, the outline of a +superhuman shape. There was a mighty bow, there was a quiver of enormous +arrows, there was this Redskin figure to whom they belonged. + +Yet the appearance, the outline, the face and figure too--these _were_ +the valley; and when the voice became audible, it was the valley itself +that uttered the appalling words. It was the voice of trees and wind, +and of running, falling water that woke the echoes in the Valley of the +Beasts, as, in that same moment, the sun topped the ridge and filled the +scene, the outline of the majestic figure too, with a flood of dazzling +light: + +"You have shed blood in this my valley.... _I will not save_...!" + +The figure melted away into the sunlit forest, merging with the new-born +day. But Grimwood saw close against his face the shining teeth, hot +fetid breath passed over his cheeks, a power enveloped his whole body as +though a mountain crushed him. He closed his eyes. He fell. A sharp, +crackling sound passed through his brain, but already unconscious, he +did not hear it. + + * * * * * + +His eyes opened again, and the first thing they took in was--fire. He +shrank back instinctively. + +"It's all right, old man. We'll bring you round. Nothing to be +frightened about." He saw the face of Iredale looking down into his own. +Behind Iredale stood Tooshalli. His face was swollen. Grimwood +remembered the blow. The big man began to cry. + +"Painful still, is it?" Iredale said sympathetically. "Here, swallow a +little more of this. It'll set you right in no time." + +Grimwood gulped down the spirit. He made a violent effort to control +himself, but was unable to keep the tears back. He felt no pain. It was +his heart that ached, though why or wherefore, he had no idea. + +"I'm all to pieces," he mumbled, ashamed yet somehow not ashamed. "My +nerves are rotten. What's happened?" There was as yet no memory in him. + +"You've been hugged by a bear, old man. But no bones broken. Tooshalli +saved you. He fired in the nick of time--a brave shot, for he might +easily have hit you instead of the brute." + +"The other brute," whispered Grimwood, as the whisky worked in him and +memory came slowly back. + +"Where are we?" he asked presently, looking about him. + +He saw a lake, canoes drawn up on the shore, two tents, and figures +moving. Iredale explained matters briefly, then left him to sleep a bit. +Tooshalli, it appeared, travelling without rest, had reached Iredale's +camping ground twenty-four hours after leaving his employer. He found it +deserted, Iredale and his Indian being on the hunt. When they returned +at nightfall, he had explained his presence in his brief native fashion: +"He struck me and I quit. He hunt now alone in Ishtot's Valley of the +Beasts. He is dead, I think. I come to tell you." + +Iredale and his guide, with Tooshalli as leader, started off then and +there, but Grimwood had covered a considerable distance, though leaving +an easy track to follow. It was the moose tracks and the blood that +chiefly guided them. They came up with him suddenly enough--in the grip +of an enormous bear. + +It was Tooshalli that fired. + + * * * * * + +The Indian lives now in easy circumstances, all his needs cared for, +while Grimwood, his benefactor but no longer his employer, has given up +hunting. He is a quiet, easy-tempered, almost gentle sort of fellow, +and people wonder rather why he hasn't married. "Just the fellow to +make a good father," is what they say; "so kind, good-natured and +affectionate." Among his pipes, in a glass case over the mantlepiece, +hangs a totem stick. He declares it saved his soul, but what he means by +the expression he has never quite explained. + + + + +VII + +THE CALL + + +The incident--story it never was, perhaps--began tamely, almost meanly; +it ended upon a note of strange, unearthly wonder that has haunted him +ever since. In Headley's memory, at any rate, it stands out as the +loveliest, the most amazing thing he ever witnessed. Other emotions, +too, contributed to the vividness of the picture. That he had felt +jealousy towards his old pal, Arthur Deane, shocked him in the first +place; it seemed impossible until it actually happened. But that the +jealousy was proved afterwards to have been without a cause shocked him +still more. He felt ashamed and miserable. + +For him, the actual incident began when he received a note from Mrs. +Blondin asking him to the Priory for a week-end, or for longer, if he +could manage it. + +Captain Arthur Deane, she mentioned, was staying with her at the moment, +and a warm welcome awaited him. Iris she did not mention--Iris Manning, +the interesting and beautiful girl for whom it was well known he had a +considerable weakness. He found a good-sized house party; there was +fishing in the little Sussex river, tennis, golf not far away, while two +motor cars brought the remoter country across the downs into easy reach. +Also there was a bit of duck shooting for those who cared to wake at +3 a. m. and paddle up-stream to the marshes where the birds were feeding. + +"Have you brought your gun?" was the first thing Arthur said to him when +he arrived. "Like a fool, I left mine in town." + +"I hope you haven't," put in Miss Manning; "because if you have I must +get up one fine morning at three o'clock." She laughed merrily, and +there was an undernote of excitement in the laugh. + +Captain Headley showed his surprise. "That you were a Diana had escaped +my notice, I'm ashamed to say," he replied lightly. "Yet I've known you +some years, haven't I?" He looked straight at her, and the soft yet +searching eye, turning from his friend, met his own securely. She was +appraising him, for the hundreth time, and he, for the hundreth time, +was thinking how pretty she was, and wondering how long the prettiness +would last after marriage. + +"I'm not," he heard her answer. "That's just it. But I've promised." + +"Rather!" said Arthur gallantly. "And I shall hold you to it," he added +still more gallantly--too gallantly, Headley thought. "I couldn't +possibly get up at cockcrow without a very special inducement, could I, +now? You know me, Dick!" + +"Well, anyhow, I've brought my gun," Headley replied evasively, "so +you've no excuse, either of you. You'll have to go." And while they were +laughing and chattering about it, Mrs. Blondin clinched the matter for +them. Provisions were hard to come by; the larder really needed a brace +or two of birds; it was the least they could do in return for what she +called amusingly her "Armistice hospitality." + +"So I expect you to get up at three," she chaffed them, "and return with +your Victory birds." + +It was from this preliminary skirmish over the tea-table on the law five +minutes after his arrival that Dick Headley realized easily enough the +little game in progress. As a man of experience, just on the wrong side +of forty, it was not difficult to see the cards each held. He sighed. +Had he guessed an intrigue was on foot he would not have come, yet he +might have known that wherever his hostess was, there were the vultures +gathered together. Matchmaker by choice and instinct, Mrs. Blondin +could not help herself. True to her name, she was always balancing on +matrimonial tightropes--for others. + +_Her_ cards, at any rate, were obvious enough; she had laid them on the +table for him. He easily read her hand. The next twenty-four hours +confirmed this reading. Having made up her mind that Iris and Arthur +were destined for each other, she had grown impatient; they had been ten +days together, yet Iris was still free. They were good friends only. +With calculation, she, therefore, took a step that must bring things +further. She invited Dick Headley, whose weakness for the girl was +common knowledge. The card was indicated; she played it. Arthur must +come to the point or see another man carry her off. This, at least, she +planned, little dreaming that the dark King of Spades would interfere. + +Miss Manning's hand also was fairly obvious, for both men were extremely +eligible _partis_. She was getting on; one or other was to become her +husband before the party broke up. This, in crude language, was +certainly in her cards, though, being a nice and charming girl, she +might camouflage it cleverly to herself and others. Her eyes, on each +man in turn when the shooting expedition was being discussed, revealed +her part in the little intrigue clearly enough. It was all, thus far, as +commonplace as could be. + +But there were two more hands Headley had to read--his own and his +friend's; and these, he admitted honestly, were not so easy. To take his +own first. It was true he was fond of the girl and had often tried to +make up his mind to ask her. Without being conceited, he had good reason +to believe his affection was returned and that she would accept him. +There was no ecstatic love on either side, for he was no longer a boy of +twenty, nor was she unscathed by tempestuous love affairs that had +scorched the first bloom from her face and heart. But they understood +one another; they were an honest couple; she was tired of flirting; +both wanted to marry and settle down. Unless a better man turned up she +probably would say "Yes" without humbug or delay. It was this last +reflection that brought him to the final hand he had to read. + +Here he was puzzled. Arthur Deane's role in the teacup strategy, for the +first time since they had known one another, seemed strange, uncertain. +Why? Because, though paying no attention to the girl openly, he met her +clandestinely, unknown to the rest of the house-party, and above all +without telling his intimate pal--at three o'clock in the morning. + +The house-party was in full swing, with a touch of that wild, reckless +gaiety which followed the end of the war: "Let us be happy before a +worse thing comes upon us," was in many hearts. After a crowded day they +danced till early in the morning, while doubtful weather prevented the +early shooting expedition after duck. The third night Headley contrived +to disappear early to bed. He lay there thinking. He was puzzled over +his friend's role, over the clandestine meeting in particular. It was +the morning before, waking very early, he had been drawn to the window +by an unusual sound--the cry of a bird. Was it a bird? In all his +experience he had never heard such a curious, half-singing call before. +He listened a moment, thinking it must have been a dream, yet with the +odd cry still ringing in his ears. It was repeated close beneath his +open window, a long, low-pitched cry with three distinct following notes +in it. + +He sat up in bed and listened hard. No bird that he knew could make such +sounds. But it was not repeated a third time, and out of sheer curiosity +he went to the window and looked out. Dawn was creeping over the distant +downs; he saw their outline in the grey pearly light; he saw the lawn +below, stretching down to the little river at the bottom, where a +curtain of faint mist hung in the air. And on this lawn he also saw +Arthur Deane--with Iris Manning. + +Of course, he reflected, they were going after the duck. He turned to +look at his watch; it was three o'clock. The same glance, however, +showed him his gun standing in the corner. So they were going without a +gun. A sharp pang of unexpected jealousy shot through him. He was just +going to shout out something or other, wishing them good luck, or asking +if they had found another gun, perhaps, when a cold touch crept down his +spine. The same instant his heart contracted. Deane had followed the +girl into the summer-house, which stood on the right. It was _not_ the +shooting expedition at all. Arthur was meeting her for another purpose. +The blood flowed back, filling his head. He felt an eavesdropper, a +sneak, a detective; but, for all that, he felt also jealous. And his +jealousy seemed chiefly because Arthur had not told him. + +Of this, then, he lay thinking in bed on the third night. The following +day he had said nothing, but had crossed the corridor and put the gun in +his friend's room. Arthur, for his part, had said nothing either. For +the first time in their long, long friendship, there lay a secret +between them. To Headley the unexpected revelation came with pain. + +For something like a quarter of a century these two had been bosom +friends; they had camped together, been in the army together, taken +their pleasure together, each the full confidant of the other in all the +things that go to make up men's lives. Above all, Headley had been the +one and only recipient of Arthur's unhappy love story. He knew the girl, +knew his friend's deep passion, and also knew his terrible pain when she +was lost at sea. Arthur was burnt out, finished, out of the running, so +far as marriage was concerned. He was not a man to love a second time. +It was a great and poignant tragedy. Headley, as confidant, knew all. +But more than that--Arthur, on his side, knew his friend's weakness for +Iris Manning, knew that a marriage was still possible and likely between +them. They were true as steel to one another, and each man, oddly +enough, had once saved the other's life, thus adding to the strength of +a great natural tie. + +Yet now one of them, feigning innocence by day, even indifference, +secretly met his friend's girl by night, and kept the matter to himself. +It seemed incredible. With his own eyes Headley had seen him on the +lawn, passing in the faint grey light through the mist into the +summer-house, where the girl had just preceded him. He had not seen her +face, but he had seen the skirt sweep round the corner of the wooden +pillar. He had not waited to see them come out again. + +So he now lay wondering what role his old friend was playing in this +little intrigue that their hostess, Mrs. Blondin, helped to stage. And, +oddly enough, one minor detail stayed in his mind with a curious +vividness. As naturalist, hunter, nature-lover, the cry of that strange +bird, with its three mournful notes, perplexed him exceedingly. + +A knock came at his door, and the door pushed open before he had time to +answer. Deane himself came in. + +"Wise man," he exclaimed in an easy tone, "got off to bed. Iris was +asking where you were." He sat down on the edge of the mattress, where +Headley was lying with a cigarette and an open book he had not read. The +old sense of intimacy and comradeship rose in the latter's heart. Doubt +and suspicion faded. He prized his great friendship. He met the familiar +eyes. "Impossible," he said to himself, "absolutely impossible! He's not +playing a game; he's not a rotter!" He pushed over his cigarette case, +and Arthur lighted one. + +"Done in," he remarked shortly, with the first puff. "Can't stand it any +more. I'm off to town to-morrow." + +Headley stared in amazement. "Fed up already?" he asked. "Why, I rather +like it. It's quite amusing. What's wrong, old man?" + +"This match-making," said Deane bluntly. "Always throwing that girl at +my head. If it's not the duck-shooting stunt at 3 a. m., it's something +else. She doesn't care for me and I don't care for her. Besides----" + +He stopped, and the expression of his face changed suddenly. A sad, +quiet look of tender yearning came into his clear brown eyes. + +"_You_ know, Dick," he went on in a low, half-reverent tone. "I don't +want to marry. I never can." + +Dick's heart stirred within him. "Mary," he said, understandingly. + +The other nodded, as though the memories were still too much for him. +"I'm still miserably lonely for her," he said. "Can't help it simply. +I feel utterly lost without her. Her memory to me is everything." He +looked deep into his pal's eyes. "I'm married to that," he added very +firmly. + +They pulled their cigarettes a moment in silence. They belonged to the +male type that conceals emotion behind schoolboy language. + +"It's hard luck," said Headley gently, "rotten luck, old man, I +understand." Arthur's head nodded several times in succession as he +smoked. He made no remark for some minutes. Then presently he said, as +though it had no particular importance--for thus old friends show +frankness to each other--"Besides, anyhow, it's you the girl's dying +for, not me. She's blind as a bat, old Blondin. Even when I'm with +her--thrust with her by that old matchmaker for my sins--it's you she +talks about. All the talk leads up to you and yours. She's devilish fond +of you." He paused a moment and looked searchingly into his friend's +face. "I say, old man--are you--I mean, do you mean business there? +Because--excuse me interfering--but you'd better be careful. She's a +good sort, you know, after all." + +"Yes, Arthur, I do like her a bit," Dick told him frankly. "But I can't +make up my mind quite. You see, it's like this----" + +And they talked the matter over as old friends will, until finally +Arthur chucked his cigarette into the grate and got up to go. "Dead to +the world," he said, with a yawn. "I'm off to bed. Give you a chance, +too," he added with a laugh. It was after midnight. + +The other turned, as though something had suddenly occurred to him. + +"By the bye, Arthur," he said abruptly, "what bird makes this sound? I +heard it the other morning. Most extraordinary cry. You know everything +that flies. What is it?" And, to the best of his ability, he imitated +the strange three-note cry he had heard in the dawn two mornings before. + +To his amazement and keen distress, his friend, with a sound like a +stifled groan, sat down upon the bed without a word. He seemed startled. +His face was white. He stared. He passed a hand, as in pain, across his +forehead. + +"Do it again," he whispered, in a hushed, nervous voice. "Once +again--for me." + +And Headley, looking at him, repeated the queer notes, a sudden +revulsion of feeling rising through him. "He's fooling me after all," +ran in his heart, "my old, old pal----" + +There was silence for a full minute. Then Arthur, stammering a bit, said +lamely, a certain hush in his voice still: "Where in the world did you +hear that--and _when_?" + +Dick Headley sat up in bed. He was not going to lose this friendship, +which, to him, was more than the love of woman. He must help. His pal +was in distress and difficulty. There were circumstances, he realized, +that might be too strong for the best man in the world--sometimes. No, +by God, he would play the game and help him out! + +"Arthur, old chap," he said affectionately, almost tenderly. "I heard it +two mornings ago--on the lawn below my window here. It woke me up. I--I +went to look. Three in the morning, about." + +Arthur amazed him then. He first took another cigarette and lit it +steadily. He looked round the room vaguely, avoiding, it seemed, the +other's eyes. Then he turned, pain in his face, and gazed straight at +him. + +"You saw--nothing?" he asked in a louder voice, but a voice that had +something very real and true in it. It reminded Headley of the voice he +heard when he was fainting from exhaustion, and Arthur had said, "Take +it, I tell you. I'm all right," and had passed over the flask, though +his own throat and sight and heart were black with thirst. It was a +voice that had command in it, a voice that did not lie because it could +not--yet did lie and could lie--when occasion warranted. + +Headley knew a second's awful struggle. + +"Nothing," he answered quietly, after his little pause. "Why?" + +For perhaps two minutes his friend hid his face. Then he looked up. + +"Only," he whispered, "because that was our secret lover's cry. It +seems so strange you heard it and not I. I've felt her so close of +late--Mary!" + +The white face held very steady, the firm lips did not tremble, but it +was evident that the heart knew anguish that was deep and poignant. "We +used it to call each other--in the old days. It was our private call. No +one else in the world knew it but Mary and myself." + +Dick Headley was flabbergasted. He had no time to think, however. + +"It's odd you should hear it and not I," his friend repeated. He looked +hurt, bewildered, wounded. Then suddenly his face brightened. "I know," +he cried suddenly. "You and I are pretty good pals. There's a tie +between us and all that. Why, it's tel--telepathy, or whatever they call +it. That's what it is." + +He got up abruptly. Dick could think of nothing to say but to repeat +the other's words. "Of course, of course. That's it," he said, +"telepathy." He stared--anywhere but at his pal. + +"Night, night!" he heard from the door, and before he could do more than +reply in similar vein Arthur was gone. + +He lay for a long time, thinking, thinking. He found it all very +strange. Arthur in this emotional state was new to him. He turned it +over and over. Well, he had known good men behave queerly when wrought +up. That recognition of the bird's cry was strange, of course, but--he +knew the cry of a bird when he heard it, though he might not know the +actual bird. That was no human whistle. Arthur was--inventing. No, +that was not possible. He was worked up, then, over something, a bit +hysterical perhaps. It had happened before, though in a milder way, when +his heart attacks came on. They affected his nerves and head a little, +it seemed. He was a deep sort, Dick remembered. Thought turned and +twisted in him, offering various solutions, some absurd, some likely. He +was a nervous, high-strung fellow underneath, Arthur was. He remembered +that. Also he remembered, anxiously again, that his heart was not quite +sound, though what that had to do with the present tangle he did not +see. + +Yet it was hardly likely that he would bring in Mary as an invention, an +excuse--Mary, the most sacred memory in his life, the deepest, truest, +best. He had sworn, anyhow, that Iris Manning meant nothing to him. + +Through all his speculations, behind every thought, ran this horrid +working jealousy. It poisoned him. It twisted truth. It moved like +a wicked snake through mind and heart. Arthur, gripped by his new, +absorbing love for Iris Manning, lied. He couldn't believe it, he didn't +believe it, he wouldn't believe it--yet jealousy persisted in keeping +the idea alive in him. It was a dreadful thought. He fell asleep on it. + +But his sleep was uneasy with feverish, unpleasant dreams that rambled +on in fragments without coming to conclusion. Then, suddenly, the cry of +the strange bird came into his dream. He started, turned over, woke up. +The cry still continued. It was not a dream. He jumped out of bed. + +The room was grey with early morning, the air fresh and a little chill. +The cry came floating over the lawn as before. He looked out, pain +clutching at his heart. Two figures stood below, a man and a girl, and +the man was Arthur Deane. Yet the light was so dim, the morning being +overcast, that had he not expected to see his friend, he would scarcely +have recognized the familiar form in that shadowy outline that stood +close beside the girl. Nor could he, perhaps, have recognized Iris +Manning. Their backs were to him. They moved away, disappearing +again into the little summer-house, and this time--he saw it beyond +question--the two were hand in hand. Vague and uncertain as the figures +were in the early twilight, he was sure of that. + +The first disagreeable sensation of surprise, disgust, anger that +sickened him turned quickly, however, into one of another kind +altogether. A curious feeling of superstitious dread crept over him, and +a shiver ran again along his nerves. + +"Hallo, Arthur!" he called from the window. There was no answer. His +voice was certainly audible in the summer-house. But no one came. He +repeated the call a little louder, waited in vain for thirty seconds, +then came, the same moment, to a decision that even surprised himself, +for the truth we he could no longer bear the suspense of waiting. He +must see his friend at once and have it out with him. He turned and went +deliberately down the corridor to Deane's bedroom. He would wait there +for his return and know the truth from his own lips. But also another +thought had come--the gun. He had quite forgotten it--the safety-catch +was out of order. He had not warned him. + +He found the door closed but not locked; opening it cautiously, he went +in. + +But the unexpectedness of what he saw gave him a genuine shock. He could +hardly suppress a cry. Everything in the room was neat and orderly, no +sign of disturbance anywhere, and it was not empty. There, in bed, +before his very eyes, was Arthur. The clothes were turned back a little; +he saw the pyjamas open at the throat; he lay sound asleep, deeply, +peacefully asleep. + +So surprised, indeed, was Headley that, after staring a moment, almost +unable to believe his sight, he then put out a hand and touched him +gently, cautiously on the forehead. But Arthur did not stir or wake; his +breathing remained deep and regular. He lay sleeping like a baby. + +Headley glanced round the room, noticed the gun in the corner where he +himself had put it the day before, and then went out, closing the door +behind him softly. + +Arthur Deane, however, did not leave for London as he had intended, +because he felt unwell and kept to his room upstairs. It was only a +slight attack, apparently, but he must lie quiet. There was no need to +send for a doctor; he knew just what to do; these passing attacks were +common enough. He would be up and about again very shortly. Headley kept +him company, saying no single word of what had happened. He read aloud +to him, chatted and cheered him up. He had no other visitors. Within +twenty-four hours he was himself once more. He and his friend had +planned to leave the following day. + +But Headley, that last night in the house, felt an odd uneasiness and +could not sleep. All night long he sat up reading, looking out of the +window, smoking in a chair where he could see the stars and hear the +wind and watch the huge shadow of the downs. The house lay very still +as the hours passed. He dozed once or twice. Why did he sit up in this +unnecessary way? Why did he leave his door ajar so that the slightest +sound of another door opening, or of steps passing along the corridor, +must reach him? Was he anxious for his friend? Was he suspicious? What +was his motive, what his secret purpose? + +Headley did not know, and could not even explain it to himself. He felt +uneasy, that was all he knew. Not for worlds would he have let himself +go to sleep or lose full consciousness that night. It was very odd; he +could not understand himself. He merely obeyed a strange, deep instinct +that bade him wait and watch. His nerves were jumpy; in his heart lay +some unexplicable anxiety that was pain. + +The dawn came slowly; the stars faded one by one; the line of the downs +showed their grand bare curves against the sky; cool and cloudless the +September morning broke above the little Sussex pleasure house. He sat +and watched the east grow bright. The early wind brought a scent of +marshes and the sea into his room. Then suddenly it brought a sound as +well--the haunting cry of the bird with its three following notes. And +this time there came an answer. + +Headley knew then why he had sat up. A wave of emotion swept him as +he heard--an emotion he could not attempt to explain. Dread, wonder, +longing seized him. For some seconds he could not leave his chair +because he did not dare to. The low-pitched cries of call and answer +rang in his ears like some unearthly music. With an effort he started +up, went to the window and looked out. + +This time the light was sharp and clear. No mist hung in the air. He saw +the crimsoning sky reflected like a band of shining metal in the reach +of river beyond the lawn. He saw dew on the grass, a sheet of pallid +silver. He saw the summer-house, empty of any passing figures. For this +time the two figures stood plainly in view before his eyes upon the +lawn. They stood there, hand in hand, sharply defined, unmistakable in +form and outline, their faces, moreover, turned upwards to the window +where he stood, staring down in pain and amazement at them--at Arthur +Deane and _Mary_. + +They looked into his eyes. He tried to call, but no sound left his +throat. They began to move across the dew-soaked lawn. They went, he +saw, with a floating, undulating motion towards the river shining in the +dawn. Their feet left no marks upon the grass. They reached the bank, +but did not pause in their going. They rose a little, floating like +silent birds across the river. Turning in mid-stream, they smiled +towards him, waved their hands with a gesture of farewell, then, rising +still higher into the opal dawn, their figures passed into the distance +slowly, melting away against the sunlit marshes and the shadowing downs +beyond. They disappeared. + +Headley never quite remembers actually leaving the window, crossing the +room, or going down the passage. Perhaps he went at once, perhaps he +stood gazing into the air above the downs for a considerable time, +unable to tear himself away. He was in some marvellous dream, it seemed. +The next thing he remembers, at any rate, was that he was standing +beside his friend's bed, trying, in his distraught anguish of heart, to +call him from that sleep which, on earth, knows no awakening. + + + + +VIII + +EGYPTIAN SORCERY + + +1 + +Sanfield paused as he was about to leave the Underground station at +Victoria, and cursed the weather. When he left the City it was fine; now +it was pouring with rain, and he had neither overcoat nor umbrella. Not +a taxi was discoverable in the dripping gloom. He would get soaked +before he reached his rooms in Sloane Street. + +He stood for some minutes, thinking how vile London was in February, and +how depressing life was in general. He stood also, in that moment, +though he knew it not, upon the edge of a singular adventure. Looking +back upon it in later years, he often remembered this particularly +wretched moment of a pouring wet February evening, when everything +seemed wrong, and Fate had loaded the dice against him, even in the +matter of weather and umbrellas. + +Fate, however, without betraying her presence, was watching him through +the rain and murk; and Fate, that night, had strange, mysterious eyes. +Fantastic cards lay up her sleeve. The rain, his weariness and +depression, his physical fatigue especially, seemed the conditions she +required before she played these curious cards. Something new and +wonderful fluttered close. Romance flashed by him across the driving +rain and touched his cheek. He was too exasperated to be aware of it. + +Things had gone badly that day at the office, where he was junior +partner in a small firm of engineers. Threatened trouble at the works +had come to a head. A strike seemed imminent. To add to his annoyance, +a new client, whose custom was of supreme importance, had just +complained bitterly of the delay in the delivery of his machinery. The +senior partners had left the matter in Sanfield's hands; he had not +succeeded. The angry customer swore he would hold the firm to its +contract. They could deliver or pay up--whichever suited them. The +junior partner had made a mess of things. + +The final words on the telephone still rang in his ears as he stood +sheltering under the arcade, watching the downpour, and wondering +whether he should make a dash for it or wait on the chance of its +clearing up--when a further blow was dealt him as the rain-soaked poster +of an evening paper caught his eye: "Riots in Egypt. Heavy Fall in +Egyptian Securities," he read with blank dismay. Buying a paper +he turned feverishly to the City article--to find his worst fears +confirmed. Delta Lands, in which nearly all his small capital was +invested, had declined a quarter on the news, and would evidently +decline further still. The riots were going on in the towns nearest to +their property. Banks had been looted, crops destroyed; the trouble was +deep-seated. + +So grave was the situation that mere weather seemed suddenly of no +account at all. He walked home doggedly in the drenching rain, paying +less attention to it than if it had been Scotch mist. The water streamed +from his hat, dripped down his back and neck, splashed him with mud and +grime from head to foot. He was soaked to the skin. He hardly noticed +it. His capital had depreciated by half, at least, and possibly was +altogether lost; his position at the office was insecure. How could mere +weather matter? + +Sitting, eventually, before his fire in dry clothes, after an apology +for a dinner he had no heart to eat, he reviewed the situation. He faced +a possible total loss of his private capital. Next, the position of his +firm caused him grave uneasiness, since, apart from his own mishandling +of the new customer, the threatened strike might ruin it completely; +a long strain on its limited finances was out of the question. George +Sanfield certainly saw things at their worst. He was now thirty-five. +A fresh start--the mere idea of it made him shudder--occurred as a +possibility in the near future. Vitality, indeed, was at a low ebb, it +seemed. Mental depression, great physical fatigue, weariness of life in +general made his spirits droop alarmingly, so that almost he felt tired +of living. His tie with existence, at any rate, just then was +dangerously weak. + +Thought turned next to the man on whose advice he had staked his all in +Delta Lands. Morris had important Egyptian interests in various big +companies and enterprises along the Nile. He had first come to the firm +with a letter of introduction upon some business matter, which the +junior partner had handled so successfully that acquaintance thus formed +had ripened into a more personal tie. The two men had much in common; +their temperaments were suited; understanding grew between them; they +felt at home and comfortable with one another. They became friends; they +felt a mutual confidence. When Morris paid his rare visits to England, +they spent much time together; and it was on one of these occasions that +the matter of the Egyptian shares was mentioned, Morris urgently +advising their purchase. + +Sanfield explained his own position clearly enough, but his friend was +so confident and optimistic that the purchase eventually had been made. +There had been, moreover, Sanfield now remembered, the flavour of a +peculiarly intimate and personal kind about the deal. He had remarked +it, with a touch of surprise, at the moment, though really it seemed +natural enough. Morris was very earnest, holding his friend's interest +at heart; he was affectionate almost. + +"I'd like to do you this good turn, old man," he said. "I have the +strong feeling, somehow, that I owe you this, though heaven alone knows +why!" After a pause he added, half shyly: "It may be one of those old +memories we hear about nowadays cropping up out of some previous life +together." Before the other could reply, he went on to explain that only +three men were in the parent syndicate, the shares being unobtainable. +"I'll set some of my own aside for you--four thousand or so, if you +like." + +They laughed together; Sanfield thanked him warmly; the deal was carried +out. But the recipient of the favour had wondered a little at the sudden +increase of intimacy even while he liked it and responded. + +Had he been a fool, he now asked himself, to swallow the advice, putting +all his eggs into a single basket? He knew very little about Morris +after all.... Yet, while reflection showed him that the advice was +honest, and the present riots no fault of the adviser's, he found his +thoughts turning in a steady stream towards the man. The affairs of the +firm took second place. It was Morris, with his deep-set eyes, his +curious ways, his dark skin burnt brick-red by a fierce Eastern sun; it +was Morris, looking almost like an Egyptian, who stood before him as he +sat thinking gloomily over his dying fire. + +He longed to talk with him, to ask him questions, to seek advice. He saw +him very vividly against the screen of thought; Morris stood beside him +now, gazing out across the limitless expanse of tawny sand. He had in +his eyes the "distance" that sailors share with men whose life has been +spent amid great trackless wastes. Morris, moreover, now he came to +think of it, seemed always a little out of place in England. He had few +relatives and, apparently, no friends; he was always intensely pleased +when the time came to return to his beloved Nile. He had once mentioned +casually a sister who kept house for him when duty detained him in +Cairo, but, even here, he was something of an Oriental, rarely speaking +of his women folk. Egypt, however, plainly drew him like a magnet. +Resistance involved disturbance in his being, even ill-health. Egypt +was "home" to him, and his friend, though he had never been there, felt +himself its potent spell. + +Another curious trait Sanfield remembered, too--his friend's childish +superstition; his belief, or half-belief, in magic and the supernatural. +Sanfield, amused, had ascribed it to the long sojourn in a land where +anything unusual is at once ascribed to spiritual agencies. Morris +owed his entire fortune, if his tale could be believed, to the +magical apparition of an unearthly kind in some lonely _wadi_ among +the Bedouins. A sand-diviner had influenced another successful +speculation.... He was a picturesque figure, whichever way one took him: +yet a successful business man into the bargain. + +These reflections and memories, on the other hand, brought small comfort +to the man who had tempted Fate by following his advice. It was only a +little strange how Morris now dominated his thoughts, directing them +towards himself. Morris was in Egypt at the moment. + +He went to bed at length, filled with uneasy misgivings, but for a long +time he could not sleep. He tossed restlessly, his mind still running on +the subject of his long reflections. He ached with tiredness. He dropped +off at last. Then came a nightmare dream, in which the firm's works were +sold for nearly nothing to an old Arab sheikh who wished to pay for +them--in goats. He woke up in a cold perspiration. He had uneasy +thoughts. His fancy was travelling. He could not rest. + +To distract his mind, he turned on the light and tried to read, and, +eventually, towards morning, fell into a sleep of sheer exhaustion. And +his final thought--he knew not exactly why--was a sentence Morris had +made use of long ago: "I feel I owe you a good turn; I'd like to do +something for you...." + +This was the memory in his mind as he slipped off into unconsciousness. + +But what happens when the mind is unconscious and the tired body lies +submerged in deep sleep, no man, they say, can really tell. + + +2 + +The next thing he knew he was walking along a sun-baked street in some +foreign town that was familiar, although, at first, its name escaped +him. Colour, softness, and warmth pervaded it; there was sparkle and +lightness in the exhilarating air; it was an Eastern town. + +Though early morning, a number of people were already stirring; strings +of camels passed him, loaded with clover, bales of merchandise, and +firewood. Gracefully-draped women went by silently, carrying water jars +of burnt clay upon their heads. Rude wooden shutters were being taken +down in the bazaars; the smoke of cooking-fires rose in the blue spirals +through the quiet air. He felt strangely at home and happy. The light, +the radiance stirred him. He passed a mosque from which the worshippers +came pouring in a stream of colour. + +Yet, though an Eastern town, it was not wholly Oriental, for he saw that +many of the buildings were of semi-European design, and that the natives +sometimes wore European dress, except for the fez upon the head. Among +them were Europeans, too. Staring into the faces of the passers-by he +found, to his vexation, that he could not focus sight as usual, and that +the nearer he approached, the less clearly he discerned the features. +The faces, upon close attention, at once grew shadowy, merged into each +other, or, in some odd fashion, melted into the dazzling sunshine that +was their background. All his attempts in this direction failed; +impatience seized him; of surprise, however, he was not conscious. Yet +this mingled vagueness and intensity seemed perfectly natural. + +Filled with a stirring curiosity, he made a strong effort to concentrate +his attention, only to discover that this vagueness, this difficulty of +focus, lay in his own being, too. He wandered on, unaware exactly where +he was going, yet not much perturbed, since there was an objective in +view, he knew, and this objective _must_ eventually be reached. Its +nature, however, for the moment entirely eluded him. + +The sense of familiarity, meanwhile, increased; he had been in this town +before, although not quite within recoverable memory. It seemed, +perhaps, the general atmosphere, rather than the actual streets, he +knew; a certain perfume in the air, a tang of indefinable sweetness, a +vitality in the radiant sunshine. The dark faces that he could not +focus, he yet knew; the flowing garments of blue and red and yellow, the +softly-slippered feet, the slouching camels, the burning human eyes that +faded ere he fully caught them--the entire picture in this blazing +sunlight lay half-hidden, half-revealed. And an extraordinary sense of +happiness and well-being flooded him as he walked; he felt at home; +comfort and bliss stole over him. Almost he knew his way about. This was +a place he loved and knew. + +The complete silence, moreover, did not strike him as peculiar until, +suddenly, it was broken in a startling fashion. He heard his own name +spoken. It sounded close beside his ear. + +"George Sanfield!" The voice was familiar. Morris called him. He +realized then the truth. He was, of course, in Cairo. + +Yet, instead of turning to discover the speaker at his side, he hurried +forward, as though he knew that the voice had come through distance. His +consciousness cleared and lightened; he felt more alive; his eyes now +focused the passers-by without difficulty. He was there to find Morris, +and Morris was directing him. All was explained and natural again. He +hastened. But, even while he hastened, he knew that his personal desire +to speak with his friend about Egyptian shares and Delta Lands was not +his single object. Behind it, further in among as yet unstirring +shadows, lay another deeper purpose. Yet he did not trouble about it, +nor make a conscious effort at discovery. Morris was doing him that +"good turn I feel I owe you." This conviction filled him overwhelmingly. +The question of how and why did not once occur to him. A strange, great +happiness rose in him. + +Upon the outskirts of the town now, he found himself approaching a large +building in the European style, with wide verandas and a cultivated +garden filled with palm trees. A well-kept drive of yellow sand led to +its chief entrance, and the man in khaki drill and riding-breeches +walking along this drive, not ten yards in front of him, was--Morris. +He overtook him, but his cry of welcome recognition was not answered. +Morris, walking with bowed head and stooping shoulders, seemed intensely +preoccupied; he had not heard the call. + +"Here I am, old fellow!" exclaimed his friend, holding out a hand. "I've +come, you see...!" then paused aghast before the altered face. Morris +paid no attention. He walked straight on as though he had not heard. It +was the distraught and anguished expression on the drawn and haggard +features that impressed the other most. The silence he took without +surprise. + +It was the pain and suffering in his friend that occupied him. The dark +rims beneath heavy eyes, the evidence of sleepless nights, of long +anxiety and ceaseless dread, afflicted him with their too-plain story. +The man was overwhelmed with some great sorrow. Sanfield forgot his +personal trouble; this larger, deeper grief usurped its place entirely. + +"Morris! Morris!" he cried yet more eagerly than before. "I've come, you +see. Tell me what's the matter. I believe--that I can--help you...!" + +The other turned, looking past him through the air. He made no answer. +The eyes went through him. He walked straight on, and Sanfield walked at +his side in silence. Through the large door they passed together, Morris +paying as little attention to him as though he were not there, and in +the small chamber they now entered, evidently a waiting-room, an +Egyptian servant approached, uttered some inaudible words, and then +withdrew, leaving them alone together. + +It seemed that time leaped forward, yet stood still; the passage of +minutes, that is to say, was irregular, almost fanciful. Whether the +interval was long or short, however, Morris spent it pacing up and down +the little room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his mind +oblivious of all else but his absorbing anxiety and grief. To his +friend, who watched him by the wall with intense desire to help, he paid +no attention. The latter's spoken words went by him, entirely unnoticed; +he gave no sign of seeing him; his eyes, as he paced up and down, +muttering inaudibly to himself, were fixed every few seconds on an inner +door. Beyond that door, Sanfield now divined, lay someone who hesitated +on the narrow frontier between life and death. + +It opened suddenly and a man, in overall and rubber gloves, came out, +his face grave yet with faint signs of hope about it--a doctor, clearly, +straight from the operating table. Morris, standing rigid in his tracks, +listened to something spoken, for the lips were in movement, though no +words were audible. The operation, Sanfield divined, had been +successful, though danger was still present. The two men passed out, +then, into the hall and climbed a wide staircase to the floor above, +Sanfield following noiselessly, though so close that he could touch +them. Entering a large, airy room where French windows, carefully shaded +with green blinds opened on to a veranda, they approached a bed. Two +nurses bent over it. The occupant was at first invisible. + +Events had moved with curious rapidity. All this had happened, it +seemed, in a single moment, yet with the irregular effect already +mentioned which made Sanfield feel it might, equally, have lasted hours. +But, as he stood behind Morris and the surgeon at the bed, the deeps in +him opened suddenly, and he trembled under a shock of intense emotion +that he could not understand. As with a stroke of lightning some +heavenly fire set his heart aflame with yearning. The very soul in him +broke loose with passionate longing that _must_ find satisfaction. It +came to him in a single instant with the certain knowledge of an +unconquerable conviction. Hidden, yet ever waiting, among the broken +centuries, there now leaped upon him this flash of memory--the memory of +some sweet and ancient love Time might veil yet could not kill. + +He ran forward, past the surgeon and the nurses, past Morris who bent +above the bed with a face ghastly from anxiety. He gazed down upon the +fair girl lying there, her unbound hair streaming over the pillow. He +saw, and he remembered. And an uncontrollable cry of recognition left +his lips.... + +The irregularity of the passing minutes became so marked then, that he +might well have passed outside their measure altogether, beyond what men +call Time; duration, interval, both escaped. Alone and free with his +eternal love, he was safe from all confinement, free, it seemed, either +of time or space. His friend, however, was vaguely with him during +the amazing instant. He felt acutely aware of the need each had, +respectively, for the other, born of a heritage the Past had hidden +over-long. Each, it was clear, could do the other a good turn.... +Sanfield, though unable to describe or disentangle later, knew, while it +lasted, this joy of full, delicious understanding.... + +The strange, swift instant of recognition passed and disappeared. The +cry, Sanfield realized, on coming back to the Present, had been +soundless and inaudible as before. No one observed him; no one stirred. +The girl, on that bed beside the opened windows, lay evidently dying. +Her breath came in gasps, her chest heaved convulsively, each attempt +at recovery was slower and more painful than the one before. She was +unconscious. Sometimes her breathing seemed to stop. It grew weaker, as +the pulse grew fainter. And Sanfield, transfixed as with paralysis, +stood watching, waiting, an intolerable yearning in his heart to help. +It seemed to him that he waited with a purpose. + +This purpose suddenly became clear. He knew why he waited. There was +help to be given. He was the one to give it. + +The girl's vitality and ebbing nerves, her entire physical organism now +fading so quickly towards that final extinction which meant death--could +these but be stimulated by a new tide of life, the danger-point now fast +approaching might be passed, and recovery must follow. This impetus, he +knew suddenly, he could supply. How, he could not tell. It flashed upon +him from beyond the stars, as from ancient store of long-forgotten, +long-neglected knowledge. It was enough that he felt confident and sure. +His soul burned within him; the strength of an ancient and unconquerable +love rose through his being. He would try. + +The doctor, he saw, was in the act of giving his last aid in the form of +a hypodermic injection, Morris and the nurses looking on. Sanfield +observed the sharp quick rally, only too faint, too slight; he saw the +collapse that followed. The doctor, shrugging his shoulders, turned with +a look that could not express itself in words, and Morris, burying his +face in his hands, knelt by the bed, shaken with convulsive sobbing. It +was the end. + +In which moment, precisely, the strange paralysis that had bound +Sanfield momentarily, was lifted from his being, and an impelling force, +obeying his immense desire, invaded him. He knew how to act. His will, +taught long ago, yet long-forgotten, was set free. + +"You have come back to me at last," he cried in his anguish and his +power, though the voice was, as ever, inaudible and soundless, "_I shall +not let you go!..._" + +Drawn forward nearer and nearer to the bed, he leaned down, as if to +kiss the pale lips and streaming hair. But his knowledge operated +better than he knew. In the tremendous grip of that power which spins +the stars and suns, while drawing souls into manifestation upon a dozen +planets, he raced, he dived, he plunged, helpless, yet driven by the +creative stress of love and sacrifice towards some eternal purpose. +Caught in what seemed a vortex of amazing force, he sank away, as a +straw is caught and sunk within the suction of a mighty whirlpool. His +memory of Morris, of the doctor, of the girl herself, passed utterly. +His entire personality became merged, lost, obliterated. He was aware of +nothing; not even aware of nothingness. He lost consciousness.... + + +3 + +The reappearance was as sudden as the obliteration. He emerged. There +had been interval, duration, time. He was not aware of them. A spasm of +blinding pain shot through him. He opened his eyes. His whole body was a +single devouring pain. He felt cramped, confined, uncomfortable. He must +escape. He thrashed about. Someone seized his arm and held it. With a +snarl he easily wrenched it free. + +He was in bed. How had he come to this? An accident? He saw the faces of +nurse and doctor bending over him, eager, amazed, surprised, a trifle +frightened. Vague memories floated to him. Who was he? Where had he come +from? And where was ... where was ... someone ... who was dearer to him +than life itself? He looked about him: the room, the faces, the French +windows, the veranda, all seemed only half familiar. He looked, he +searched for ... someone ... but in vain.... + +A spasm of violent pain burned through his body like a fire, and he shut +his eyes. He groaned. A voice sounded just above him: "Take this, dear. +Try and swallow a little. It will relieve you. Your brother will be back +in a moment. You are much better already." + +He looked up at the nurse; he drank what she gave him. + +"My brother!" he murmured. "I don't understand. I have no brother." +Thirst came over him; he drained the glass. The nurse, wearing a +startled look, moved away. He watched her go. He pointed at her with his +hand, meaning to say something that he instantly forgot--as he saw his +own bare arm. Its dreadful thinness shocked him. He must have been ill +for months. The arm, wasted almost to nothing, showed the bone. He sank +back exhausted, the sleeping draught began to take effect. The nurse +returned quietly to a chair beside the bed, from which she watched him +without ceasing as the long minutes passed.... + +He found it difficult to collect his thoughts, to keep them in his mind +when caught. There floated before him a series of odd scenes like +coloured pictures in an endless flow. He was unable to catch them. +Morris was with him always. They were doing quite absurd, impossible +things. They rode together across the desert in the dawn, they wandered +through old massive temples, they saw the sun set behind mud villages +mid wavering palms, they drifted down a river in a sailing boat of +quaint design. It had an enormous single sail. Together they visited +tombs cut in the solid rock, hot airless corridors, and huge, dim, +vaulted chambers underground. There was an icy wind by night, fierce +burning sun by day. They watched vast troops of stars pass down a +stupendous sky.... They knew delight and tasted wonder. Strange memories +touched them.... + +"Nurse!" he called aloud, returning to himself again, and remembering +that he must speak with his friend about something--he failed to recall +exactly what. "Please ask Mr. Morris to come to me." + +"At once, dear. He's only in the next room waiting for you to wake." She +went out quickly, and he heard her voice in the passage. It sank to a +whisper as she came back with Morris, yet every syllable reached him +distinctly: + +"... and pay no attention if she wanders a little; just ignore it. She's +turned the corner, thank God, and that's the chief thing." Each word he +heard with wonder and perplexity, with increasing irritability too. + +"I'm a hell of a wreck," he said, as Morris came, beaming, to the +bedside. "Have I been ill long? It's frightfully decent of you to come, +old man." + +But Morris, staggered at this greeting, stopped abruptly, half turning +to the nurse for guidance. He seemed unable to find words. Sanfield +was extremely annoyed; he showed his feeling. "I'm _not_ balmy, you +old ass!" he shouted. "I'm all right again, though very weak. But I +wanted to ask you--oh, I remember now--I wanted to ask you about +my--er--_Deltas_." + +"My poor dear Maggie," stammered Morris, fumbling with his voice. "Don't +worry about your few shares, darling. Deltas are all right--it's _you_ +we----" + +"Why, the devil, do you call me Maggie?" snapped the other viciously. +"And 'darling'!" He felt furious, exasperated. "Have _you_ gone balmy, +or have I? What in the world are you two up to?" His fury tired him. He +lay back upon his pillows, fuming. Morris took a chair beside the bed; +he put a hand gently on his wasted arm. + +"My darling girl," he said, in what was intended to be a soothing +voice, though it stirred the sick man again to fury beyond expression, +"you must really keep quiet for a bit. You've had a very severe +operation"--his voice shook a little--"but, thank God, you've pulled +through and are now on the way to recovery. You are my sister Maggie. It +will all come back to you when you're rested----" + +"Maggie, indeed!" interrupted the other, trying to sit up again, but too +weak to compass it. "Your sister! You bally idiot! Don't you know me? I +wish to God the nurse wouldn't 'dear' me in that senseless way. And +you, with your atrocious 'darling,' I'm not your precious sister +Maggie. I'm--I'm George San----" + +But even as he said it, there passed over him some dim lost fragment of +a wild, delicious memory he could not seize. Intense pleasure lay in it, +could he but recover it. He knew a sweet, forgotten joy. His broken, +troubled mind lay searching frantically but without success. It dazzled +him. It shook him with an indescribable emotion--of joy, of wonder, of +deep sweet confusion. A rapt happiness rose in him, yet pain, like a +black awful shutter, closed in upon the happiness at once. He remembered +a girl. But he remembered, too, that he had seen her die. Who was she? +Had he lost her ... again...! + +"My dear fellow," he faltered in a weaker voice to Morris, "my +brain's in a whirl. I'm sorry. I suppose I've had some blasted +concussion--haven't I?" + +But the man beside his bed, he saw, was startled. An extraordinary look +came into his face, though he tried to hide it with a smile. + +"My shares!" cried Sanfield, with a half scream. "Four thousand of +them!" + +Whereupon Morris blanched. "George Sanfield!" he muttered, half to +himself, half to the nurse who hurried up. "That voice! The very number +too!" He looked white and terrified, as if he had seen a ghost. A +whispered colloquy ensued between him and the nurse. It was inaudible. + +"Now, dearest Maggie," he said at length, making evidently a tremendous +effort, "do try and lie quiet for a bit. Don't bother about George +Sanfield, my London friend. His shares are quite safe. You've heard me +speak of him. It's all right, my darling, quite all right. Oh, believe +me! I'm your brother." + +"Maggie...!" whispered the man to himself upon the bed, whereupon Morris +stooped, and, to his intense horror, kissed him on the cheek. But his +horror seemed merged at once in another personality that surged through +and over his entire being, drowning memory and recognition hopelessly. +"Darling," he murmured. He realized that he was mad, of course. It +seemed he fainted.... + +The momentary unconsciousness soon passed, at any rate. He opened his +eyes again. He saw a palm tree out of the window. He knew positively he +was _not_ mad, whatever else he might be. Dead perhaps? He felt the +sheets, the mattress, the skin upon his face. No, he was alive all +right. The dull pains where the tight bandages oppressed him were also +real. He was among substantial, earthly things. The nurse, he noticed, +regarded him anxiously. She was a pleasant-looking young woman. He +smiled; and, with an expression of affectionate, even tender pleasure, +she smiled back at him. + +"You feel better now, a little stronger," she said softly. "You've had a +sleep, Miss Margaret." She said "Miss Margaret" with a conscious effort. +It was better, perhaps, than "dear"; but his anger rose at once. He was +too tired, however, to express his feelings. There stole over him, +besides, the afflicting consciousness of an alien personality that was +familiar, and yet not his. It strove to dominate him. Only by a great +effort could he continue to think his own thoughts. This other being +kept trying to intrude, to oust him, to take full possession. It +resented his presence with a kind of violence. + +He sighed. So strong was the feeling of another personality trying to +foist itself upon his own, upon his mind, his body, even upon his very +face, that he turned instinctively to the nurse, though unaware exactly +what he meant to ask her for. + +"My hand-glass, please," he heard himself saying--with horror. The +phrase was not his own. Glass or mirror were the words _he_ would have +used. + +A moment later he was staring with acute and ghastly terror at a +reflection that was not his own. It was the face of the dead girl he +saw within the silver-handled, woman's hand-glass he held up. + + * * * * * + +The dream with its amazing, vivid detail haunted him for days, even +coming between him and his work. It seemed far more real, more vivid +than the commonplace events of life that followed. The occurrences of +the day were pale compared to its overpowering intensity. And a cable, +received the very next afternoon, increased this sense of actual +truth--of something that had really happened. + +"Hold shares writing Morris." + +Its brevity added a convincing touch. He was aware of Egypt even in +Throgmorton Street. Yet it was the face of the dead, or dying, girl that +chiefly haunted him. She remained in his thoughts, alive and sweet and +exquisite. Without her he felt incomplete, his life a failure. He +thought of nothing else. + +The affairs at the office, meanwhile, went well; unexpected success +attended them; there was no strike; the angry customer was pacified. And +when the promised letter came from Morris, Sanfield's hands trembled so +violently that he could hardly tear it open. Nor could he read it +calmly. The assurance about his precious shares scarcely interested him. +It was the final paragraph that set his heart beating against his ribs +as though a hammer lay inside him: + + "... I've had great trouble and anxiety, though, thank God, the + danger is over now. I forget if I ever mentioned my sister, + Margaret, to you. She keeps house for me in Cairo, when I'm there. + She is my only tie in life. Well, a severe operation she had to + undergo, all but finished her. To tell you the truth, she very + nearly died, for the doctor gave her up. You'll smile when I tell + you that odd things happened--at the very last moment. I can't + explain it, nor can the doctor. It rather terrified me. But at the + very moment when we thought her gone, something revived in her. + She became full of unexpected life and vigor. She was even + violent--whereas, a moment before, she had not the strength to + speak, much less to move. It was rather wonderful, but it was + terrible too. + + "You don't believe in these things, I know, but I must tell you, + because, when she recovered consciousness, she began to babble about + yourself, using your name, though she has rarely, if ever, heard it, + and even speaking--you won't believe this, of course!--of your + shares in Deltas, giving the _exact_ number that you hold. When you + write, please tell me if you were very anxious about these? Also, + whether your thoughts were directed particularly to me? I thought a + good deal about you, knowing you might be uneasy, but my mind was + pretty full, as you will understand, of her operation at the time. + The climax, when all this happened, was about 11 a. m. on February + 13th. + + "Don't fail to tell me this, as I'm particularly interested in what + you may have to say." + + "And, now, I want to ask a great favor of you. The doctor forbids + Margaret to stay here during the hot weather, so I'm sending her + home to some cousins in Yorkshire, as soon as she is fit to travel. + It would be most awfully kind--I know how women bore you--if you + could manage to meet the boat and help her on her way through + London. I'll let you know dates and particulars later, when I hear + that you will do this for me...." + +Sanfield hardly read the remainder of the letter, which dealt with +shares and business matters. But a month later he stood on the dock-pier +at Tilbury, watching the approach of the tender from the _Egyptian +Mail_. + +He saw it make fast; he saw the stream of passengers pour down the +gangway; and he saw among them the tall, fair woman of his dream. With a +beating heart he went to meet her.... + + + + +IX + +THE DECOY + + +It belonged to the category of unlovely houses about which an ugly +superstition clings, one reason being, perhaps, its inability to inspire +interest in itself without assistance. It seemed too ordinary to possess +individuality, much less to exert an influence. Solid and ungainly, its +huge bulk dwarfing the park timber, its best claim to notice was a +negative one--it was unpretentious. + +From the little hill its expressionless windows stared across the +Kentish Weald, indifferent to weather, dreary in winter, bleak in +spring, unblessed in summer. Some colossal hand had tossed it down, then +let it starve to death, a country mansion that might well strain the +adjectives of advertisers and find inheritors with difficulty. Its soul +had fled, said some; it had committed suicide, thought others; and it +was an inheritor, before he killed himself in the library, who thought +this latter, yielding, apparently, to an hereditary taint in the family. +For two other inheritors followed suit, with an interval of twenty years +between them, and there was no clear reason to explain the three +disasters. Only the first owner, indeed, lived permanently in the house, +the others using it in the summer months and then deserting it with +relief. Hence, when John Burley, present inheritor, assumed possession, +he entered a house about which clung an ugly superstition, based, +nevertheless, upon a series of undeniably ugly facts. + +This century deals harshly with superstitious folk, deeming them fools +or charlatans; but John Burley, robust, contemptuous of half lights, did +not deal harshly with them, because he did not deal with them at all. +He was hardly aware of their existence. He ignored them as he ignored, +say, the Esquimaux, poets, and other human aspects that did not touch +his scheme of life. A successful business man, he concentrated on what +was real; he dealt with business people. His philanthropy, on a big +scale, was also real; yet, though he would have denied it vehemently, +he had his superstition as well. No man exists without some taint of +superstition in his blood; the racial heritage is too rich to be escaped +entirely. Burley's took this form--that unless he gave his tithe to the +poor he would not prosper. This ugly mansion, he decided, would make an +ideal Convalescent Home. + +"Only cowards or lunatics kill themselves," he declared flatly, when his +use of the house was criticized. "I'm neither one nor t'other." He let +out his gusty, boisterous laugh. In his invigorating atmosphere such +weakness seemed contemptible, just as superstition in his presence +seemed feeblest ignorance. Even its picturesqueness faded. "I can't +conceive," he boomed, "can't even imagine to myself," he added +emphatically, "the state of mind in which a man can think of suicide, +much less do it." He threw his chest out with a challenging air. "I tell +you, Nancy, it's either cowardice or mania. And I've no use for either." + +Yet he was easy-going and good-humoured in his denunciation. He admitted +his limitations with a hearty laugh his wife called noisy. Thus he made +allowances for the fairy fears of sailorfolk, and had even been known to +mention haunted ships his companies owned. But he did so in the terms of +tonnage and L s. d. His scope was big; details were made for clerks. + +His consent to pass a night in the mansion was the consent of a +practical business man and philanthropist who dealt condescendingly with +foolish human nature. It was based on the common-sense of tonnage and +L s. d. The local newspapers had revived the silly story of the suicides, +calling attention to the effect of the superstition upon the fortunes +of the house, and so, possibly, upon the fortunes of its present owner. +But the mansion, otherwise a white elephant, was precisely ideal for his +purpose, and so trivial a matter as spending a night in it should not +stand in the way. "We must take people as we find them, Nancy." + +His young wife had her motive, of course, in making the proposal, and, +if she was amused by what she called "spook-hunting," he saw no reason +to refuse her the indulgence. He loved her, and took her as he found +her--late in life. To allay the superstitions of prospective staff and +patients and supporters, all, in fact, whose goodwill was necessary to +success, he faced this boredom of a night in the building before its +opening was announced. "You see, John, if you, the owner, do this, it +will nip damaging talk in the bud. If anything went wrong later it would +only be put down to this suicide idea, this haunting influence. The Home +will have a bad name from the start. There'll be endless trouble. It +will be a failure." + +"You think my spending a night there will stop the nonsense?" he +inquired. + +"According to the old legend it breaks the spell," she replied. "That's +the condition, anyhow." + +"But somebody's sure to die there sooner or later," he objected. "We +can't prevent that." + +"We can prevent people whispering that they died unnaturally." She +explained the working of the public mind. + +"I see," he replied, his lip curling, yet quick to gauge the truth of +what she told him about collective instinct. + +"Unless _you_ take poison in the hall," she added laughingly, "or elect +to hang yourself with your braces from the hat peg." + +"I'll do it," he agreed, after a moment's thought. "I'll sit up +with you. It will be like a honeymoon over again, you and I on the +spree--eh?" He was even interested now; the boyish side of him was +touched perhaps; but his enthusiasm was less when she explained that +three was a better number than two on such an expedition. + +"I've often done it before, John. We were always three." + +"Who?" he asked bluntly. He looked wonderingly at her, but she answered +that if anything went wrong a party of three provided a better margin +for help. It was sufficiently obvious. He listened and agreed. "I'll get +young Mortimer," he suggested. "Will he do?" + +She hesitated. "Well--he's cheery; he'll be interested, too. Yes, he's +as good as another." She seemed indifferent. + +"And he'll make the time pass with his stories," added her husband. + +So Captain Mortimer, late officer on a T.B.D., a "cheery lad," afraid +of nothing, cousin of Mrs. Burley, and now filling a good post in the +company's London offices, was engaged as third hand in the expedition. +But Captain Mortimer was young and ardent, and Mrs. Burley was young +and pretty and ill-mated, and John Burley was a neglectful, and +self-satisfied husband. + +Fate laid the trap with cunning, and John Burley, blind-eyed, careless +of detail, floundered into it. He also floundered out again, though in a +fashion none could have expected of him. + +The night agreed upon eventually was as near to the shortest in the year +as John Burley could contrive--June 18th--when the sun set at 8:18 and +rose about a quarter to four. There would be barely three hours of true +darkness. "You're the expert," he admitted, as she explained that +sitting through the actual darkness only was required, not necessarily +from sunset to sunrise. "We'll do the thing properly. Mortimer's not +very keen, he had a dance or something," he added, noticing the look of +annoyance that flashed swiftly in her eyes; "but he got out of it. He's +coming." The pouting expression of the spoilt woman amused him. "Oh, no, +he didn't need much persuading really," he assured her. "Some girl or +other, of course. He's young, remember." To which no comment was +forthcoming, though the implied comparison made her flush. + +They motored from South Audley Street after an early tea, in due course +passing Sevenoaks and entering the Kentish Weald; and, in order that the +necessary advertisement should be given, the chauffeur, warned strictly +to keep their purpose quiet, was to put up at the country inn and fetch +them an hour after sunrise; they would breakfast in London. "He'll tell +everybody," said his practical and cynical master; "the local newspaper +will have it all next day. A few hours' discomfort is worth while if +it ends the nonsense. We'll read and smoke, and Mortimer shall tell +us yarns about the sea." He went with the driver into the house to +superintend the arrangement of the room, the lights, the hampers of +food, and so forth, leaving the pair upon the lawn. + +"Four hours isn't much, but it's something," whispered Mortimer, alone +with her for the first time since they started. "It's simply ripping +of you to have got me in. You look divine to-night. You're the most +wonderful woman in the world." His blue eyes shone with the hungry +desire he mistook for love. He looked as if he had blown in from the +sea, for his skin was tanned and his light hair bleached a little by the +sun. He took her hand, drawing her out of the slanting sunlight towards +the rhododendrons. + +"I didn't, you silly boy. It was John suggested your coming." She +released her hand with an affected effort. "Besides, you overdid +it--pretending you had a dance." + +"You could have objected," he said eagerly, "and didn't. Oh, you're too +lovely, you're delicious!" He kissed her suddenly with passion. There +was a tiny struggle, in which she yielded too easily, he thought. + +"Harry, you're an idiot!" she cried breathlessly, when he let her go. +"I really don't know how you dare! And John's your friend. Besides, you +know"--she glanced round quickly--"it isn't safe here." Her eyes shone +happily, her cheeks were flaming. She looked what she was, a pretty, +young, lustful animal, false to ideals, true to selfish passion only. +"Luckily," she added, "he trusts me too fully to think anything." + +The young man, worship in his eyes, laughed gaily. "There's no harm in +a kiss," he said. "You're a child to him, he never thinks of you as a +woman. Anyhow, his head's full of ships and kings and sealing-wax," he +comforted her, while respecting her sudden instinct which warned him not +to touch her again, "and he never sees anything. Why, even at ten +yards----" + +From twenty yards away a big voice interrupted him, as John Burley +came round a corner of the house and across the lawn towards them. The +chauffeur, he announced, had left the hampers in the room on the first +floor and gone back to the inn. "Let's take a walk round," he added, +joining them, "and see the garden. Five minutes before sunset we'll go +in and feed." He laughed. "We must do the thing faithfully, you know, +mustn't we, Nancy? Dark to dark, remember. Come on, Mortimer"--he +took the young man's arm--"a last look round before we go in and hang +ourselves from adjoining hooks in the matron's room!" He reached out his +free hand towards his wife. + +"Oh, hush, John!" she said quickly. "I don't like--especially now the +dusk is coming." She shivered, as though it were a genuine little +shiver, pursing her lips deliciously as she did so; whereupon he drew +her forcibly to him, saying he was sorry, and kissed her exactly where +she had been kissed two minutes before, while young Mortimer looked on. +"We'll take care of you between us," he said. Behind a broad back the +pair exchanged a swift but meaning glance, for there was that in his +tone which enjoined wariness, and perhaps after all he was not so blind +as he appeared. They had their code, these two. "All's well," was +signalled; "but another time be more careful!" + +There still remained some minutes' sunlight before the huge red ball of +fire would sink behind the wooded hills, and the trio, talking idly, a +flutter of excitement in two hearts certainly, walked among the roses. +It was a perfect evening, windless, perfumed, warm. Headless shadows +preceded them gigantically across the lawn as they moved, and one side +of the great building lay already dark; bats were flitting, moths darted +to and fro above the azalea and rhododendron clumps. The talk turned +chiefly on the uses of the mansion as a Convalescent Home, its probable +running cost, suitable staff, and so forth. + +"Come along," John Burley said presently, breaking off and turning +abruptly, "we must be inside, actually inside, before the sun's gone. We +must fulfil the conditions faithfully," he repeated, as though fond of +the phrase. He was in earnest over everything in life, big or little, +once he set his hand to it. + +They entered, this incongruous trio of ghost-hunters, no one of them +really intent upon the business in hand, and went slowly upstairs to the +great room where the hampers lay. Already in the hall it was dark enough +for three electric torches to flash usefully and help their steps as +they moved with caution, lighting one corner after another. The air +inside was chill and damp. "Like an unused museum," said Mortimer. "I +can smell the specimens." They looked about them, sniffing. "That's +humanity," declared his host, employer, friend, "with cement and +whitewash to flavour it"; and all three laughed as Mrs. Burley said she +wished they had picked some roses and brought them in. Her husband was +again in front on the broad staircase, Mortimer just behind him, when +she called out. "I don't like being last," she exclaimed. It's so black +behind me in the hall. I'll come between you two," and the sailor took +her outstretched hand, squeezing it, as he passed her up. "There's a +figure, remember," she said hurriedly, turning to gain her husband's +attention, as when she touched wood at home. "A figure is seen; that's +part of the story. The figure of a man." She gave a tiny shiver of +pleasurable, half-imagined alarm as she took his arm. + +"I hope we shall see it," he mentioned prosaically. + +"I hope we shan't," she replied with emphasis. "It's only seen +before--something happens." Her husband said nothing, while Mortimer +remarked facetiously that it would be a pity if they had their trouble +for nothing. "Something can hardly happen to all three of us," he said +lightly, as they entered a large room where the paper-hangers had +conveniently left a rough table of bare planks. Mrs. Burley, busy with +her own thoughts, began to unpack the sandwiches and wine. Her husband +strolled over to the window. He seemed restless. + +"So this," his deep voice startled her, "is where one of us"--he looked +round him--"is to----" + +"John!" She stopped him sharply, with impatience. "Several times already +I've begged you." Her voice rang rather shrill and querulous in the +empty room, a new note in it. She was beginning to feel the atmosphere +of the place, perhaps. On the sunny lawn it had not touched her, but +now, with the fall of night, she was aware of it, as shadow called to +shadow and the kingdom of darkness gathered power. Like a great +whispering gallery, the whole house listened. + +"Upon my word, Nancy," he said with contrition, as he came and sat down +beside her, "I quite forgot again. Only I cannot take it seriously. It's +so utterly unthinkable to me that a man----" + +"But why evoke the idea at all?" she insisted in a lowered voice, that +snapped despite its faintness. "Men, after all, don't do such things for +nothing." + +"We don't know everything in the universe, do we?" Mortimer put in, +trying clumsily to support her. "All I know just now is that I'm +famished and this veal and ham pie is delicious." He was very busy with +his knife and fork. His foot rested lightly on her own beneath the +table; he could not keep his eyes off her face; he was continually +passing new edibles to her. + +"No," agreed John Burley, "not everything. You're right there." + +She kicked the younger man gently, flashing a warning with her eyes as +well, while her husband, emptying his glass, his head thrown back, +looked straight at them over the rim, apparently seeing nothing. They +smoked their cigarettes round the table, Burley lighting a big cigar. +"Tell us about the figure, Nancy?" he inquired. "At least there's no +harm in that. It's new to me. I hadn't heard about a figure." And +she did so willingly, turning her chair sideways from the dangerous, +reckless feet. Mortimer could now no longer touch her. "I know very +little," she confessed; "only what the paper said. It's a man.... And he +changes." + +"How changes?" asked her husband. "Clothes, you mean, or what?" + +Mrs. Burley laughed, as though she was glad to laugh. Then she answered: +"According to the story, he shows himself each time to the man----" + +"The man who----?" + +"Yes, yes, of course. He appears to the man who dies--as himself." + +"H'm," grunted her husband, naturally puzzled. He stared at her. + +"Each time the chap saw his own double"--Mortimer came this time +usefully to the rescue--"before he did it." + +Considerable explanation followed, involving much psychic jargon from +Mrs. Burley, which fascinated and impressed the sailor, who thought her +as wonderful as she was lovely, showing it in his eyes for all to see. +John Burley's attention wandered. He moved over to the window, leaving +them to finish the discussion between them; he took no part in it, made +no comment even, merely listening idly and watching them with an air of +absent-mindedness through the cloud of cigar smoke round his head. He +moved from window to window, ensconcing himself in turn in each deep +embrasure, examining the fastenings, measuring the thickness of the +stonework with his handkerchief. He seemed restless, bored, obviously +out of place in this ridiculous expedition. On his big massive face lay +a quiet, resigned expression his wife had never seen before. She noticed +it now as, the discussion ended, the pair tidied away the _debris_ of +dinner, lit the spirit lamp for coffee and laid out a supper which would +be very welcome with the dawn. A draught passed through the room, making +the papers flutter on the table. Mortimer turned down the smoking lamps +with care. + +"Wind's getting up a bit--from the south," observed Burley from his +niche, closing one-half of the casement window as he said it. To do +this, he turned his back a moment, fumbling for several seconds with the +latch, while Mortimer, noting it, seized his sudden opportunity with the +foolish abandon of his age and temperament. Neither he nor his victim +perceived that, against the outside darkness, the interior of the room +was plainly reflected in the window-pane. One reckless, the other +terrified, they snatched the fearful joy, which might, after all, have +been lengthened by another full half-minute, for the head they feared, +followed by the shoulders, pushed through the side of the casement still +open, and remained outside, taking in the night. + +"A grand air," said his deep voice, as the head drew in again, "I'd like +to be at sea a night like this." He left the casement open and came +across the room towards them. "Now," he said cheerfully, arranging a +seat for himself, "let's get comfortable for the night. Mortimer, we +expect stories from you without ceasing, until dawn or the ghost +arrives. Horrible stories of chains and headless men, remember. Make it +a night we shan't forget in a hurry." He produced his gust of laughter. + +They arranged their chairs, with other chairs to put their feet on, and +Mortimer contrived a footstool by means of a hamper for the smallest +feet; the air grew thick with tobacco smoke; eyes flashed and answered, +watched perhaps as well; ears listened and perhaps grew wise; +occasionally, as a window shook, they started and looked round; there +were sounds about the house from time to time, when the entering wind, +using broken or open windows, set loose objects rattling. + +But Mrs. Burley vetoed horrible stories with decision. A big, empty +mansion, lonely in the country, and even with the comfort of John Burley +and a lover in it, has its atmosphere. Furnished rooms are far less +ghostly. This atmosphere now came creeping everywhere, through spacious +halls and sighing corridors, silent, invisible, but all-pervading, John +Burley alone impervious to it, unaware of its soft attack upon the +nerves. It entered possibly with the summer night wind, but possibly it +was always there.... And Mrs. Burley looked often at her husband, +sitting near her at an angle; the light fell on his fine strong face; +she felt that, though apparently so calm and quiet, he was really very +restless; something about him was a little different; she could not +define it; his mouth seemed set as with an effort; he looked, she +thought curiously to herself, patient and very dignified; he was rather +a dear after all. Why did she think the face inscrutable? Her thoughts +wandered vaguely, unease, discomfort among them somewhere, while the +heated blood--she had taken her share of wine--seethed in her. + +Burley turned to the sailor for more stories. "Sea and wind in them," +he asked. "No horrors, remember!" and Mortimer told a tale about the +shortage of rooms at a Welsh seaside place where spare rooms fetched +fabulous prices, and one man alone refused to let--a retired captain +of a South Seas trader, very poor, a bit crazy apparently. He had two +furnished rooms in his house worth twenty guineas a week. The rooms +faced south; he kept them full of flowers; but he would not let. An +explanation of his unworldly obstinacy was not forthcoming until +Mortimer--they fished together--gained his confidence. "The South Wind +lives in them," the old fellow told him. "I keep them free for her." + +"For _her_?" + +"It was on the South Wind my love came to me," said the +other softly; "and it was on the South Wind that she left----" + +It was an odd tale to tell in such company, but he told it well. + +"Beautiful," thought Mrs. Burley. Aloud she said a quiet, "Thank you. By +'left,' I suppose he meant she died or ran away?" + +John Burley looked up with a certain surprise. "We ask for a story," he +said, "and you give us a poem." He laughed. "You're in love, Mortimer," +he informed him, "and with my wife probably." + +"Of course I am, sir," replied the young man gallantly. "A sailor's +heart, you know," while the face of the woman turned pink, then white. +She knew her husband more intimately than Mortimer did, and there was +something in his tone, his eyes, his words, she did not like. Harry was +an idiot to choose such a tale. An irritated annoyance stirred in her, +close upon dislike. "Anyhow, it's better than horrors," she said +hurriedly. + +"Well," put in her husband, letting forth a minor gust of laughter, +"it's possible, at any rate. Though one's as crazy as the other." His +meaning was not wholly clear. "If a man really loved," he added in his +blunt fashion, "and was tricked by her, I could almost conceive his----" + +"Oh, don't preach, John, for Heaven's sake. You're so dull in the +pulpit." But the interruption only served to emphasize the sentence +which, otherwise, might have been passed over. + +"Could conceive his finding life so worthless," persisted the other, +"that----" He hesitated. "But there, now, I promised I wouldn't," he +went on, laughing good-humouredly. Then, suddenly, as though in spite of +himself, driven it seemed: "Still, under such conditions, he might show +his contempt for human nature and for life by----" + +It was a tiny stifled scream that stopped him this time. + +"John, I hate, I loathe you, when you talk like that. And you've broken +your word again." She was more than petulant; a nervous anger sounded in +her voice. It was the way he had said it, looking from them towards the +window, that made her quiver. She felt him suddenly as a man; she felt +afraid of him. + +Her husband made no reply; he rose and looked at his watch, leaning +sideways towards the lamp, so that the expression of his face was +shaded. "Two o'clock," he remarked. "I think I'll take a turn through +the house. I may find a workman asleep or something. Anyhow, the light +will soon come now." He laughed; the expression of his face, his tone of +voice, relieved her momentarily. He went out. They heard his heavy tread +echoing down the carpetless long corridor. + +Mortimer began at once. "Did he mean anything?" he asked breathlessly. +"He doesn't love you the least little bit, anyhow. He never did. I do. +You're wasted on him. You belong to me." The words poured out. He +covered her face with kisses. "Oh, I didn't mean _that_," he caught +between the kisses. + +The sailor released her, staring. "What then?" he whispered. "Do you +think he saw us on the lawn?" He paused a moment, as she made no reply. +The steps were audible in the distance still. "I know!" he exclaimed +suddenly. "It's the blessed house he feels. That's what it is. He +doesn't like it." + +A wind sighed through the room, making the papers flutter; something +rattled; and Mrs. Burley started. A loose end of rope swinging from the +paperhanger's ladder caught her eye. She shivered slightly. + +"He's different," she replied in a low voice, nestling very close again, +"and so restless. Didn't you notice what he said just now--that under +certain conditions he could understand a man"--she hesitated--"doing +it," she concluded, a sudden drop in her voice. "Harry," she looked full +into his eyes, "that's not like him. He didn't say that for nothing." + +"Nonsense! He's bored to tears, that's all. And the house is getting on +your nerves, too." He kissed her tenderly. Then, as she responded, he +drew her nearer still and held her passionately, mumbling incoherent +words, among which "nothing to be afraid of" was distinguishable. +Meanwhile, the steps were coming nearer. She pushed him away. "You must +behave yourself. I insist. You shall, Harry," then buried herself in his +arms, her face hidden against his neck--only to disentangle herself the +next instant and stand clear of him. "I hate you, Harry," she exclaimed +sharply, a look of angry annoyance flashing across her face. "And I +_hate_ myself. Why do you treat me----?" She broke off as the steps came +closer, patted her hair straight, and stalked over to the open window. + +"I believe after all you're only playing with me," he said viciously. He +stared in surprised disappointment, watching her. "It's him you really +love," he added jealously. He looked and spoke like a petulant spoilt +boy. + +She did not turn her head. "He's always been fair to me, kind and +generous. He never blames me for anything. Give me a cigarette and don't +play the stage hero. My nerves are on edge, to tell you the truth." Her +voice jarred harshly, and as he lit her cigarette he noticed that her +lips were trembling; his own hand trembled too. He was still holding the +match, standing beside her at the window-sill, when the steps crossed +the threshold and John Burley came into the room. He went straight up to +the table and turned the lamp down. "It was smoking," he remarked. +"Didn't you see?" + +"I'm sorry, sir," and Mortimer sprang forward, too late to help him. "It +was the draught as you pushed the door open." The big man said, "Ah!" +and drew a chair over, facing them. "It's just _the_ very house," he +told them. "I've been through every room on this floor. It will make a +splendid Home, with very little alteration, too." He turned round in his +creaking wicker chair and looked up at his wife, who sat swinging her +legs and smoking in the window embrasure. "Lives will be saved inside +these old walls. It's a good investment," he went on, talking rather to +himself it seemed. "People will die here, too----" + +"Hark!" Mrs. Burley interrupted him. "That noise--what is it?" A faint +thudding sound in the corridor or in the adjoining room was audible, +making all three look round quickly, listening for a repetition, which +did not come. The papers fluttered on the table, the lamps smoked an +instant. + +"Wind," observed Burley calmly, "our little friend, the South Wind. +Something blown over again, that's all." But, curiously, the three of +them stood up. "I'll go and see," he continued. "Doors and windows are +all open to let the paint dry." Yet he did not move; he stood there +watching a white moth that dashed round and round the lamp, flopping +heavily now and again upon the bare deal table. + +"Let me go, sir," put in Mortimer eagerly. He was glad of the chance; +for the first time he, too, felt uncomfortable. But there was another +who, apparently, suffered a discomfort greater than his own and was +accordingly even more glad to get away. "I'll go," Mrs. Burley +announced, with decision. "I'd like to. I haven't been out of this room +since we came. I'm not an atom afraid." + +It was strange that for a moment she did not make a move either; it +seemed as if she waited for something. For perhaps fifteen seconds no +one stirred or spoke. She knew by the look in her lover's eyes that he +had now become aware of the slight, indefinite change in her husband's +manner, and was alarmed by it. The fear in him woke her contempt; she +suddenly despised the youth, and was conscious of a new, strange +yearning towards her husband; against her worked nameless pressures, +troubling her being. There was an alteration in the room, she thought; +something had come in. The trio stood listening to the gentle wind +outside, waiting for the sound to be repeated; two careless, passionate +young lovers and a man stood waiting, listening, watching in that room; +yet it seemed there were five persons altogether and not three, for two +guilty consciences stood apart and separate from their owners. John +Burley broke the silence. + +"Yes, you go, Nancy. Nothing to be afraid of--there. It's only wind." He +spoke as though he meant it. + +Mortimer bit his lips. "I'll come with you," he said instantly. He was +confused. "Let's all three go. I don't think we ought to be separated." +But Mrs. Burley was already at the door. "I insist," she said, with a +forced laugh. "I'll call if I'm frightened," while her husband, saying +nothing, watched her from the table. + +"Take this," said the sailor, flashing his electric torch as he went +over to her. "Two are better than one." He saw her figure exquisitely +silhouetted against the black corridor beyond; it was clear she wanted +to go; any nervousness in her was mastered by a stronger emotion still; +she was glad to be out of their presence for a bit. He had hoped to +snatch a word of explanation in the corridor, but her manner stopped +him. Something else stopped him, too. + +"First door on the left," he called out, his voice echoing down the +empty length. "That's the room where the noise came from. Shout if you +want us." + +He watched her moving away, the light held steadily in front of her, but +she made no answer, and he turned back to see John Burley lighting his +cigar at the lamp chimney, his face thrust forward as he did so. He +stood a second, watching him, as the lips sucked hard at the cigar to +make it draw; the strength of the features was emphasized to sternness. +He had meant to stand by the door and listen for the least sound from +the adjoining room, but now found his whole attention focused on the +face above the lamp. In that minute he realized that Burley had +wished--had meant--his wife to go. In that minute also he forgot his +love, his shameless, selfish little mistress, his worthless, caddish +little self. For John Burley looked up. He straightened slowly, puffing +hard and quickly to make sure his cigar was lit, and faced him. Mortimer +moved forward into the room, self-conscious, embarrassed, cold. + +"Of course it was only wind," he said lightly, his one desire being to +fill the interval while they were alone with commonplaces. He did not +wish the other to speak, "Dawn wind, probably." He glanced at his +wrist-watch. "It's half-past two already, and the sun gets up at a +quarter to four. It's light by now, I expect. The shortest night is +never quite dark." He rambled on confusedly, for the other's steady, +silent stare embarrassed him. A faint sound of Mrs. Burley moving in the +next room made him stop a moment. He turned instinctively to the door, +eager for an excuse to go. + +"That's nothing," said Burley, speaking at last and in a firm quiet +voice. "Only my wife, glad to be alone--my young and pretty wife. She's +all right. I know her better than you do. Come in and shut the door." + +Mortimer obeyed. He closed the door and came close to the table, facing +the other, who at once continued. + +"If I thought," he said, in that quiet deep voice, "that you two were +serious"--he uttered his words very slowly, with emphasis, with intense +severity--"do you know what I should do? I will tell you, Mortimer. I +should like one of us two--you or myself--to remain in this house, +dead." + +His teeth gripped his cigar tightly; his hands were clenched; he went on +through a half-closed mouth. His eyes blazed steadily. + +"I trust her so absolutely--understand me?--that my belief in women, in +human beings, would go. And with it the desire to live. Understand me?" + +Each word to the young careless fool was a blow in the face, yet it was +the softest blow, the flash of a big deep heart, that hurt the most. A +dozen answers--denial, explanation, confession, taking all guilt upon +himself--crowded his mind, only to be dismissed. He stood motionless and +silent, staring hard into the other's eyes. No word passed his lips; +there was no time in any case. It was in this position that Mrs. Burley, +entering at that moment, found them. She saw her husband's face; the +other man stood with his back to her. She came in with a little nervous +laugh. "A bell-rope swinging in the wind and hitting a sheet of metal +before the fireplace," she informed them. And all three laughed together +then, though each laugh had a different sound. "But I hate this house," +she added. "I wish we had never come." + +"The moment there's light in the sky," remarked her husband quietly, "we +can leave. That's the contract; let's see it through. Another half-hour +will do it. Sit down, Nancy, and have a bite of something." He got up +and placed a chair for her. "I think I'll take another look round." He +moved slowly to the door. "I may go out on to the lawn a bit and see +what the sky is doing." + +It did not take half a minute to say the words, yet to Mortimer it +seemed as though the voice would never end. His mind was confused and +troubled. He loathed himself, he loathed the woman through whom he had +got into this awkward mess. + +The situation had suddenly become extremely painful; he had never +imagined such a thing; the man he had thought blind had after all seen +everything--known it all along, watched them, waited. And the woman, he +was now certain, loved her husband; she had fooled him, Mortimer, all +along, amusing herself. + +"I'll come with you, sir. Do let me," he said suddenly. Mrs. Burley +stood pale and uncertain between them. She looked scared. What has +happened, she was clearly wondering. + +"No, no, Harry"--he called him "Harry" for the first time--"I'll be back +in five minutes at most. My wife mustn't be alone either." And he went +out. + +The young man waited till the footsteps sounded some distance down the +corridor, then turned, but he did not move forward; for the first time +he let pass unused what he called "an opportunity." His passion had left +him; his love, as he once thought it, was gone. He looked at the pretty +woman near him, wondering blankly what he had ever seen there to attract +him so wildly. He wished to Heaven he was out of it all. He wished he +were dead. John Burley's words suddenly appalled him. + +One thing he saw plainly--she was frightened. This opened his lips. + +"What's the matter?" he asked, and his hushed voice shirked the familiar +Christian name. "Did you see anything?" He nodded his head in the +direction of the adjoining room. It was the sound of his own voice +addressing her coldly that made him abruptly see himself as he really +was, but it was her reply, honestly given, in a faint even voice, that +told him she saw her own self too with similar clarity. God, he thought, +how revealing a tone, a single word can be! + +"I saw--nothing. Only I feel uneasy--dear." That "dear" was a call for +help. + +"Look here," he cried, so loud that she held up a warning finger, +"I'm--I've been a damned fool, a cad! I'm most frightfully ashamed. I'll +do anything--_anything_ to get it right." He felt cold, naked, his +worthlessness laid bare; she felt, he knew, the same. Each revolted +suddenly from the other. Yet he knew not quite how or wherefore this +great change had thus abruptly come about, especially on her side. He +felt that a bigger, deeper emotion than he could understand was working +on them, making mere physical relationships seem empty, trivial, cheap +and vulgar. His cold increased in face of this utter ignorance. + +"Uneasy?" he repeated, perhaps hardly knowing exactly why he said it. +"Good Lord, but he can take care of himself----" + +"Oh, _he_ is a man," she interrupted; "yes." + +Steps were heard, firm, heavy steps, coming back along the corridor. It +seemed to Mortimer that he had listened to this sound of steps all +night, and would listen to them till he died. He crossed to the lamp and +lit a cigarette, carefully this time, turning the wick down afterwards. +Mrs. Burley also rose, moving over towards the door, away from him. They +listened a moment to these firm and heavy steps, the tread of a man, +John Burley. A man ... and a philanderer, flashed across Mortimer's +brain like fire, contrasting the two with fierce contempt for himself. +The tread became less audible. There was distance in it. It had turned +in somewhere. + +"There!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone. "He's gone in." + +"Nonsense! It passed us. He's going out on to the lawn." + +The pair listened breathlessly for a moment, when the sound of steps +came distinctly from the adjoining room, walking across the boards, +apparently towards the window. + +"There!" she repeated. "He did go in." Silence of perhaps a minute +followed, in which they heard each other's breathing. "I don't like his +being alone--in there," Mrs. Burley said in a thin faltering voice, and +moved as though to go out. Her hand was already on the knob of the door, +when Mortimer stopped her with a violent gesture. + +"Don't! For God's sake, don't!" he cried, before she could turn it. +He darted forward. As he laid a hand upon her arm a thud was audible +through the wall. It was a heavy sound, and this time there was no wind +to cause it. + +"It's only that loose swinging thing," he whispered thickly, a dreadful +confusion blotting out clear thought and speech. + +"There was no loose swaying thing at all," she said in a failing voice, +then reeled and swayed against him. "I invented that. There was +nothing." As he caught her, staring helplessly, it seemed to him that a +face with lifted lids rushed up at him. He saw two terrified eyes in a +patch of ghastly white. Her whisper followed, as she sank into his arms. +"It's John. He's----" + +At which instant, with terror at its climax, the sound of steps suddenly +became audible once more--the firm and heavy tread of John Burley coming +out again into the corridor. Such was their amazement and relief that +they neither moved nor spoke. The steps drew nearer. The pair seemed +petrified; Mortimer did not remove his arms, nor did Mrs. Burley attempt +to release herself. They stared at the door and waited. It was pushed +wider the next second, and John Burley stood beside them. He was so +close he almost touched them--there in each other's arms. + +"Jack, dear!" cried his wife, with a searching tenderness that made her +voice seem strange. + +He gazed a second at each in turn. "I'm going out on to the lawn for a +moment," he said quietly. There was no expression on his face; he did +not smile, he did not frown; he showed no feeling, no emotion--just +looked into their eyes, and then withdrew round the edge of the door +before either could utter a word in answer. The door swung to behind +him. He was gone. + +"He's going to the lawn. He said so." It was Mortimer speaking, but his +voice shook and stammered. Mrs. Burley had released herself. She stood +now by the table, silent, gazing with fixed eyes at nothing, her lips +parted, her expression vacant. Again she was aware of an alteration in +the room; something had gone out.... He watched her a second, uncertain +what to say or do. It was the face of a drowned person, occurred to +him. Something intangible, yet almost visible stood between them in that +narrow space. Something had ended, there before his eyes, definitely +ended. The barrier between them rose higher, denser. Through this +barrier her words came to him with an odd whispering remoteness. + +"Harry.... You saw? You noticed?" + +"What d'you mean?" he said gruffly. He tried to feel angry, +contemptuous, but his breath caught absurdly. + +"Harry--he was different. The eyes, the hair, the"--her face grew like +death--"the twist in his face----" + +"What on earth are you saying? Pull yourself together." He saw that she +was trembling down the whole length of her body, as she leaned against +the table for support. His own legs shook. He stared hard at her. + +"Altered, Harry ... altered." Her horrified whisper came at him like +a knife. For it was true. He, too, had noticed something about the +husband's appearance that was not quite normal. Yet, even while they +talked, they heard him going down the carpetless stairs; the sounds +ceased as he crossed the hall; then came the noise of the front door +banging, the reverberation even shaking the room a little where they +stood. + +Mortimer went over to her side. He walked unevenly. + +"My dear! For God's sake--this is sheer nonsense. Don't let yourself go +like this. I'll put it straight with him--it's all my fault." He saw by +her face that she did not understand his words; he was saying the wrong +thing altogether; her mind was utterly elsewhere. "He's all right," he +went on hurriedly. "He's out on the lawn now----" + +He broke off at the sight of her. The horror that fastened on her brain +plastered her face with deathly whiteness. + +"That was not John at all!" she cried, a wail of misery and terror in +her voice. She rushed to the window and he followed. To his immense +relief a figure moving below was plainly visible. It was John Burley. +They saw him in the faint grey of the dawn, as he crossed the lawn, +going away from the house. He disappeared. + +"There you are! See?" whispered Mortimer reassuringly. "He'll be back +in----" when a sound in the adjoining room, heavier, louder than before, +cut appallingly across his words, and Mrs. Burley, with that wailing +scream, fell back into his arms. He caught her only just in time, for +she stiffened into ice, daft with the uncomprehended terror of it all, +and helpless as a child. + +"Darling, my darling--oh, God!" He bent, kissing her face wildly. He was +utterly distraught. + +"Harry! Jack--oh, oh!" she wailed in her anguish. "It took on his +likeness. It deceived us ... to give him time. He's done it." + +She sat up suddenly. "Go," she said, pointing to the room beyond, then +sank fainting, a dead weight in his arms. + +He carried her unconscious body to a chair, then entering the adjoining +room he flashed his torch upon the body of her husband hanging from a +bracket in the wall. He cut it down five minutes too late. + + + + +X + +THE MAN WHO FOUND OUT (A NIGHTMARE) + + +1 + +Professor Mark Ebor, the scientist, led a double life, and the only +persons who knew it were his assistant, Dr. Laidlaw, and his publishers. +But a double life need not always be a bad one, and, as Dr. Laidlaw +and the gratified publishers well knew, the parallel lives of this +particular man were equally good, and indefinitely produced would +certainly have ended in a heaven somewhere that can suitably contain +such strangely opposite characteristics as his remarkable personality +combined. + +For Mark Ebor, F.R.S., etc., etc., was that unique combination hardly +ever met with in actual life, a man of science and a mystic. + +As the first, his name stood in the gallery of the great, and as the +second--but there came the mystery! For under the pseudonym of "Pilgrim" +(the author of that brilliant series of books that appealed to so many), +his identity was as well concealed as that of the anonymous writer of +the weather reports in a daily newspaper. Thousands read the sanguine, +optimistic, stimulating little books that issued annually from the pen +of "Pilgrim," and thousands bore their daily burdens better for having +read; while the Press generally agreed that the author, besides being an +incorrigible enthusiast and optimist, was also--a woman; but no one ever +succeeded in penetrating the veil of anonymity and discovering that +"Pilgrim" and the biologist were one and the same person. + +Mark Ebor, as Dr. Laidlaw knew him in his laboratory, was one man; but +Mark Ebor, as he sometimes saw him after work was over, with rapt eyes +and ecstatic face, discussing the possibilities of "union with God" and +the future of the human race, was quite another. + +"I have always held, as you know," he was saying one evening as he sat +in the little study beyond the laboratory with his assistant and +intimate, "that Vision should play a large part in the life of the +awakened man--not to be regarded as infallible, of course, but to be +observed and made use of as a guide-post to possibilities----" + +"I am aware of your peculiar views, sir," the young doctor put in +deferentially, yet with a certain impatience. + +"For Visions come from a region of the consciousness where observation +and experiment are out of the question," pursued the other with +enthusiasm, not noticing the interruption, "and, while they should be +checked by reason afterwards, they should not be laughed at or ignored. +All inspiration, I hold, is of the nature of interior Vision, and all +our best knowledge has come--such is my confirmed belief--as a sudden +revelation to the brain prepared to receive it----" + +"Prepared by hard work first, by concentration, by the closest possible +study of ordinary phenomena," Dr. Laidlaw allowed himself to observe. + +"Perhaps," sighed the other; "but by a process, none the less, of +spiritual illumination. The best match in the world will not light a +candle unless the wick be first suitably prepared." + +It was Laidlaw's turn to sigh. He knew so well the impossibility of +arguing with his chief when he was in the regions of the mystic, but at +the same time the respect he felt for his tremendous attainments was so +sincere that he always listened with attention and deference, wondering +how far the great man would go and to what end this curious combination +of logic and "illumination" would eventually lead him. + +"Only last night," continued the elder man, a sort of light coming into +his rugged features, "the vision came to me again--the one that has +haunted me at intervals ever since my youth, and that will not be +denied." + +Dr. Laidlaw fidgeted in his chair. + +"About the Tablets of the Gods, you mean--and that they lie somewhere +hidden in the sands," he said patiently. A sudden gleam of interest came +into his face as he turned to catch the professor's reply. + +"And that I am to be the one to find them, to decipher them, and to give +the great knowledge to the world----" + +"Who will not believe," laughed Laidlaw shortly, yet interested in spite +of his thinly-veiled contempt. + +"Because even the keenest minds, in the right sense of the word, are +hopelessly--unscientific," replied the other gently, his face positively +aglow with the memory of his vision. "Yet what is more likely," he +continued after a moment's pause, peering into space with rapt eyes that +saw things too wonderful for exact language to describe, "than that +there should have been given to man in the first ages of the world some +record of the purpose and problem that had been set him to solve? In a +word," he cried, fixing his shining eyes upon the face of his perplexed +assistant, "that God's messengers in the far-off ages should have given +to His creatures some full statement of the secret of the world, of the +secret of the soul, of the meaning of life and death--the explanation of +our being here, and to what great end we are destined in the ultimate +fullness of things?" + +Dr. Laidlaw sat speechless. These outbursts of mystical enthusiasm he +had witnessed before. With any other man he would not have listened to +a single sentence, but to Professor Ebor, man of knowledge and profound +investigator, he listened with respect, because he regarded this +condition as temporary and pathological, and in some sense a reaction +from the intense strain of the prolonged mental concentration of many +days. + +He smiled, with something between sympathy and resignation as he met the +other's rapt gaze. + +"But you have said, sir, at other times, that you consider the ultimate +secrets to be screened from all possible----" + +"The _ultimate_ secrets, yes," came the unperturbed reply; "but that +there lies buried somewhere an indestructible record of the secret +meaning of life, originally known to men in the days of their pristine +innocence, I am convinced. And, by this strange vision so often +vouchsafed to me, I am equally sure that one day it shall be given to +me to announce to a weary world this glorious and terrific message." + +And he continued at great length and in glowing language to describe the +species of vivid dream that had come to him at intervals since earliest +childhood, showing in detail how he discovered these very Tablets of the +Gods, and proclaimed their splendid contents--whose precise nature was +always, however, withheld from him in the vision--to a patient and +suffering humanity. + +"The _Scrutator_, sir, well described 'Pilgrim' as the Apostle of Hope," +said the young doctor gently, when he had finished; "and now, if that +reviewer could hear you speak and realize from what strange depths comes +your simple faith----" + +The professor held up his hand, and the smile of a little child broke +over his face like sunshine in the morning. + +"Half the good my books do would be instantly destroyed," he said +sadly; "they would say that I wrote with my tongue in my cheek. But +wait," he added significantly; "wait till I find these Tablets of the +Gods! Wait till I hold the solutions of the old world-problems in my +hands! Wait till the light of this new revelation breaks upon confused +humanity, and it wakes to find its bravest hopes justified! Ah, then, my +dear Laidlaw----" + +He broke off suddenly; but the doctor, cleverly guessing the thought in +his mind, caught him up immediately. + +"Perhaps this very summer," he said, trying hard to make the suggestion +keep pace with honesty; "in your explorations in Assyria--your digging +in the remote civilization of what was once Chaldea, you may find--what +you dream of----" + +The professor held up his hand, and the smile of a fine old face. + +"Perhaps," he murmured softly, "perhaps!" + +And the young doctor, thanking the gods of science that his leader's +aberrations were of so harmless a character, went home strong in the +certitude of his knowledge of externals, proud that he was able to refer +his visions to self-suggestion, and wondering complaisantly whether in +his old age he might not after all suffer himself from visitations of +the very kind that afflicted his respected chief. + +And as he got into bed and thought again of his master's rugged face, +and finely shaped head, and the deep lines traced by years of work and +self-discipline, he turned over on his pillow and fell asleep with a +sigh that was half of wonder, half of regret. + + +2 + +It was in February, nine months later, when Dr. Laidlaw made his way to +Charing Cross to meet his chief after his long absence of travel and +exploration. The vision about the so-called Tablets of the Gods had +meanwhile passed almost entirely from his memory. + +There were few people in the train, for the stream of traffic was now +running the other way, and he had no difficulty in finding the man he +had come to meet. The shock of white hair beneath the low-crowned felt +hat was alone enough to distinguish him by easily. + +"Here I am at last!" exclaimed the professor, somewhat wearily, clasping +his friend's hand as he listened to the young doctor's warm greetings +and questions. "Here I am--a little older, and _much_ dirtier than when +you last saw me!" He glanced down laughingly at his travel-stained +garments. + +"And _much_ wiser," said Laidlaw, with a smile, as he bustled about the +platform for porters and gave his chief the latest scientific news. + +At last they came down to practical considerations. + +"And your luggage--where is that? You must have tons of it, I suppose?" +said Laidlaw. + +"Hardly anything," Professor Ebor answered. "Nothing, in fact, but what +you see." + +"Nothing but this hand-bag?" laughed the other, thinking he was joking. + +"And a small portmanteau in the van," was the quiet reply. "I have no +other luggage." + +"You have no other luggage?" repeated Laidlaw, turning sharply to see if +he were in earnest. + +"Why should I need more?" the professor added simply. + +Something in the man's face, or voice, or manner--the doctor hardly knew +which--suddenly struck him as strange. There was a change in him, a +change so profound--so little on the surface, that is--that at first he +had not become aware of it. For a moment it was as though an utterly +alien personality stood before him in that noisy, bustling throng. Here, +in all the homely, friendly turmoil of a Charing Cross crowd, a curious +feeling of cold passed over his heart, touching his life with icy +finger, so that he actually trembled and felt afraid. + +He looked up quickly at his friend, his mind working with startled and +unwelcome thoughts. + +"Only this?" he repeated, indicating the bag. "But where's all the stuff +you went away with? And--have you brought nothing home--no treasures?" + +"This is all I have," the other said briefly. The pale smile that went +with the words caused the doctor a second indescribable sensation of +uneasiness. Something was very wrong, something was very queer; he +wondered now that he had not noticed it sooner. + +"The rest follows, of course, by slow freight," he added tactfully, and +as naturally as possible. "But come, sir, you must be tired and in want +of food after your long journey. I'll get a taxi at once, and we can see +about the other luggage afterwards." + +It seemed to him he hardly knew quite what he was saying; the change +in his friend had come upon him so suddenly and now grew upon him more +and more distressingly. Yet he could not make out exactly in what it +consisted. A terrible suspicion began to take shape in his mind, +troubling him dreadfully. + +"I am neither very tired, nor in need of food, thank you," the professor +said quietly. "And this is all I have. There is no luggage to follow. I +have brought home nothing--nothing but what you see." + +His words conveyed finality. They got into a taxi, tipped the porter, +who had been staring in amazement at the venerable figure of the +scientist, and were conveyed slowly and noisily to the house in the +north of London where the laboratory was, the scene of their labours of +years. + +And the whole way Professor Ebor uttered no word, nor did Dr. Laidlaw +find the courage to ask a single question. + +It was only late that night, before he took his departure, as the two +men were standing before the fire in the study--that study where they +had discussed so many problems of vital and absorbing interest--that +Dr. Laidlaw at last found strength to come to the point with direct +questions. The professor had been giving him a superficial and desultory +account of his travels, of his journeys by camel, of his encampments +among the mountains and in the desert, and of his explorations among the +buried temples, and, deeper, into the waste of the pre-historic sands, +when suddenly the doctor came to the desired point with a kind of +nervous rush, almost like a frightened boy. + +"And you found----" he began stammering, looking hard at the other's +dreadfully altered face, from which every line of hope and cheerfulness +seemed to have been obliterated as a sponge wipes markings from a +slate--"you found----" + +"I found," replied the other, in a solemn voice, and it was the voice of +the mystic rather than the man of science--"I found what I went to seek. +The vision never once failed me. It led me straight to the place like a +star in the heavens. I found--the Tablets of the Gods." + +Dr. Laidlaw caught his breath, and steadied himself on the back of a +chair. The words fell like particles of ice upon his heart. For the +first time the professor had uttered the well-known phrase without the +glow of light and wonder in his face that always accompanied it. + +"You have--brought them?" he faltered. + +"I have brought them home," said the other, in a voice with a ring like +iron; "and I have--deciphered them." + +Profound despair, the bloom of outer darkness, the dead sound of a +hopeless soul freezing in the utter cold of space seemed to fill in the +pauses between the brief sentences. A silence followed, during which Dr. +Laidlaw saw nothing but the white face before him alternately fade and +return. And it was like the face of a dead man. + +"They are, alas, indestructible," he heard the voice continue, with its +even, metallic ring. + +"Indestructible," Laidlaw repeated mechanically, hardly knowing what he +was saying. + +Again a silence of several minutes passed, during which, with a creeping +cold about his heart, he stood and stared into the eyes of the man he +had known and loved so long--aye, and worshipped, too; the man who had +first opened his own eyes when they were blind, and had led him to the +gates of knowledge, and no little distance along the difficult path +beyond; the man who, in another direction, had passed on the strength +of his faith into the hearts of thousands by his books. + +"I may see them?" he asked at last, in a low voice he hardly recognized +as his own. "You will let me know--their message?" + +Professor Ebor kept his eyes fixedly upon his assistant's face as he +answered, with a smile that was more like the grin of death than a +living human smile. + +"When I am gone," he whispered; "when I have passed away. Then you +shall find them and read the translation I have made. And then, too, +in your turn, you must try, with the latest resources of science at +your disposal to aid you, to compass their utter destruction." He +paused a moment, and his face grew pale as the face of a corpse. +"Until that time," he added presently, without looking up, "I must ask +you not to refer to the subject again--and to keep my confidence +meanwhile--_ab--so--lute--ly_." + + +3 + +A year passed slowly by, and at the end of it Dr. Laidlaw had found it +necessary to sever his working connexion with his friend and one-time +leader. Professor Ebor was no longer the same man. The light had gone +out of his life; the laboratory was closed; he no longer put pen to +paper or applied his mind to a single problem. In the short space of a +few months he had passed from a hale and hearty man of late middle life +to the condition of old age--a man collapsed and on the edge of +dissolution. Death, it was plain, lay waiting for him in the shadows of +any day--and he knew it. + +To describe faithfully the nature of this profound alteration in his +character and temperament is not easy, but Dr. Laidlaw summed it up +to himself in three words: _Loss of Hope_. The splendid mental powers +remained indeed undimmed, but the incentive to use them--to use them for +the help of others--had gone. The character still held to its fine and +unselfish habits of years, but the far goal to which they had been the +leading strings had faded away. The desire for knowledge--knowledge for +its own sake--had died, and the passionate hope which hitherto had +animated with tireless energy the heart and brain of this splendidly +equipped intellect had suffered total eclipse. The central fires had +gone out. Nothing was worth doing, thinking, working for. There _was_ +nothing to work for any longer! + +The professor's first step was to recall as many of his books as +possible; his second to close his laboratory and stop all research. He +gave no explanation, he invited no questions. His whole personality +crumbled away, so to speak, till his daily life became a mere mechanical +process of clothing the body, feeding the body, keeping it in good +health so as to avoid physical discomfort, and, above all, doing nothing +that could interfere with sleep. The professor did everything he could +to lengthen the hours of sleep, and therefore of forgetfulness. + +It was all clear enough to Dr. Laidlaw. A weaker man, he knew, would +have sought to lose himself in one form or another of sensual +indulgence--sleeping-draughts, drink, the first pleasures that came to +hand. Self-destruction would have been the method of a little bolder +type; and deliberate evil-doing, poisoning with his awful knowledge all +he could, the means of still another kind of man. Mark Ebor was none of +these. He held himself under fine control, facing silently and without +complaint the terrible facts he honestly believed himself to have +been unfortunate enough to discover. Even to his intimate friend and +assistant, Dr. Laidlaw, he vouchsafed no word of true explanation or +lament. He went straight forward to the end, knowing well that the end +was not very far away. + +And death came very quietly one day to him, as he was sitting in the +arm-chair of the study, directly facing the doors of the laboratory--the +doors that no longer opened. Dr. Laidlaw, by happy chance, was with him +at the time, and just able to reach his side in response to the sudden +painful efforts for breath; just in time, too, to catch the murmured +words that fell from the pallid lips like a message from the other side +of the grave. + +"Read them, if you must; and, if you can--destroy. But"--his +voice sank so low that Dr. Laidlaw only just caught the dying +syllables--"but--never, never--give them to the world." + +And like a grey bundle of dust loosely gathered up in an old garment the +professor sank back into his chair and expired. + +But this was only the death of the body. His spirit had died two years +before. + + +4 + +The estate of the dead man was small and uncomplicated, and Dr. Laidlaw, +as sole executor and residuary legatee, had no difficulty in settling it +up. A month after the funeral he was sitting alone in his upstairs +library, the last sad duties completed, and his mind full of poignant +memories and regrets for the loss of a friend he had revered and loved, +and to whom his debt was so incalculably great. The last two years, +indeed, had been for him terrible. To watch the swift decay of the +greatest combination of heart and brain he had ever known, and to +realize he was powerless to help, was a source of profound grief to him +that would remain to the end of his days. + +At the same time an insatiable curiosity possessed him. The study of +dementia was, of course, outside his special province as a specialist, +but he knew enough of it to understand how small a matter might be the +actual cause of how great an illusion, and he had been devoured from the +very beginning by a ceaseless and increasing anxiety to know what the +professor had found in the sands of "Chaldea," what these precious +Tablets of the Gods might be, and particularly--for this was the real +cause that had sapped the man's sanity and hope--what the inscription +was that he had believed to have deciphered thereon. + +The curious feature of it all to his own mind was, that whereas his +friend had dreamed of finding a message of glorious hope and comfort, he +had apparently found (so far as he had found anything intelligible at +all, and not invented the whole thing in his dementia) that the secret +of the world, and the meaning of life and death, was of so terrible a +nature that it robbed the heart of courage and the soul of hope. What, +then, could be the contents of the little brown parcel the professor had +bequeathed to him with his pregnant dying sentences? + +Actually his hand was trembling as he turned to the writing-table and +began slowly to unfasten a small old-fashioned desk on which the small +gilt initials "M.E." stood forth as a melancholy memento. He put the key +into the lock and half turned it. Then, suddenly, he stopped and looked +about him. Was that a sound at the back of the room? It was just as +though someone had laughed and then tried to smother the laugh with a +cough. A slight shiver ran over him as he stood listening. + +"This is absurd," he said aloud; "too absurd for belief--that I should +be so nervous! It's the effect of curiosity unduly prolonged." He smiled +a little sadly and his eyes wandered to the blue summer sky and the +plane trees swaying in the wind below his window. "It's the reaction," +he continued. "The curiosity of two years to be quenched in a single +moment! The nervous tension, of course, must be considerable." + +He turned back to the brown desk and opened it without further delay. +His hand was firm now, and he took out the paper parcel that lay inside +without a tremor. It was heavy. A moment later there lay on the table +before him a couple of weather-worn plaques of grey stone--they looked +like stone, although they felt like metal--on which he saw markings of +a curious character that might have been the mere tracings of natural +forces through the ages, or, equally well, the half-obliterated +hieroglyphics cut upon their surface in past centuries by the more or +less untutored hand of a common scribe. + +He lifted each stone in turn and examined it carefully. It seemed to him +that a faint glow of heat passed from the substance into his skin, and +he put them down again suddenly, as with a gesture of uneasiness. + +"A very clever, or a very imaginative man," he said to himself, "who +could squeeze the secrets of life and death from such broken lines as +those!" + +Then he turned to a yellow envelope lying beside them in the desk, with +the single word on the outside in the writing of the professor--the word +_Translation_. + +"Now," he thought, taking it up with a sudden violence to conceal his +nervousness, "now for the great solution. Now to learn the meaning of +the worlds, and why mankind was made, and why discipline is worth while, +and sacrifice and pain the true law of advancement." + +There was the shadow of a sneer in his voice, and yet something in him +shivered at the same time. He held the envelope as though weighing it in +his hand, his mind pondering many things. Then curiosity won the day, +and he suddenly tore it open with the gesture of an actor who tears open +a letter on the stage, knowing there is no real writing inside at all. + +A page of finely written script in the late scientist's handwriting lay +before him. He read it through from beginning to end, missing no word, +uttering each syllable distinctly under his breath as he read. + +The pallor of his face grew ghastly as he neared the end. He began to +shake all over as with ague. His breath came heavily in gasps. He still +gripped the sheet of paper, however, and deliberately, as by an intense +effort of will, read it through a second time from beginning to end. And +this time, as the last syllable dropped from his lips, the whole face of +the man flamed with a sudden and terrible anger. His skin became deep, +deep red, and he clenched his teeth. With all the strength of his +vigorous soul he was struggling to keep control of himself. + +For perhaps five minutes he stood there beside the table without +stirring a muscle. He might have been carved out of stone. His eyes were +shut, and only the heaving of the chest betrayed the fact that he was a +living being. Then, with a strange quietness, he lit a match and applied +it to the sheet of paper he held in his hand. The ashes fell slowly +about him, piece by piece, and he blew them from the window-sill into +the air, his eyes following them as they floated away on the summer wind +that breathed so warmly over the world. + +He turned back slowly into the room. Although his actions and movements +were absolutely steady and controlled, it was clear that he was on the +edge of violent action. A hurricane might burst upon the still room any +moment. His muscles were tense and rigid. Then, suddenly, he whitened, +collapsed, and sank backwards into a chair, like a tumbled bundle of +inert matter. He had fainted. + +In less than half an hour he recovered consciousness and sat up. As +before, he made no sound. Not a syllable passed his lips. He rose +quietly and looked about the room. + +Then he did a curious thing. + +Taking a heavy stick from the rack in the corner he approached the +mantlepiece, and with a heavy shattering blow he smashed the clock to +pieces. The glass fell in shivering atoms. + +"Cease your lying voice for ever," he said, in a curiously still, even +tone. "There is no such thing as _time_!" + +He took the watch from his pocket, swung it round several times by the +long gold chain, smashed it into smithereens against the wall with a +single blow, and then walked into his laboratory next door, and hung its +broken body on the bones of the skeleton in the corner of the room. + +"Let one damned mockery hang upon another," he said smiling oddly. +"Delusions, both of you, and cruel as false!" + +He slowly moved back to the front room. He stopped opposite the bookcase +where stood in a row the "Scriptures of the World," choicely bound and +exquisitely printed, the late professor's most treasured possession, and +next to them several books signed "Pilgrim." + +One by one he took them from the shelf and hurled them through the open +window. + +"A devil's dreams! A devil's foolish dreams!" he cried, with a vicious +laugh. + +Presently he stopped from sheer exhaustion. He turned his eyes slowly +to the wall opposite, where hung a weird array of Eastern swords and +daggers, scimitars and spears, the collections of many journeys. He +crossed the room and ran his finger along the edge. His mind seemed to +waver. + +"No," he muttered presently; "not that way. There are easier and better +ways than that." + +He took his hat and passed downstairs into the street. + + +5 + +It was five o'clock, and the June sun lay hot upon the pavement. He felt +the metal door-knob burn the palm of his hand. + +"Ah, Laidlaw, this is well met," cried a voice at his elbow; "I was in +the act of coming to see you. I've a case that will interest you, and +besides, I remembered that you flavoured your tea with orange +leaves!--and I admit----" + +It was Alexis Stephen, the great hypnotic doctor. + +"I've had no tea to-day," Laidlaw said, in a dazed manner, after staring +for a moment as though the other had struck him in the face. A new idea +had entered his mind. + +"What's the matter?" asked Dr. Stephen quickly. "Something's wrong with +you. It's this sudden heat, or overwork. Come, man, let's go inside." + +A sudden light broke upon the face of the younger man, the light of a +heaven-sent inspiration. He looked into his friend's face, and told a +direct lie. + +"Odd," he said, "I myself was just coming to see you. I have something +of great importance to test your confidence with. But in _your_ house, +please," as Stephen urged him towards his own door--"in your house. It's +only round the corner, and I--I cannot go back there--to my rooms--till +I have told you." + +"I'm your patient--for the moment," he added stammeringly as soon as +they were seated in the privacy of the hypnotist's sanctum, "and I +want--er----" + +"My dear Laidlaw," interrupted the other, in that soothing voice of +command which had suggested to many a suffering soul that the cure for +its pain lay in the powers of its own reawakened will, "I am always at +your service, as you know. You have only to tell me what I can do for +you, and I will do it." He showed every desire to help him out. His +manner was indescribably tactful and direct. + +Dr. Laidlaw looked up into his face. + +"I surrender my will to you," he said, already calmed by the other's +healing presence, "and I want you to treat me hypnotically--and at once. +I want you to suggest to me"--his voice became very tense--"that I shall +forget--forget till I die--everything that has occurred to me during the +last two hours; till I die, mind," he added, with solemn emphasis, "till +I die." + +He floundered and stammered like a frightened boy. Alexis Stephen looked +at him fixedly without speaking. + +"And further," Laidlaw continued, "I want you to ask me no questions. I +wish to forget for ever something I have recently discovered--something +so terrible and yet so obvious that I can hardly understand why it is +not patent to every mind in the world--for I have had a moment of +absolute _clear vision_--of merciless clairvoyance. But I want no one +else in the whole world to know what it is--least of all, old friend, +yourself." + +He talked in utter confusion, and hardly knew what he was saying. But +the pain on his face and the anguish in his voice were an instant +passport to the other's heart. + +"Nothing is easier," replied Dr. Stephen, after a hesitation so slight +that the other probably did not even notice it. "Come into my other room +where we shall not be disturbed. I can heal you. Your memory of the last +two hours shall be wiped out as though it had never been. You can trust +me absolutely." + +"I know I can," Laidlaw said simply, as he followed him in. + + +6 + +An hour later they passed back into the front room again. The sun was +already behind the houses opposite, and the shadows began to gather. + +"I went off easily?" Laidlaw asked. + +"You were a little obstinate at first. But though you came in like a +lion, you went out like a lamb. I let you sleep a bit afterwards." + +Dr. Stephen kept his eyes rather steadily upon his friend's face. + +"What were you doing by the fire before you came here?" he asked, +pausing, in a casual tone, as he lit a cigarette and handed the case to +his patient. + +"I? Let me see. Oh, I know; I was worrying my way through poor old +Ebor's papers and things. I'm his executor, you know. Then I got weary +and came out for a whiff of air." He spoke lightly and with perfect +naturalness. Obviously he was telling the truth. "I prefer specimens to +papers," he laughed cheerily. + +"I know, I know," said Dr. Stephen, holding a lighted match for the +cigarette. His face wore an expression of content. The experiment had +been a complete success. The memory of the last two hours was wiped out +utterly. Laidlaw was already chatting gaily and easily about a dozen +other things that interested him. Together they went out into the +street, and at his door Dr. Stephen left him with a joke and a wry face +that made his friend laugh heartily. + +"Don't dine on the professor's old papers by mistake," he cried, as he +vanished down the street. + +Dr. Laidlaw went up to his study at the top of the house. Half way down +he met his housekeeper, Mrs. Fewings. She was flustered and excited, and +her face was very red and perspiring. + +"There've been burglars here," she cried excitedly, "or something funny! +All your things is just anyhow, sir. I found everything all about +everywhere!" She was very confused. In this orderly and very precise +establishment it was unusual to find a thing out of place. + +"Oh, my specimens!" cried the doctor, dashing up the rest of the stairs +at top speed. "Have they been touched or----" + +He flew to the door of the laboratory. Mrs. Fewings panted up heavily +behind him. + +"The labatry ain't been touched," she explained, breathlessly, "but they +smashed the libry clock and they've 'ung your gold watch, sir, on the +skelinton's hands. And the books that weren't no value they flung out er +the window just like so much rubbish. They must have been wild drunk, +Dr. Laidlaw, sir!" + +The young scientist made a hurried examination of the rooms. Nothing of +value was missing. He began to wonder what kind of burglars they were. +He looked up sharply at Mrs. Fewings standing in the doorway. For a +moment he seemed to cast about in his mind for something. + +"Odd," he said at length. "I only left here an hour ago and everything +was all right then." + +"Was it, sir? Yes, sir." She glanced sharply at him. Her room looked +out upon the courtyard, and she must have seen the books come crashing +down, and also have heard her master leave the house a few minutes +later. + +"And what's this rubbish the brutes have left?" he cried, taking up two +slabs of worn gray stone, on the writing-table. "Bath brick, or +something, I do declare." + +He looked very sharply again at the confused and troubled housekeeper. + +"Throw them on the dust heap, Mrs. Fewings, and--and let me know if +anything is missing in the house, and I will notify the police this +evening." + +When she left the room he went into the laboratory and took his watch +off the skeleton's fingers. His face wore a troubled expression, but +after a moment's thought it cleared again. His memory was a complete +blank. + +"I suppose I left it on the writing-table when I went out to take the +air," he said. And there was no one present to contradict him. + +He crossed to the window and blew carelessly some ashes of burned paper +from the sill, and stood watching them as they floated away lazily over +the tops of the trees. + + + + +XI + +THE EMPTY SLEEVE + + +1 + +The Gilmer brothers were a couple of fussy and pernickety old bachelors +of a rather retiring, not to say timid, disposition. There was grey in +the pointed beard of John, the elder, and if any hair had remained to +William it would also certainly have been of the same shade. They +had private means. Their main interest in life was the collection +of violins, for which they had the instinctive _flair_ of true +connoisseurs. Neither John nor William, however, could play a single +note. They could only pluck the open strings. The production of tone, +so necessary before purchase, was done vicariously for them by another. + +The only objection they had to the big building in which they occupied +the roomy top floor was that Morgan, liftman and caretaker, insisted on +wearing a billycock with his uniform after six o'clock in the evening, +with a result disastrous to the beauty of the universe. For "Mr. +Morgan," as they called him between themselves, had a round and pasty +face on the top of a round and conical body. In view, however, of the +man's other rare qualities--including his devotion to themselves--this +objection was not serious. + +He had another peculiarity that amused them. On being found fault with, +he explained nothing, but merely repeated the words of the complaint. + +"Water in the bath wasn't really hot this morning, Morgan!" + +"Water in the bath not reely 'ot, wasn't it, sir?" + +Or, from William, who was something of a faddist: + +"My jar of sour milk came up late yesterday, Morgan." + +"Your jar sour milk come up late, sir, yesterday?" + +Since, however, the statement of a complaint invariably resulted in its +remedy, the brothers had learned to look for no further explanation. +Next morning the bath _was_ hot, the sour milk _was_ "brortup" +punctually. The uniform and billycock hat, though, remained an eyesore +and source of oppression. + +On this particular night John Gilmer, the elder, returning from a +Masonic rehearsal, stepped into the lift and found Mr. Morgan with his +hand ready on the iron rope. + +"Fog's very thick outside," said Mr. John pleasantly; and the lift +was a third of the way up before Morgan had completed his customary +repetition: "Fog very thick outside, yes, sir." And Gilmer then asked +casually if his brother were alone, and received the reply that Mr. +Hyman had called and had not yet gone away. + +Now this Mr. Hyman was a Hebrew, and, like themselves, a connoisseur in +violins, but, unlike themselves, who only kept their specimens to look +at, he was a skilful and exquisite player. He was the only person they +ever permitted to handle their pedigree instruments, to take them from +the glass cases where they reposed in silent splendour, and to draw +the sound out of their wondrous painted hearts of golden varnish. The +brothers loathed to see his fingers touch them, yet loved to hear +their singing voices in the room, for the latter confirmed their sound +judgment as collectors, and made them certain their money had been well +spent. Hyman, however, made no attempt to conceal his contempt and +hatred for the mere collector. The atmosphere of the room fairly pulsed +with these opposing forces of silent emotion when Hyman played and the +Gilmers, alternately writhing and admiring, listened. The occasions, +however, were not frequent. The Hebrew only came by invitation, +and both brothers made a point of being in. It was a very formal +proceeding--something of a sacred rite almost. + +John Gilmer, therefore, was considerably surprised by the information +Morgan had supplied. For one thing, Hyman, he had understood, was away +on the Continent. + +"Still in there, you say?" he repeated, after a moment's reflection. + +"Still in there, Mr. John, sir." Then, concealing his surprise from the +liftman, he fell back upon his usual mild habit of complaining about the +billycock hat and the uniform. + +"You really should try and remember, Morgan," he said, though kindly. +"That hat does _not_ go well with that uniform!" + +Morgan's pasty countenance betrayed no vestige of expression. "'At +don't go well with the yewniform, sir," he repeated, hanging up the +disreputable bowler and replacing it with a gold-braided cap from the +peg. "No, sir, it don't, do it?" he added cryptically, smiling at the +transformation thus effected. + +And the lift then halted with an abrupt jerk at the top floor. By +somebody's carelessness the landing was in darkness, and, to make things +worse, Morgan, clumsily pulling the iron rope, happened to knock the +billycock from its peg so that his sleeve, as he stooped to catch it, +struck the switch and plunged the scene in a moment's complete +obscurity. + +And it was then, in the act of stepping out before the light was turned +on again, that John Gilmer stumbled against something that shot along +the landing past the open door. First he thought it must be a child, +then a man, then--an animal. Its movement was rapid yet stealthy. +Starting backwards instinctively to allow it room to pass, Gilmer +collided in the darkness with Morgan, and Morgan incontinently screamed. +There was a moment of stupid confusion. The heavy framework of the lift +shook a little, as though something had stepped into it and then as +quickly jumped out again. A rushing sound followed that resembled +footsteps, yet at the same time was more like gliding--someone in soft +slippers or stockinged feet, greatly hurrying. Then came silence again. +Morgan sprang to the landing and turned up the electric light. Mr. +Gilmer, at the same moment, did likewise to the switch in the lift. +Light flooded the scene. Nothing was visible. + +"Dog or cat, or something, I suppose, wasn't it?" exclaimed Gilmer, +following the man out and looking round with bewildered amazement upon +a deserted landing. He knew quite well, even while he spoke, that the +words were foolish. + +"Dog or cat, yes, sir, or--something," echoed Morgan, his eyes narrowed +to pin-points, then growing large, but his face stolid. + +"The light should have been on." Mr. Gilmer spoke with a touch of +severity. The little occurrence had curiously disturbed his equanimity. +He felt annoyed, upset, uneasy. + +For a perceptible pause the liftman made no reply, and his employer, +looking up, saw that, besides being flustered, he was white about the +jaws. His voice, when he spoke, was without its normal assurance. This +time he did not merely repeat. He explained. + +"The light _was_ on, sir, when last _I_ come up!" he said, with +emphasis, obviously speaking the truth. "Only a moment ago," he added. + +Mr. Gilmer, for some reason, felt disinclined to press for explanations. +He decided to ignore the matter. + +Then the lift plunged down again into the depths like a diving-bell into +water; and John Gilmer, pausing a moment first to reflect, let himself +in softly with his latch-key, and, after hanging up hat and coat in the +hall, entered the big sitting-room he and his brother shared in common. + +The December fog that covered London like a dirty blanket had +penetrated, he saw, into the room. The objects in it were half shrouded +in the familiar yellowish haze. + + +2 + +In dressing-gown and slippers, William Gilmer, almost invisible in his +armchair by the gas-stove across the room, spoke at once. Through the +thick atmosphere his face gleamed, showing an extinguished pipe hanging +from his lips. His tone of voice conveyed emotion, an emotion he sought +to suppress, of a quality, however, not easy to define. + +"Hyman's been here," he announced abruptly. "You must have met him. He's +this very instant gone out." + +It was quite easy to see that something had happened, for "scenes" leave +disturbance behind them in the atmosphere. But John made no immediate +reference to this. He replied that he had seen no one--which was +strictly true--and his brother thereupon, sitting bolt upright in the +chair, turned quickly and faced him. His skin, in the foggy air, seemed +paler than before. + +"That's odd," he said nervously. + +"What's odd?" asked John. + +"That you didn't see--anything. You ought to have run into one another +on the doorstep." His eyes went peering about the room. He was +distinctly ill at ease. "You're positive you saw no one? Did Morgan +take him down before you came? Did Morgan see him?" He asked several +questions at once. + +"On the contrary, Morgan told me he was still here with you. Hyman +probably walked down, and didn't take the lift at all," he replied. +"That accounts for neither of us seeing him." He decided to say nothing +about the occurrence in the lift, for his brother's nerves, he saw +plainly, were on edge. + +William then stood up out of his chair, and the skin of his face changed +its hue, for whereas a moment ago it was merely pale, it had now +altered to a tint that lay somewhere between white and a livid grey. The +man was fighting internal terror. For a moment these two brothers of +middle age looked each other straight in the eye. Then John spoke: + +"What's wrong, Billy?" he asked quietly. "Something's upset you. What +brought Hyman in this way--unexpectedly? I thought he was still in +Germany." + +The brothers, affectionate and sympathetic, understood one another +perfectly. They had no secrets. Yet for several minutes the younger one +made no reply. It seemed difficult to choose his words apparently. + +"Hyman played, I suppose--on the fiddles?" John helped him, wondering +uneasily what was coming. He did not care much for the individual in +question, though his talent was of such great use to them. + +The other nodded in the affirmative, then plunged into rapid speech, +talking under his breath as though he feared someone might overhear. +Glancing over his shoulder down the foggy room, he drew his brother +close. + +"Hyman came," he began, "unexpectedly. He hadn't written, and I hadn't +asked him. You hadn't either, I suppose?" + +John shook his head. + +"When I came in from the dining-room I found him in the passage. The +servant was taking away the dishes, and he had let himself in while the +front door was ajar. Pretty cool, wasn't it?" + +"He's an original," said John, shrugging his shoulders. "And you +welcomed him?" he asked. + +"I asked him in, of course. He explained he had something glorious for +me to hear. Silenski had played it in the afternoon, and he had bought +the music since. But Silenski's 'Strad' hadn't the power--it's thin +on the upper strings, you remember, unequal, patchy--and he said no +instrument in the world could do it justice but our 'Joseph'-the small +Guarnerius, you know, which he swears is the most perfect in the world." + +"And what was it? Did he play it?" asked John, growing more uneasy as he +grew more interested. With relief he glanced round and saw the matchless +little instrument lying there safe and sound in its glass case near the +door. + +"He played it--divinely: a Zigeuner Lullaby, a fine, passionate, rushing +bit of inspiration, oddly misnamed 'lullaby.' And, fancy, the fellow had +memorized it already! He walked about the room on tiptoe while he played +it, complaining of the light----" + +"Complaining of the light?" + +"Said the thing was crepuscular, and needed dusk for its full effect. I +turned the lights out one by one, till finally there was only the glow +of the gas logs. He insisted. You know that way he has with him? And +then he got over me in another matter: insisted on using some special +strings he had brought with him, and put them on, too, himself--thicker +than the A and E _we_ use." + +For though neither Gilmer could produce a note, it was their pride that +they kept their precious instruments in perfect condition for playing, +choosing the exact thickness and quality of strings that suited the +temperament of each violin; and the little Guarnerius in question always +"sang" best, they held, with thin strings. + +"Infernal insolence," exclaimed the listening brother, wondering what +was coming next. "Played it well, though, didn't he, this Lullaby +thing?" he added, seeing that William hesitated. As he spoke he went +nearer, sitting down close beside him in a leather chair. + +"Magnificent! Pure fire of genius!" was the reply with enthusiasm, the +voice at the same time dropping lower. "Staccato like a silver hammer; +harmonics like flutes, clear, soft, ringing; and the tone--well, the G +string was a baritone, and the upper registers creamy and mellow as a +boy's voice. John," he added, "that Guarnerius is the very pick of the +period and"--again he hesitated--"Hyman loves it. He'd give his soul to +have it." + +The more John heard, the more uncomfortable it made him. He had always +disliked this gifted Hebrew, for in his secret heart he knew that he had +always feared and distrusted him. Sometimes he had felt half afraid +of him; the man's very forcible personality was too insistent to be +pleasant. His type was of the dark and sinister kind, and he possessed +a violent will that rarely failed of accomplishing its desire. + +"Wish I'd heard the fellow play," he said at length, ignoring his +brother's last remark, and going on to speak of the most matter-of-fact +details he could think of. "Did he use the Dodd bow, or the Tourte? That +Dodd I picked up last month, you know, is the most perfectly balanced I +have ever----" + +He stopped abruptly, for William had suddenly got upon his feet and was +standing there, searching the room with his eyes. A chill ran down +John's spine as he watched him. + +"What is it, Billy?" he asked sharply. "Hear anything?" + +William continued to peer about him through the thick air. + +"Oh, nothing, probably," he said, an odd catch in his voice; "only---- I +keep feeling as if there was somebody listening. Do you think, +perhaps"--he glanced over his shoulder--"there is someone at the door? +I wish--I wish you'd have a look, John." + +John obeyed, though without great eagerness. Crossing the room slowly, +he opened the door, then switched on the light. The passage leading past +the bathroom towards the bedrooms beyond was empty. The coats hung +motionless from their pegs. + +"No one, of course," he said, as he closed the door and came back to the +stove. He left the light burning in the passage. It was curious the way +both brothers had this impression that they were not alone, though only +one of them spoke of it. + +"Used the Dodd or the Tourte, Billy--which?" continued John in the most +natural voice he could assume. + +But at that very same instant the water started to his eyes. His +brother, he saw, was close upon the thing he really had to tell. But he +had stuck fast. + + +3 + +By a great effort John Gilmer composed himself and remained in his +chair. With detailed elaboration he lit a cigarette, staring hard at his +brother over the flaring match while he did so. There he sat in his +dressing-gown and slippers by the fireplace, eyes downcast, fingers +playing idly with the red tassel. The electric light cast heavy shadows +across the face. In a flash then, since emotion may sometimes express +itself in attitude even better than in speech, the elder brother +understood that Billy was about to tell him an unutterable thing. + +By instinct he moved over to his side so that the same view of the room +confronted him. + +"Out with it, old man," he said, with an effort to be natural. "Tell me +what you saw." + +Billy shuffled slowly round and the two sat side by side, facing the +fog-draped chamber. + +"It was like this," he began softly, "only I was standing instead of +sitting, looking over to that door as you and I do now. Hyman moved to +and fro in the faint glow of the gas logs against the far wall, playing +that 'crepuscular' thing in his most inspired sort of way, so that the +music seemed to issue from himself rather than from the shining bit +of wood under his chin, when--I noticed something coming over me that +was"--he hesitated, searching for words--"that wasn't _all_ due to the +music," he finished abruptly. + +"His personality put a bit of hypnotism on you, eh?" + +William shrugged his shoulders. + +"The air was thickish with fog and the light was dim, cast upwards upon +him from the stove," he continued. "I admit all that. But there wasn't +light enough to throw shadows, you see, and----" + +"Hyman looked queer?" the other helped him quickly. + +Billy nodded his head without turning. + +"Changed there before my very eyes"--he whispered it--"turned +animal----" + +"Animal?" John felt his hair rising. + +"That's the only way I can put it. His face and hands and body turned +otherwise than usual. I lost the sound of his feet. When the bow-hand or +the fingers on the strings passed into the light, they were"--he uttered +a soft, shuddering little laugh--"furry, oddly divided, the fingers +massed together. And he paced stealthily. I thought every instant the +fiddle would drop with a crash and he would spring at me across the +room." + +"My dear chap----" + +"He moved with those big, lithe, striding steps one sees"--John held his +breath in the little pause, listening keenly--"one sees those big brutes +make in the cages when their desire is aflame for food or escape, or--or +fierce, passionate desire for anything they want with their whole +nature----" + +"The big felines!" John whistled softly. + +"And every minute getting nearer and nearer to the door, as though he +meant to make a sudden rush for it and get out." + +"With the violin! Of course you stopped him?" + +"In the end. But for a long time, I swear to you, I found it difficult +to know what to do, even to move. I couldn't get my voice for words of +any kind; it was like a spell." + +"It _was_ a spell," suggested John firmly. + +"Then, as he moved, still playing," continued the other, "he seemed to +grow smaller; to shrink down below the line of the gas. I thought I +should lose sight of him altogether. I turned the light up suddenly. +There he was over by the door--crouching." + +"Playing on his knees, you mean?" + +William closed his eyes in an effort to visualize it again. + +"Crouching," he repeated, at length, "close to the floor. At least, I +think so. It all happened so quickly, and I felt so bewildered, it was +hard to see straight. But at first I could have sworn he was half his +natural size. I called to him, I think I swore at him--I forget exactly, +but I know he straightened up at once and stood before me down there in +the light"--he pointed across the room to the door--"eyes gleaming, face +white as chalk, perspiring like midsummer, and gradually filling out, +straightening up, whatever you like to call it, to his natural size and +appearance again. It was the most horrid thing I've ever seen." + +"As an--animal, you saw him still?" + +"No; human again. Only much smaller." + +"What did he say?" + +Billy reflected a moment. + +"Nothing that I can remember," he replied. "You see, it was all over in +a few seconds. In the full light, I felt so foolish, and nonplussed at +first. To see him normal again baffled me. And, before I could collect +myself, he had let himself out into the passage, and I heard the front +door slam. A minute later--the same second almost, it seemed--you came +in. I only remember grabbing the violin and getting it back safely under +the glass case. The strings were still vibrating." + +The account was over. John asked no further questions. Nor did he say a +single word about the lift, Morgan, or the extinguished light on the +landing. There fell a longish silence between the two men; and then, +while they helped themselves to a generous supply of whisky-and-soda +before going to bed, John looked up and spoke: + +"If you agree, Billy," he said quietly, "I think I might write and +suggest to Hyman that we shall no longer have need for his services." + +And Billy, acquiescing, added a sentence that expressed something of the +singular dread lying but half concealed in the atmosphere of the room, +if not in their minds as well: + +"Putting it, however, in a way that need not offend him." + +"Of course. There's no need to be rude, is there?" + +Accordingly, next morning the letter was written; and John, saying +nothing to his brother, took it round himself by hand to the Hebrew's +rooms near Euston. The answer he dreaded was forthcoming: + +"Mr. Hyman's still away abroad," he was told. "But we're forwarding +letters; yes. Or I can give you 'is address if you'll prefer it." The +letter went, therefore, to the number in Koenigstrasse, Munich, thus +obtained. + +Then, on his way back from the insurance company where he went to +increase the sum that protected the small Guarnerius from loss by fire, +accident, or theft, John Gilmer called at the offices of certain musical +agents and ascertained that Silenski, the violinist, was performing at +the time in Munich. It was only some days later, though, by diligent +inquiry, he made certain that at a concert on a certain date the famous +virtuoso had played a Zigeuner Lullaby of his own composition--the very +date, it turned out, on which he himself had been to the Masonic +rehearsal at Mark Masons' Hall. + +John, however, said nothing of these discoveries to his brother William. + + +4 + +It was about a week later when a reply to the letter came from Munich--a +letter couched in somewhat offensive terms, though it contained neither +words nor phrases that could actually be found fault with. Isidore Hyman +was hurt and angry. On his return to London a month or so later, he +proposed to call and talk the matter over. The offensive part of the +letter lay, perhaps, in his definite assumption that he could persuade +the brothers to resume the old relations. John, however, wrote a brief +reply to the effect that they had decided to buy no new fiddles; their +collection being complete, there would be no occasion for them to invite +his services as a performer. This was final. No answer came, and the +matter seemed to drop. Never for one moment, though, did it leave the +consciousness of John Gilmer. Hyman had said that he would come, and +come assuredly he would. He secretly gave Morgan instructions that he +and his brother for the future were always "out" when the Hebrew +presented himself. + +"He must have gone back to Germany, you see, almost at once after his +visit here that night," observed William--John, however, making no +reply. + +One night towards the middle of January the two brothers came home +together from a concert in Queen's Hall, and sat up later than usual in +their sitting-room discussing over their whisky and tobacco the merits +of the pieces and performers. It must have been past one o'clock when +they turned out the lights in the passage and retired to bed. The air +was still and frosty; moonlight over the roofs--one of those sharp and +dry winter nights that now seem to visit London rarely. + +"Like the old-fashioned days when we were boys," remarked William, +pausing a moment by the passage window and looking out across the miles +of silvery, sparkling roofs. + +"Yes," added John; "the ponds freezing hard in the fields, rime on the +nursery windows, and the sound of a horse's hoofs coming down the road +in the distance, eh?" They smiled at the memory, then said good night, +and separated. Their rooms were at opposite ends of the corridor; in +between were the bathroom, dining-room, and sitting-room. It was a long, +straggling flat. Half an hour later both brothers were sound asleep, the +flat silent, only a dull murmur rising from the great city outside, and +the moon sinking slowly to the level of the chimneys. + +Perhaps two hours passed, perhaps three, when John Gilmer, sitting up +in bed with a start, wide-awake and frightened, knew that someone was +moving about in one of the three rooms that lay between him and his +brother. He had absolutely no idea why he should have been frightened, +for there was no dream or nightmare-memory that he brought over from +unconsciousness, and yet he realized plainly that the fear he felt was +by no means a foolish and unreasoning fear. It had a cause and a reason. +Also--which made it worse--it was fully warranted. Something in his +sleep, forgotten in the instant of waking, had happened that set +every nerve in his body on the watch. He was positive only of two +things--first, that it was the entrance of this person, moving so +quietly there in the flat, that sent the chills down his spine; and, +secondly, that this person was _not_ his brother William. + +John Gilmer was a timid man. The sight of a burglar, his eyes +black-masked, suddenly confronting him in the passage, would most likely +have deprived him of all power of decision--until the burglar had either +shot him or escaped. But on this occasion some instinct told him that it +was no burglar, and that the acute distress he experienced was not due +to any message of ordinary physical fear. The thing that had gained +access to his flat while he slept had first come--he felt sure of +it--into his room, and had passed very close to his own bed, before +going on. It had then doubtless gone to his brother's room, visiting +them both stealthily to make sure they slept. And its mere passage +through his room had been enough to wake him and set these drops of cold +perspiration upon his skin. For it was--he felt it in every fibre of +his body--something hostile. + +The thought that it might at that very moment be in the room of his +brother, however, brought him to his feet on the cold floor, and set him +moving with all the determination he could summon towards the door. He +looked cautiously down an utterly dark passage; then crept on tiptoe +along it. On the wall were old-fashioned weapons that had belonged to +his father; and feeling a curved, sheathless sword that had come from +some Turkish campaign of years gone by, his fingers closed tightly round +it, and lifted it silently from the three hooks whereon it lay. He +passed the doors of the bathroom and dining-room, making instinctively +for the big sitting-room where the violins were kept in their glass +cases. The cold nipped him. His eyes smarted with the effort to see in +the darkness. Outside the closed door he hesitated. + +Putting his ear to the crack, he listened. From within came a faint +sound of someone moving. The same instant there rose the sharp, delicate +"ping" of a violin-string being plucked; and John Gilmer, with nerves +that shook like the vibrations of that very string, opened the door wide +with a fling and turned on the light at the same moment. The plucked +string still echoed faintly in the air. + +The sensation that met him on the threshold was the well-known one +that things had been going on in the room which his unexpected arrival +had that instant put a stop to. A second earlier and he would have +discovered it all in the act. The atmosphere still held the feeling of +rushing, silent movement with which the things had raced back to their +normal, motionless positions. The immobility of the furniture was a mere +attitude hurriedly assumed, and the moment his back was turned the whole +business, whatever it might be, would begin again. With this presentment +of the room, however--a purely imaginative one--came another, swiftly on +its heels. + +For one of the objects, less swift than the rest, had not quite regained +its "attitude" of repose. It still moved. Below the window curtains on +the right, not far from the shelf that bore the violins in their glass +cases, he made it out, slowly gliding along the floor. Then, even as his +eye caught it, it came to rest. + +And, while the cold perspiration broke out all over him afresh, he knew +that this still moving item was the cause both of his waking and of his +terror. This was the disturbance whose presence he had divined in the +flat without actual hearing, and whose passage through his room, while +he yet slept, had touched every nerve in his body as with ice. Clutching +his Turkish sword tightly, he drew back with the utmost caution against +the wall and watched, for the singular impression came to him that +the movement was not that of a human being crouching, but rather of +something that pertained to the animal world. He remembered, flash-like, +the movements of reptiles, the stealth of the larger felines, the +undulating glide of great snakes. For the moment, however, it did not +move, and they faced one another. + +The other side of the room was but dimly lighted, and the noise he made +clicking up another electric lamp brought the thing flying forward +again--towards himself. At such a moment it seemed absurd to think of +so small a detail, but he remembered his bare feet, and, genuinely +frightened, he leaped upon a chair and swished with his sword through +the air about him. From this better point of view, with the increased +light to aid him, he then saw two things--first, that the glass case +usually covering the Guarnerius violin had been shifted; and, secondly, +that the moving object was slowly elongating itself into an upright +position. Semi-erect, yet most oddly, too, like a creature on its hind +legs, it was coming swiftly towards him. It was making for the door--and +escape. + +The confusion of ghostly fear was somehow upon him so that he was too +bewildered to see clearly, but he had sufficient self-control, it +seemed, to recover a certain power of action; for the moment the +advancing figure was near enough for him to strike, that curved scimitar +flashed and whirred about him, with such misdirected violence, however, +that he not only failed to strike it even once, but at the same +time lost his balance and fell forward from the chair whereon he +perched--straight into it. + +And then came the most curious thing of all, for as he dropped, the +figure also dropped, stooped low down, crouched, dwindled amazingly in +size, and rushed past him close to the ground like an animal on all +fours. John Gilmer screamed, for he could no longer contain himself. +Stumbling over the chair as he turned to follow, cutting and slashing +wildly with his sword, he saw halfway down the darkened corridor beyond +the scuttling outline of, apparently, an enormous--cat! + +The door into the outer landing was somehow ajar, and the next second +the beast was out, but not before the steel had fallen with a crashing +blow upon the front disappearing leg, almost severing it from the body. + +It was dreadful. Turning up the lights as he went, he ran after it to +the outer landing. But the thing he followed was already well away, and +he heard, on the floor below him, the same oddly gliding, slithering, +stealthy sound, yet hurrying, that he had heard weeks before when +something had passed him in the lift and Morgan, in his terror, had +likewise cried aloud. + +For a time he stood there on that dark landing, listening, thinking, +trembling; then turned into the flat and shut the door. In the +sitting-room he carefully replaced the glass case over the treasured +violin, puzzled to the point of foolishness, and strangely routed in his +mind. For the violin itself, he saw, had been dragged several inches +from its cushioned bed of plush. + +Next morning, however, he made no allusion to the occurrence of the +night. His brother apparently had not been disturbed. + + +5 + +The only thing that called for explanation--an explanation not fully +forthcoming--was the curious aspect of Mr. Morgan's countenance. The +fact that this individual gave notice to the owners of the building, and +at the end of the month left for a new post, was, of course, known to +both brothers; whereas the story he told in explanation of his face was +known only to the one who questioned him about it--John. And John, for +reasons best known to himself, did not pass it on to the other. Also, +for reasons best known to himself, he did not cross-question the liftman +about those singular marks, or report the matter to the police. + +Mr. Morgan's pasty visage was badly scratched, and there were red lines +running from the cheek into the neck that had the appearance of having +been produced by sharp points viciously applied--claws. He had been +disturbed by a noise in the hall, he said, about three in the morning, a +scuffle had ensued in the darkness, but the intruder had got clear +away.... + +"A cat or something of the kind, no doubt," suggested John Gilmer at the +end of the brief recital. And Morgan replied in his usual way: "A cat, +or something of the kind, Mr. John, no doubt." + +All the same, he had not cared to risk a second encounter, but had +departed to wear his billycock and uniform in a building less haunted. + +Hyman, meanwhile, made no attempt to call and talk over his dismissal. +The reason for this was only apparent, however, several months later +when, quite by chance, coming along Piccadilly in an omnibus, the +brothers found themselves seated opposite to a man with a thick black +beard and blue glasses. William Gilmer hastily rang the bell and got +out, saying something half intelligible about feeling faint. John +followed him. + +"Did you see who it was?" he whispered to his brother the moment they +were safely on the pavement. + +John nodded. + +"Hyman, in spectacles. He's grown a beard, too." + +"Yes, but did you also notice----" + +"What?" + +"He had an empty sleeve." + +"An empty sleeve?" + +"Yes," said William; "he's lost an arm." + +There was a long pause before John spoke. At the door of their club the +elder brother added: + +"Poor devil! He'll never again play on"--then, suddenly changing the +preposition--"_with_ a pedigree violin!" + +And that night in the flat, after William had gone to bed, he looked up +a curious old volume he had once picked up on a second-hand bookstall, +and read therein quaint descriptions of how the "desire-body of a +violent man" may assume animal shape, operate on concrete matter even at +a distance; and, further, how a wound inflicted thereon can reproduce +itself upon its physical counterpart by means of the mysterious +so-called phenomenon of "re-percussion." + + + + +XII + +WIRELESS CONFUSION + + +"Good night, Uncle," whispered the child, as she climbed on to his knee +and gave him a resounding kiss. "It's time for me to disappop into +bed--at least, so mother says." + +"Disappop, then," he replied, returning her kiss, "although I doubt...." + +He hesitated. He remembered the word was her father's invention, +descriptive of the way rabbits pop into their holes and disappear, and +the way _good_ children should leave the room the instant bed-time was +announced. The father--his twin brother--seemed to enter the room and +stand beside them. "Then give me another kiss, and disappop!" he said +quickly. The child obeyed the first part of his injunction, but had not +obeyed the second when the queer thing happened. She had not left his +knee; he was still holding her at the full stretch of both arms; he was +staring into her laughing eyes, when she suddenly went far away into an +extraordinary distance. She retired. Minute, tiny, but still in perfect +proportion and clear as before, she was withdrawn in space till she was +small as a doll. He saw his own hands holding her, and they too were +minute. Down this long corridor of space, as it were, he saw her +diminutive figure. + +"Uncle!" she cried, yet her voice was loud as before, "but what a funny +face! You're pretending you've seen a ghost"--and she was gone from his +knee and from the room, the door closing quietly behind her. He saw her +cross the floor, a tiny figure. Then, just as she reached the door, she +became of normal size again, as if she crossed a line. + +He felt dizzy. The loud voice close to his ear issuing from a diminutive +figure half a mile away had a distressing effect upon him. He knew a +curious qualm as he sat there in the dark. He heard the wind walking +round the house, trying the doors and windows. He was troubled by a +memory he could not seize. + +Yet the emotion instantly resolved itself into one of personal anxiety: +something had gone wrong with his eyes. Sight, his most precious +possession as an artist, was of course affected. He was conscious of a +little trembling in him, as he at once began trying his sight at various +objects--his hands, the high ceiling, the trees dim in the twilight on +the lawn outside. He opened a book and read half a dozen lines, at +changing distances; finally he stared carefully at the second hand of +his watch. "Right as a trivet!" he exclaimed aloud. He emitted a long +sigh; he was immensely relieved. "Nothing wrong with my eyes." + +He thought about the actual occurrence a great deal--he felt as puzzled +as any other normal person must have felt. While he held the child +actually in his arms, gripping her with both hands, he had seen her +suddenly half a mile away. "Half a mile!" he repeated under his breath, +"why it was even more, it was easily a mile." It had been exactly as +though he suddenly looked at her down the wrong end of a powerful +telescope. It had really happened; he could not explain it; there was no +more to be said. + +This was the first time it happened to him. + +At the theatre, a week later, when the phenomenon was repeated, the +stage he was watching fixedly at the moment went far away, as though he +saw it from a long way off. The distance, so far as he could judge, was +the same as before, about a mile. It was an Eastern scene, realistically +costumed and produced, that without an instant's warning withdrew. The +entire stage went with it, although he did not actually see it go. He +did not see movement, that is. It was suddenly remote, while yet the +actors' voices, the orchestra, the general hubbub retained their normal +volume. He experienced again the distressing dizziness; he closed his +eyes, covering them with his hand, then rubbing the eyeballs slightly; +and when he looked up the next minute, the world was as it should be, as +it had been, at any rate. Unwilling to experience a repetition of the +thing in a public place, however, and fortunately being alone, he left +the theatre at the end of the act. + +Twice this happened to him, once with an individual, his brother's +child, and once with a landscape, an Eastern stage scene. Both +occurrences were within the week, during which time he had been +considering a visit to the oculist, though without putting his decision +into execution. He was the kind of man that dreaded doctors, dentists, +oculists, always postponing, always finding reasons for delay. He found +reasons now, the chief among them being an unwelcome one--that it was +perhaps a brain specialist, rather than an oculist, he ought to consult. +This particular notion hung unpleasantly about his mind, when, the day +after the theatre visit, the thing recurred, but with a startling +difference. + +While idly watching a blue-bottle fly that climbed the window-pane with +remorseless industry, only to slip down again at the very instant when +escape into the open air was within its reach, the fly grew abruptly +into gigantic proportions, became blurred and indistinct as it did so, +covered the entire pane with its furry, dark, ugly mass, and frightened +him so that he stepped back with a cry and nearly lost his balance +altogether. He collapsed into a chair. He listened with closed eyes. The +metallic buzzing was audible, a small, exasperating sound, ordinarily +unable to stir any emotion beyond a mild annoyance. Yet it was terrible; +that so huge an insect should make so faint a sound seemed to him +terrible. + +At length he cautiously opened his eyes. The fly was of normal size +once more. He hastily flicked it out of the window. + +An hour later he was talking with the famous oculist in Harley Street +... about the advisability of starting reading-glasses. He found it +difficult to relate the rest. A curious shyness restrained him. + +"Your optic nerves might belong to a man of twenty," was the verdict. +"Both are perfect. But at your age it is wise to save the sight as much +as possible. There is a slight astigmatism...." And a prescription for +the glasses was written out. It was only when paying the fee, and as a +means of drawing attention from the awkward moment, that his story found +expression. It seemed to come out in spite of himself. He made light of +it even then, telling it without conviction. It seemed foolish suddenly +as he told it. "How very odd," observed the oculist vaguely, "dear me, +yes, curious indeed. But that's nothing. H'm, h'm!" Either it was no +concern of his, or he deemed it negligible.... His only other confidant +was a friend of psychological tendencies who was interested and eager to +explain. It is on the instant plausible explanation of anything and +everything that the reputation of such folk depends; this one was true +to type: "A spontaneous invention, my dear fellow--a pictorial rendering +of your thought. You are a painter, aren't you? Well, this is merely a +rendering in picture-form of"--he paused for effect, the other hung upon +his words--"of the odd expression 'disappop.'" + +"Ah!" exclaimed the painter. + +"You see everything pictorially, of course, don't you?" + +"Yes--as a rule." + +"There you have it. Your painter's psychology saw the child +'disappopping.' That's all." + +"And the fly?" but the fly was easily explained, since it was merely the +process reversed. "Once a process has established itself in your mind, +you see, it may act in either direction. When a madman says 'I'm afraid +Smith will do me an injury,' it means, 'I will do an injury to Smith,'" +And he repeated with finality, "That's it." + +The explanations were not very satisfactory, the illustration even +tactless, but then the problem had not been stated quite fully. Neither +to the oculist nor to the other had _all_ the facts been given. The same +shyness had been a restraining influence in both cases; a detail had +been omitted, and this detail was that he connected the occurrences +somehow with his brother whom the war had taken. + +The phenomenon made one more appearance--the last--before its character, +its field of action rather, altered. He was reading a book when the +print became now large, now small; it blurred, grew remote and tiny, +then so huge that a single word, a letter even, filled the whole page. +He felt as if someone were playing optical tricks with the mechanism of +his eyes, trying first one, then another focus. + +More curious still, the meaning of the words themselves became +uncertain; he did not understand them any more; the sentences lost their +meaning, as though he read a strange language, or a language little +known. The flash came then--someone was using his eyes--someone else was +looking through them. + +No, it was not his brother. The idea was preposterous in any case. Yet +he shivered again, as when he heard the walking wind, for an uncanny +conviction came over him that it was someone who did not understand eyes +but was manipulating their mechanism experimentally. With the conviction +came also this: that, while not his brother, it was someone connected +with his brother. + +Here, moreover, was an explanation of sorts, for if the supernatural +existed--he had never troubled his head about it--he could accept this +odd business as a manifestation, and leave it at that. He did so, and +his mind was eased. This was his attitude: "The supernatural _may_ +exist. Why not? We cannot know. But we can watch." His eyes and brain, +at any rate, were proved in good condition. + +He watched. No change of focus, no magnifying or diminishing, came +again. For some weeks he noticed nothing unusual of any kind, except +that his mind often filled now with Eastern pictures. Their sudden +irruption caught his attention, but no more than that; they were +sometimes blurred and sometimes vivid; he had never been in the East; +he attributed them to his constant thinking of his brother, missing in +Mesopotamia these six months. Photographs in magazines and newspapers +explained the rest. Yet the persistence of the pictures puzzled him: +tents beneath hot cloudless skies, palms, a stretch of desert, dry +watercourses, camels, a mosque, a minaret--typical snatches of this kind +flashed into his mind with a sense of faint familiarity often. He knew, +again, the return of a fugitive memory he could not seize.... He kept +a note of the dates, all of them subsequent to the day he read his +brother's fate in the official Roll of Honour: "Believed missing; now +killed." Only when the original phenomenon returned, but in its altered +form, did he stop the practice. The change then affected his life too +fundamentally to trouble about mere dates and pictures. + +For the phenomenon, shifting its field of action, abruptly became +mental, and the singular change of focus took place now in his mind. +Events magnified or contracted themselves out of all relation with their +intrinsic values, sense of proportion went hopelessly astray. Love, hate +and fear experienced sudden intensification, or abrupt dwindling into +nothing; the familiar everyday emotions, commonplace daily acts, +suffered exaggerated enlargement, or reduction into insignificance, that +threatened the stability of his personality. Fortunately, as stated, +they were of brief duration; to examine them in detail were to touch the +painful absurdities of incipient mania almost; that a lost collar stud +could block his exasperated mind for hours, filling an entire day with +emotion, while a deep affection of long standing could ebb towards +complete collapse suddenly without apparent cause...! + +It was the unexpected suddenness of Turkey's spectacular defeat that +closed the painful symptoms. The Armistice saw them go. He knew a quick +relief he was unable to explain. The telegram that his brother was alive +and safe came _after_ his recovery of mental balance. It was a shock. +But the phenomena had ceased before the shock. + +It was in the light of his brother's story that he reviewed the puzzling +phenomena described. The story was not more curious than many another, +perhaps, yet the details were queer enough. That a wounded Turk to whom +he gave water should have remembered gratitude was likely enough, for +all travellers know that these men are kindly gentlemen at times; +but that this Mohammedan peasant should have been later a member +of a prisoner's escort and have provided the means of escape and +concealment--weeks in a dry watercourse and months in a hut outside the +town--seemed an incredible stroke of good fortune. "He brought me food +and water three times a week. I had no money to give him, so I gave him +my Zeiss glasses. I taught him a bit of English too. But he liked the +glasses best. He was never tired of playing with 'em--making big and +little, as he called it. He learned precious little English...." + +"My pair, weren't they?" interrupted his brother. "My old climbing +glasses." + +"Your present to me when I went out, yes. So really you helped me to +save my life. I told the old Turk that. I was always thinking about +you." + +"And the Turk?" + +"No doubt.... Through _my_ mind, that is. At any rate, he asked a lot of +questions about you. I showed him your photo. He died, poor chap--at +least they told me so. Probably they shot him." + + + + +XIII + +CONFESSION + + +The fog swirled slowly round him, driven by a heavy movement of its own, +for of course there was no wind. It hung in poisonous thick coils and +loops; it rose and sank; no light penetrated it directly from street +lamp or motor-car, though here and there some big shop-window shed a +glimmering patch upon its ever-shifting curtain. + +O'Reilly's eyes ached and smarted with the incessant effort to see +a foot beyond his face. The optic nerve grew tired, and sight, +accordingly, less accurate. He coughed as he shuffled forward cautiously +through the choking gloom. Only the stifled rumble of crawling traffic +persuaded him he was in a crowded city at all--this, and the vague +outlines of groping figures, hugely magnified, emerging suddenly and +disappearing again, as they fumbled along inch by inch towards uncertain +destinations. + +The figures, however were human beings; they were real. That much he +knew. He heard their muffled voices, now close, now distant, strangely +smothered always. He also heard the tapping of innumerable sticks, +feeling for iron railings or the kerb. These phantom outlines +represented living people. He was not alone. + +It was the dread of finding himself _quite_ alone that haunted him, for +he was still unable to cross an open space without assistance. He had +the physical strength, it was the mind that failed him. Midway the +panic terror might descend upon him, he would shake all over, his will +dissolve, he would shriek for help, run wildly--into the traffic +probably--or, as they called it in his North Ontario home, "throw a +fit" in the street before advancing wheels. He was not yet entirely +cured, although under ordinary conditions he was safe enough, as Dr. +Henry had assured him. + +When he left Regent's Park by Tube an hour ago the air was clear, the +November sun shone brightly, the pale blue sky was cloudless, and the +assumption that he could manage the journey across London Town alone was +justified. The following day he was to leave for Brighton for the week +of final convalescence: this little preliminary test of his powers on a +bright November afternoon was all to the good. Doctor Henry furnished +minute instructions: "You change at Piccadilly Circus--without leaving +the underground station, mind--and get out at South Kensington. You know +the address of your V.A.D. friend. Have your cup of tea with her, then +come back the same way to Regent's Park. Come back before dark--say six +o'clock at latest. It's better." He had described exactly what turns to +take after leaving the station, so many to the right, so many to the +left; it was a little confusing, but the distance was short. "You can +always ask. You can't possibly go wrong." + +The unexpected fog, however, now blurred these instructions in a +confused jumble in his mind. The failure of outer sight reacted upon +memory. The V.A.D. besides had warned him her address was "not easy to +find the first time. The house lies in a backwater. But with your +'backwoods' instincts you'll probably manage it better than any +Londoner!" She, too, had not calculated upon the fog. + +When O'Reilly came up the stairs at South Kensington Station, he emerged +into such murky darkness that he thought he was still underground. An +impenetrable world lay round him. Only a raw bite in the damp atmosphere +told him he stood beneath an open sky. For some little time he stood and +stared--a Canadian soldier, his home among clear brilliant spaces, now +face to face for the first time in his life with that thing he had so +often read about--a bad London fog. With keenest interest and surprise +he "enjoyed" the novel spectacle for perhaps ten minutes, watching the +people arrive and vanish, and wondering why the station lights stopped +dead the instant they touched the street--then, with a sense of +adventure--it cost an effort--he left the covered building and plunged +into the opaque sea beyond. + +Repeating to himself the directions he had received--first to the right, +second to the left, once more to the left, and so forth--he checked each +turn, assuring himself it was impossible to go wrong. He made correct if +slow progress, until someone blundered into him with an abrupt and +startling question: "Is this right, do you know, for South Kensington +Station?" + +It was the suddenness that startled him; one moment there was no one, +the next they were face to face, another, and the stranger had vanished +into the gloom with a courteous word of grateful thanks. But the little +shock of interruption had put memory out of gear. Had he already turned +twice to the right, or had he not? O'Reilly realized sharply he had +forgotten his memorized instructions. He stood still, making strenuous +efforts at recovery, but each effort left him more uncertain than +before. Five minutes later he was lost as hopelessly as any townsman who +leaves his tent in the backwoods without blazing the trees to ensure +finding his way back again. Even the sense of direction, so strong in +him among his native forests, was completely gone. There were no stars, +there was no wind, no smell, no sound of running water. There was +nothing anywhere to guide him, nothing but occasional dim outlines, +groping, shuffling, emerging and disappearing in the eddying fog, but +rarely coming within actual speaking, much less touching, distance. He +was lost utterly; more, he was alone. + +Yet not _quite_ alone--the thing he dreaded most. There were figures +still in his immediate neighborhood. They emerged, vanished, reappeared, +dissolved. No, he was not quite alone. He saw these thickenings of the +fog, he heard their voices, the tapping of their cautious sticks, their +shuffling feet as well. They were real. They moved, it seemed, about him +in a circle, never coming very close. + +"But they're real," he said to himself aloud, betraying the weak point +in his armour. "They're human beings right enough. I'm positive of +that." + +He had never argued with Dr. Henry--he wanted to get well; he had obeyed +implicitly, believing everything the doctor told him--up to a point. But +he had always had his own idea about these "figures," because, among +them, were often enough his own pals from the Somme, Gallipoli, the +Mespot horror, too. And he ought to know his own pals when he saw them! +At the same time he knew quite well he had been "shocked," his being +dislocated; half dissolved as it were, his system pushed into some +lopsided condition that meant inaccurate registration. True. He grasped +that perfectly. But, in that shock and dislocation, had he not possibly +picked up another gear? Were there not gaps and broken edges, pieces +that no longer dovetailed, fitted as usual, interstices, in a word? +Yes, that was the word--interstices. Cracks, so to speak, between his +perception of the outside world and his inner interpretation of +these? Between memory and recognition? Between the various states of +consciousness that usually dovetailed so neatly that the joints were +normally imperceptible? + +His state, he well knew, was abnormal, but were his symptoms on that +account unreal? Could not these "interstices" be used by--others? When +he saw his "figures," he used to ask himself: "Are not these the real +ones, and the others--the human beings--unreal?" + +This question now revived in him with a new intensity. Were these +figures in the fog real or unreal? The man who had asked the way to the +station, was he not, after all, a shadow merely? + +By the use of his cane and foot and what of sight was left to him he +knew that he was on an island. A lamppost stood up solid and straight +beside him, shedding its faint patch of glimmering light. Yet there were +railings, however, that puzzled him, for his stick hit the metal rods +distinctly in a series. And there should be no railings round an island. +Yet he had most certainly crossed a dreadful open space to get where he +was. His confusion and bewilderment increased with dangerous rapidity. +Panic was not far away. + +He was no longer on an omnibus route. A rare taxi crawled past +occasionally, a whitish patch at the window indicating an anxious human +face; now and again came a van or cart, the driver holding a lantern as +he led the stumbling horse. These comforted him, rare though they were. +But it was the figures that drew his attention most. He was quite sure +they were real. They were human beings like himself. + +For all that, he decided he might as well be positive on the point. He +tried one accordingly--a big man who rose suddenly before him out of the +very earth. + +"Can you give me the trail to Morley Place?" he asked. + +But his question was drowned by the other's simultaneous inquiry in a +voice much louder than his own. + +"I say, is this right for the Tube station, d'you know? I'm utterly +lost. I want South Ken." + +And by the time O'Reilly had pointed the direction whence he himself had +just come, the man was gone again, obliterated, swallowed up, not so +much as his footsteps audible, almost as if--it seemed again--he never +had been there at all. + +This left an acute unpleasantness in him, a sense of bewilderment +greater than before. He waited five minutes, not daring to move a step, +then tried another figure, a woman this time who, luckily, knew the +immediate neighbourhood intimately. She gave him elaborate instructions +in the kindest possible way, then vanished with incredible swiftness +and ease into the sea of gloom beyond. The instantaneous way she +vanished was disheartening, upsetting; it was so uncannily abrupt and +sudden. Yet she comforted him. Morley Place, according to her version, +was not two hundred yards from where he stood. He felt his way forward, +step by step, using his cane, crossing a giddy open space kicking the +kerb with each boot alternately, coughing and choking all the time as he +did so. + +"They were real, I guess, anyway," he said aloud. "They were both real +enough all right. And it may lift a bit soon!" He was making a great +effort to hold himself in hand. He was already fighting, that is. He +realized this perfectly. The only point was--the reality of the figures. +"It may lift now any minute," he repeated louder. In spite of the cold, +his skin was sweating profusely. + +But, of course, it did not lift. The figures, too, became fewer. No +carts were audible. He had followed the woman's directions carefully, +but now found himself in some by-way, evidently, where pedestrians at +the best of times were rare. There was dull silence all about him. His +foot lost the kerb, his cane swept the empty air, striking nothing +solid, and panic rose upon him with its shuddering, icy grip. He was +alone, he knew himself alone, worse still--he was in another open space. + +It took him fifteen minutes to cross that open space, most of the way +upon his hands and knees, oblivious of the icy slime that stained his +trousers, froze his fingers, intent only upon feeling solid support +against his back and spine again. It was an endless period. The moment +of collapse was close, the shriek already rising in his throat, the +shaking of the whole body uncontrollable, when--his outstretched fingers +struck a friendly kerb, and he saw a glimmering patch of diffused +radiance overhead. With a great, quick effort he stood upright, and an +instant later his stick rattled along an area railing. He leaned against +it, breathless, panting, his heart beating painfully while the street +lamp gave him the further comfort of its feeble gleam, the actual flame, +however, invisible. He looked this way and that; the pavement was +deserted. He was engulfed in the dark silence of the fog. + +But Morley Place, he knew, must be very close by now. He thought of the +friendly little V.A.D. he had known in France, of a warm bright fire, a +cup of tea and a cigarette. One more effort, he reflected, and all these +would be his. He pluckily groped his way forward again, crawling slowly +by the area railings. If things got really bad again, he would ring a +bell and ask for help, much as he shrank from the idea. Provided he had +no more open spaces to cross, provided he saw no more figures emerging +and vanishing like creatures born of the fog and dwelling within it as +within their native element--it was the figures he now dreaded more than +anything else, more even than the loneliness--provided the panic +sense---- + +A faint darkening of the fog beneath the next lamp caught his eye and +made him start. He stopped. It was not a figure this time, it was the +shadow of the pole grotesquely magnified. No, it moved. It moved towards +him. A flame of fire followed by ice flowed through him. It was a +figure--close against his face. It was a woman. + +The doctor's advice came suddenly back to him, the counsel that had +cured him of a hundred phantoms: + +"Do not ignore them. Treat them as real. Speak and go with them. You +will soon prove their unreality then. And they will leave you...." + +He made a brave, tremendous effort. He was shaking. One hand clutched +the damp and icy area railing. + +"Lost your way like myself, haven't you, ma'am?" he said in a voice that +trembled. "Do you know where we are at all? Morley Place _I_'m looking +for----" + +He stopped dead. The woman moved nearer and for the first time he saw +her face clearly. Its ghastly pallor, the bright, frightened eyes that +stared with a kind of dazed bewilderment into his own, the beauty above +all, arrested his speech midway. The woman was young, her tall figure +wrapped in a dark fur coat. + +"Can I help you?" he asked impulsively, forgetting his own terror for +the moment. He was more than startled. Her air of distress and pain +stirred a peculiar anguish in him. For a moment she made no answer, +thrusting her white face closer as if examining him, so close, indeed, +that he controlled with difficulty his instinct to shrink back a little. + +"Where am I?" she asked at length, searching his eyes intently. "I'm +lost--I've lost myself. I can't find my way back." Her voice was low, a +curious wailing in it that touched his pity oddly. He felt his own +distress merging in one that was greater. + +"Same here," he replied more confidently. "I'm terrified of being alone, +too. I've had shell-shock, you know. Let's go together. We'll find a way +together----" + +"Who are you!" the woman murmured, still staring at him with her big +bright eyes, their distress, however, no whit lessened. She gazed at him +as though aware suddenly of his presence. + +He told her briefly. "And I'm going to tea with a V.A.D. friend in +Morley Place. What's your address? Do you know the name of the street?" + +She appeared not to hear him, or not to understand exactly; it was as if +she was not listening again. + +"I came out so suddenly, so unexpectedly," he heard the low voice with +pain in every syllable; "I can't find my home again. Just when I was +expecting him too----" She looked about her with a distraught expression +that made O'Reilly long to carry her in his arms to safety then and +there. "He may be there now--waiting for me at this very moment--and I +can't get back." And so sad was her voice that only by an effort did +O'Reilly prevent himself putting out his hand to touch her. More and +more he forgot himself in his desire to help her. Her beauty, the wonder +of her strange bright eyes in the pallid face, made an immense appeal. +He became calmer. This woman was real enough. He asked again the +address, the street and number, the distance she thought it was. "Have +you any idea of the direction, ma'am, any idea at all? We'll go together +and----" + +She suddenly cut him short. She turned her head as if to listen, so that +he saw her profile a moment, the outline of the slender neck, a glimpse +of jewels just below the fur. + +"Hark! I hear him calling! I remember...!" And she was gone from his +side into the swirling fog. + +Without an instant's hesitation O'Reilly followed her, not only because +he wished to help, but because he dared not be left alone. The presence +of this strange, lost woman comforted him; he must not lose sight of +her, whatever happened. He had to run, she went so rapidly, ever just in +front, moving with confidence and certainty, turning right and left, +crossing the street, but never stopping, never hesitating, her companion +always at her heels in breathless haste, and with a growing terror that +he might lose her any minute. The way she found her direction through +the dense fog was marvellous enough, but O'Reilly's only thought was to +keep her in sight, lest his own panic redescend upon him with its +inevitable collapse in the dark and lonely street. It was a wild and +panting pursuit, and he kept her in view with difficulty, a dim fleeting +outline always a few yards ahead of him. She did not once turn her head, +she uttered no sound, no cry; she hurried forward with unfaltering +instinct. Nor did the chase occur to him once as singular; she was his +safety, and that was all he realized. + +One thing, however, he remembered afterwards, though at the actual time +he no more than registered the detail, paying no attention to it--a +definite perfume she left upon the atmosphere, one, moreover, that he +knew, although he could not find its name as he ran. It was associated +vaguely, for him, with something unpleasant, something disagreeable. He +connected it with misery and pain. It gave him a feeling of uneasiness. +More than that he did not notice at the moment, nor could he +remember--he certainly did not try--where he had known this particular +scent before. + +Then suddenly the woman stopped, opened a gate and passed into a small +private garden--so suddenly that O'Reilly, close upon her heels, only +just avoided tumbling into her. "You've found it?" he cried. "May I come +in a moment with you? Perhaps you'll let me telephone to the doctor." + +She turned instantly. Her face close against his own, was livid. + +"Doctor!" she repeated in an awful whisper. The word meant terror to +her. O'Reilly stood amazed. For a second or two neither of them moved. +The woman seemed petrified. + +"Dr. Henry, you know," he stammered, finding his tongue again. "I'm in +his care. He's in Harley Street." + +Her face cleared as suddenly as it had darkened, though the original +expression of bewilderment and pain still hung in her great eyes. But +the terror left them, as though she suddenly forgot some association +that had revived it. + +"My home," she murmured. "My home is somewhere here. I'm near it. I must +get back--in time--for him. I must. He's coming to me." And with these +extraordinary words she turned, walked up the narrow path, and stood +upon the porch of a two-storey house before her companion had recovered +from his astonishment sufficiently to move or utter a syllable in reply. +The front door, he saw, was ajar. It had been left open. + +For five seconds, perhaps for ten, he hesitated; it was the fear that +the door would close and shut him out that brought the decision to his +will and muscles. He ran up the steps and followed the woman into a dark +hall where she had already preceded him, and amid whose blackness she +now had finally vanished. He closed the door, not knowing exactly why +he did so, and knew at once by an instinctive feeling that the house he +now found himself in with this unknown woman was empty and unoccupied. +In a house, however, he felt safe. It was the open streets that were his +danger. He stood waiting, listening a moment before he spoke; and he +heard the woman moving down the passage from door to door, repeating to +herself in her low voice of unhappy wailing some words he could not +understand: + +"Where is it? Oh, where is it? I must get back...." + +O'Reilly then found himself abruptly stricken with dumbness, as though, +with these strange words, a haunting terror came up and breathed against +him in the darkness. + +"Is she after all a figure?" ran in letters of fire across his numbed +brain. "Is she unreal--or real?" + +Seeking relief in action of some kind, he put out a hand automatically, +feeling along the wall for an electric switch, and though he found it by +some miraculous chance, no answering glow responded to the click. + +And the woman's voice from the darkness: "Ah! Ah! At last I've found it. +I'm home again--at last...!" He heard a door open and close upstairs. He +was on the ground-floor now--alone. Complete silence followed. + +In the conflict of various emotions--fear for himself lest his panic +should return, fear for the woman who had led him into this empty +house and now deserted him upon some mysterious errand of her own that +made him think of madness--in this conflict that held him a moment +spell-bound, there was a yet bigger ingredient demanding instant +explanation, but an explanation that he could not find. Was the woman +real or was she unreal? Was she a human being or a "figure"? The horror +of doubt obsessed him with an acute uneasiness that betrayed itself in a +return of that unwelcome inner trembling he knew was dangerous. + +What saved him from a _crise_ that must have had most dangerous results +for his mind and nervous system generally, seems to have been the +outstanding fact that he felt more for the woman than for himself. His +sympathy and pity had been deeply moved; her voice, her beauty, her +anguish and bewilderment, all uncommon, inexplicable, mysterious, formed +together a claim that drove self into the background. Added to this was +the detail that she had left him, gone to another floor without a word, +and now, behind a closed door in a room upstairs, found herself face to +face at last with the unknown object of her frantic search--with "it," +whatever "it" might be. Real or unreal, figure or human being, the +overmastering impulse of his being was that he must go to her. + +It was this clear impulse that gave him decision and energy to do what +he then did. He struck a match, he found a stump of candle, he made his +way by means of this flickering light along the passage and up the +carpetless stairs. He moved cautiously, stealthily, though not knowing +why he did so. The house, he now saw, was indeed untenanted; dust-sheets +covered the piled-up furniture; he glimpsed through doors ajar, pictures +were screened upon the walls, brackets draped to look like hooded heads. +He went on slowly, steadily, moving on tiptoe as though conscious of +being watched, noting the well of darkness in the hall below, the +grotesque shadows that his movements cast on walls and ceiling. The +silence was unpleasant, yet, remembering that the woman was "expecting" +someone, he did not wish it broken. He reached the landing and stood +still. Closed doors on both sides of a corridor met his sight, as he +shaded the candle to examine the scene. Behind which of these doors, he +asked himself, was the woman, figure or human being, now alone with +"it"? + +There was nothing to guide him, but an instinct that he must not delay +sent him forward again upon his search. He tried a door on the right--an +empty room, with the furniture hidden by dust-sheets, and the mattress +rolled up on the bed. He tried a second door, leaving the first one +open behind him, and it was, similarly, an empty bedroom. Coming out +into the corridor again he stood a moment waiting, then called aloud in +a low voice that yet woke echoes unpleasantly in the hall below: "Where +are you? I want to help--which room are you in?" + +There was no answer; he was almost glad he heard no sound, for he knew +quite well that he was waiting really for another sound--the steps of +him who was "expected." And the idea of meeting with this unknown +third sent a shudder through him, as though related to an interview he +dreaded with his whole heart, and must at all costs avoid. Waiting +another moment or two, he noted that his candle-stump was burning low, +then crossed the landing with a feeling, at once of hesitation and +determination, towards a door opposite to him. He opened it; he did +not halt on the threshold. Holding the candle at arm's length, he went +boldly in. + +And instantly his nostrils told him he was right at last, for a whiff +of the strange perfume, though this time much stronger than before, +greeted him, sending a new quiver along his nerves. He knew now why it +was associated with unpleasantness, with pain, with misery, for he +recognized it--the odour of a hospital. In this room a powerful +anaesthetic had been used--and recently. + +Simultaneously with smell, sight brought its message too. On the large +double bed behind the door on his right lay, to his amazement, the woman +in the dark fur coat. He saw the jewels on the slender neck; but the +eyes he did not see, for they were closed--closed, too, he grasped at +once, in death. The body lay stretched at full length, quite motionless. +He approached. A dark thin streak that came from the parted lips and +passed downwards over the chin, losing itself then in the fur collar, +was a trickle of blood. It was hardly dry. It glistened. + +Strange it was perhaps that, while imaginary fears had the power to +paralyse him, mind and body, this sight of something real had the effect +of restoring confidence. The sight of blood and death, amid conditions +often ghastly and even monstrous, was no new thing to him. He went up +quietly, and with steady hand he felt the woman's cheek, the warmth of +recent life still in its softness. The final cold had not yet mastered +this empty form whose beauty, in its perfect stillness, had taken on the +new strange sweetness of an unearthly bloom. Pallid, silent, untenanted, +it lay before him, lit by the flicker of his guttering candle. He lifted +the fur coat to feel for the unbeating heart. A couple of hours ago at +most, he judged, this heart was working busily, the breath came through +those parted lips, the eyes were shining in full beauty. His hand +encountered a hard knob--the head of a long steel hat-pin driven through +the heart up to its hilt. + +He knew then which was the figure--which was the real and which the +unreal. He knew also what had been meant by "it." + +But before he could think or reflect what action he must take, before he +could straighten himself even from his bent position over the body on +the bed, there sounded through the empty house below the loud clang of +the front door being closed. And instantly rushed over him that other +fear he had so long forgotten--fear for himself. The panic of his own +shaken nerves descended with irresistible onslaught. He turned, +extinguishing the candle in the violent trembling of his hand, and tore +headlong from the room. + +The following ten minutes seemed a nightmare in which he was not master +of himself and knew not exactly what he did. All he realized was that +steps already sounded on the stairs, coming quickly nearer. The flicker +of an electric torch played on the banisters, whose shadows ran swiftly +sideways along the wall as the hand that held the light ascended. He +thought in a frenzied second of police, of his presence in the house, of +the murdered woman. It was a sinister combination. Whatever happened, he +must escape without being so much as even seen. His heart raced madly. +He darted across the landing into the room opposite, whose door he had +luckily left open. And by some incredible chance, apparently, he was +neither seen nor heard by the man who, a moment later, reached the +landing, entered the room where the body of the woman lay, and closed +the door carefully behind him. + +Shaking, scarcely daring to breathe lest his breath be audible, +O'Reilly, in the grip of his own personal terror, remnant of his uncured +shock of war, had no thought of what duty might demand or not demand of +him. He thought only of himself. He realized one clear issue--that he +must get out of the house without being heard or seen. Who the new-comer +was he did not know, beyond an uncanny assurance that it was _not_ him +whom the woman had "expected," but the murderer himself, and that it was +the murderer, in his turn, who was expecting this third person. In that +room with death at his elbow, a death he had himself brought about but +an hour or two ago, the murderer now hid in waiting for his second +victim. And the door was closed. + +Yet any minute it might open again, cutting off retreat. + +O'Reilly crept out, stole across the landing, reached the head of the +stairs, and began, with the utmost caution, the perilous descent. +Each time the bare boards creaked beneath his weight, no matter how +stealthily this weight was adjusted, his heart missed a beat. He tested +each step before he pressed upon it, distributing as much of his weight +as he dared upon the banisters. It was a little more than half-way down +that, to his horror, his foot caught in a projecting carpet tack; he +slipped on the polished wood, and only saved himself from falling +headlong by a wild clutch at the railing, making an uproar that seemed +to him like the explosion of a hand-grenade in the forgotten trenches. +His nerves gave way then, and panic seized him. In the silence that +followed the resounding echoes he heard the bedroom door opening on the +floor above. + +Concealment was now useless. It was impossible, too. He took the last +flight of stairs in a series of leaps, four steps at a time, reached the +hall, flew across it, and opened the front door, just as his pursuer, +electric torch in hand, covered half the stairs behind him. Slamming the +door, he plunged headlong into the welcome, all-obscuring fog outside. + +The fog had now no terrors for him, he welcomed its concealing mantle; +nor did it matter in which direction he ran so long as he put distance +between him and the house of death. The pursuer had, of course, not +followed him into the street. He crossed open spaces without a tremor. +He ran in a circle nevertheless, though without being aware he did so. +No people were about, no single groping shadow passed him; no boom of +traffic reached his ears, when he paused for breath at length against an +area railing. Then for the first time he made the discovery that he had +no hat. He remembered now. In examining the body, partly out of respect, +partly perhaps unconsciously, he had taken it off and laid it--on the +very bed. + +It was there, a tell-tale bit of damning evidence, in the house of +death. And a series of probable consequences flashed through his mind +like lightning. It was a new hat fortunately; more fortunate still, he +had not yet written name or initials in it; but the maker's mark was +there for all to read, and the police would go immediately to the shop +where he had bought it only two days before. Would the shop-people +remember his appearance? Would his visit, the date, the conversation be +recalled? He thought it was unlikely; he resembled dozens of men; he had +no outstanding peculiarity. He tried to think, but his mind was confused +and troubled, his heart was beating dreadfully, he felt desperately ill. +He sought vainly for some story to account for his being out in the fog +and far from home without a hat. No single idea presented itself. He +clung to the icy railings, hardly able to keep upright, collapse very +near--when suddenly a figure emerged from the fog, paused a moment to +stare at him, put out a hand and caught him, and then spoke: + +"You're ill, my dear sir," said a man's kindly voice. "Can I be of any +assistance? Come, let me help you." He had seen at once that it was not +a case of drunkenness. "Come, take my arm, won't you? I'm a physician. +Luckily, too, you are just outside my very house. Come in." And he half +dragged, half pushed O'Reilly, now bordering on collapse, up the steps +and opened the door with his latch-key. + +"Felt ill suddenly--lost in the fog ... terrified, but be all right +soon, thanks awfully----" the Canadian stammered his gratitude, but +already feeling better. He sank into a chair in the hall, while the +other put down a paper parcel he had been carrying, and led him +presently into a comfortable room; a fire burned brightly; the electric +lamps were pleasantly shaded; a decanter of whisky and a siphon stood on +a small table beside a big arm-chair; and before O'Reilly could find +another word to say the other had poured him out a glass and bade him +sip it slowly, without troubling to talk till he felt better. + +"That will revive you. Better drink it slowly. You should never have +been out a night like this. If you've far to go, better let me put you +up----" + +"Very kind, very kind, indeed," mumbled O'Reilly, recovering rapidly in +the comfort of a presence he already liked and felt even drawn to. + +"No trouble at all," returned the doctor. "I've been at the front, you +know. I can see what your trouble is--shell-shock, I'll be bound." + +The Canadian, much impressed by the other's quick diagnosis, noted also +his tact and kindness. He had made no reference to the absence of a hat, +for instance. + +"Quite true," he said. "I'm with Dr. Henry, in Harley Street," and he +added a few words about his case. The whisky worked its effect, he +revived more and more, feeling better every minute. The other handed +him a cigarette; they began to talk about his symptoms and recovery; +confidence returned in a measure, though he still felt badly frightened. +The doctor's manner and personality did much to help, for there was +strength and gentleness in the face, though the features showed unusual +determination, softened occasionally by a sudden hint as of suffering in +the bright, compelling eyes. It was the face, thought O'Reilly, of a +man who had seen much and probably been through hell, but of a man who +was simple, good, sincere. Yet not a man to trifle with; behind his +gentleness lay something very stern. This effect of character and +personality woke the other's respect in addition to his gratitude. His +sympathy was stirred. + +"You encourage me to make another guess," the man was saying, after a +successful reading of the impromptu patient's state, "that you have had, +namely, a severe shock quite recently, and"--he hesitated for the merest +fraction of a second--"that it would be a relief to you," he went on, +the skilful suggestion in the voice unnoticed by his companion, "it +would be wise as well, if you could unburden yourself to--someone--who +would understand." He looked at O'Reilly with a kindly and very pleasant +smile. "Am I not right, perhaps?" he asked in his gentle tone. + +"Someone who would understand," repeated the Canadian. "That's my +trouble exactly. You've hit it. It's all so incredible." + +The other smiled. "The more incredible," he suggested, "the greater your +need for expression. Suppression, as you may know, is dangerous in cases +like this. You think you have hidden it, but it bides its time and comes +up later, causing a lot of trouble. Confession, you know"--he emphasized +the word--"confession is good for the soul!" + +"You're dead right," agreed the other. + +"Now if you can, bring yourself to tell it to someone who will listen +and believe--to myself, for instance. I am a doctor, familiar with such +things. I shall regard all you say as a professional confidence, of +course; and, as we are strangers, my belief or disbelief is of no +particular consequence. I may tell you in advance of your story, +however--I think I can promise it--that I shall believe all you have to +say." + +O'Reilly told his story without more ado, for the suggestion of the +skilled physician had found easy soil to work in. During the recital his +host's eyes never once left his own. He moved no single muscle of his +body. His interest seemed intense. + +"A bit tall, isn't it?" said the Canadian, when his tale was finished. +"And the question is----" he continued with a threat of volubility which +the other checked instantly. + +"Strange, yes, but incredible, no," the doctor interrupted. "I see no +reason to disbelieve a single detail of what you have just told me. +Things equally remarkable, equally incredible, happen in all large +towns, as I know from personal experience. I could give you instances." +He paused a moment, but his companion, staring into his eyes with +interest and curiosity, made no comment. "Some years ago, in fact," +continued the other, "I knew of a very similar case--strangely similar." + +"Really! I should be immensely interested----" + +"So similar that it seems almost a coincidence. _You_ may find it hard, +in your turn, to credit it." He paused again, while O'Reilly sat forward +in his chair to listen. "Yes," pursued the doctor slowly, "I think +everyone connected with it is now dead. There is no reason why I should +not tell it, for one confidence deserves another, you know. It happened +during the Boer War--as long ago as that," he added with emphasis. "It +is really a very commonplace story in one way, though very dreadful in +another, but a man who has served at the front will understand and--I'm +sure--will sympathize." + +"I'm sure of that," offered the other readily. + +"A colleague of mine, now dead, as I mentioned--a surgeon, with a big +practice, married a young and charming girl. They lived happily +together for several years. His wealth made her very comfortable. His +consulting-room, I must tell you, was some distance from his house--just +as this might be--so that she was never bothered with any of his +cases. Then came the war. Like many others, though much over age, he +volunteered. He gave up his lucrative practice and went to South Africa. +His income, of course, stopped; the big house was closed; his wife found +her life of enjoyment considerably curtailed. This she considered a +great hardship, it seems. She felt a bitter grievance against him. +Devoid of imagination, without any power of sacrifice, a selfish type, +she was yet a beautiful, attractive woman--and young. The inevitable +lover came upon the scene to console her. They planned to run away +together. He was rich. Japan they thought would suit them. Only, by some +ill luck, the husband got wind of it and arrived in London just in the +nick of time." + +"Well rid of her," put in O'Reilly, "_I_ think." + +The doctor waited a moment. He sipped his glass. Then his eyes fixed +upon his companion's face somewhat sternly. + +"Well rid of her, yes," he continued, "only he determined to make that +riddance final. He decided to kill her--and her lover. You see, he loved +her." + +O'Reilly made no comment. In his own country this method with a +faithless woman was not unknown. His interest was very concentrated. But +he was thinking, too, as he listened, thinking hard. + +"He planned the time and place with care," resumed the other in a lower +voice, as though he might possibly be overheard. "They met, he knew, in +the big house, now closed, the house where he and his young wife had +passed such happy years during their prosperity. The plan failed, +however, in an important detail--the woman came at the appointed hour, +but without her lover. She found death waiting for her--it was a +painless death. Then her lover, who was to arrive half an hour later, +did not come at all. The door had been left open for him purposely. The +house was dark, its rooms shut up, deserted; there was no caretaker +even. It was a foggy night, just like this." + +"And the other?" asked O'Reilly in a failing voice. "The lover----" + +"A man did come in," the doctor went on calmly, "but it was not the +lover. It was a stranger." + +"A stranger?" the other whispered. "And the surgeon--where was he all +this time?" + +"Waiting outside to see him enter--concealed in the fog. He saw the man +go in. Five minutes later he followed, meaning to complete his +vengeance, his act of justice, whatever you like to call it. But the man +who had come in was a stranger--he came in by chance--just as you might +have done--to shelter from the fog--or----" + +O'Reilly, though with a great effort, rose abruptly to his feet. He had +an appalling feeling that the man facing him was mad. He had a keen +desire to get outside, fog or no fog, to leave this room, to escape from +the calm accents of this insistent voice. The effect of the whisky was +still in his blood. He felt no lack of confidence. But words came to him +with difficulty. + +"I think I'd better be pushing off now, doctor," he said clumsily. "But +I feel I must thank you very much for all your kindness and help." He +turned and looked hard into the keen eyes facing him. "Your friend," he +asked in a whisper, "the surgeon--I hope--I mean, was he ever caught?" + +"No," was the grave reply, the doctor standing up in front of him, "he +was never caught." + +O'Reilly waited a moment before he made another remark. "Well," he said +at length, but in a louder tone than before, "I think--I'm glad." He +went to the door without shaking hands. + +"You have no hat," mentioned the voice behind him. "If you'll wait a +moment I'll get you one of mine. You need not trouble to return it." And +the doctor passed him, going into the hall. There was a sound of tearing +paper, O'Reilly left the house a moment later with a hat upon his head, +but it was not till he reached the Tube station half an hour afterwards +that he realized it was his own. + + + + +XIV + +THE LANE THAT RAN EAST AND WEST + + +I + +The curving strip of lane, fading into invisibility east and west, had +always symbolized life to her. In some minds life pictures itself a +straight line, uphill, downhill, flat, as the case may be; in hers it +had been, since childhood, this sweep of country lane that ran past her +cottage door. In thick white summer dust, she invariably visualized it, +blue and yellow flowers along its untidy banks of green. It flowed, it +glided, sometimes it rushed. Without a sound it ran along past the nut +trees and the branches where honeysuckle and wild roses shone. With +every year now its silent speed increased. + +From either end she imagined, as a child, that she looked over into +outer space--from the eastern end into the infinity before birth, from +the western into the infinity that follows death. It was to her of real +importance. + +From the veranda the entire stretch was visible, not more than five +hundred yards at most; from the platform in her mind, whence she viewed +existence, she saw her own life, similarly, as a white curve of +flowering lane, arising she knew not whence, gliding whither she could +not tell. At eighteen she had paraphrased the quatrain with a smile upon +her red lips, her chin tilted, her strong grey eyes rather wistful with +yearning-- + + _Into this little lane, and why not knowing, + Nor whence, like water willy-nilly flowing, + And out again--like dust along the waste, + I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing._ + +At thirty she now repeated it, the smile still there, but the lips not +quite so red, the chin a trifle firmer, the grey eyes stronger, clearer, +but charged with a more wistful and a deeper yearning. + +It was her turn of mind, imaginative, introspective, querulous perhaps, +that made the bit of running lane significant. Food with the butcher's +and baker's carts came to her from its eastern, its arriving end, as she +called it; news with the postman, adventure with rare callers. Youth, +hope, excitement, all these came from the sunrise. Thence came likewise +spring and summer, flowers, butterflies, the swallows. The fairies, in +her childhood, had come that way too, their silver feet and gossamer +wings brightening the summer dawns; and it was but a year ago that Dick +Messenger, his car stirring a cloud of thick white dust, had also come +into her life from the space beyond the sunrise. + +She sat thinking about him now--how he had suddenly appeared out of +nothing that warm June morning, asked her permission about some +engineering business on the neighbouring big estate over the hill, given +her a dog-rose and a bit of fern-leaf, and eventually gone away with her +promise when he left. Out of the eastern end he appeared; into the +western end he vanished. + +For there was this departing end as well, where the lane curved out of +sight into the space behind the yellow sunset. In this direction went +all that left her life. Her parents, each in turn, had taken that way to +the churchyard. Spring, summer, the fading butterflies, the restless +swallows, all left her round that western curve. Later the fairies +followed them, her dreams one by one, the vanishing years as well--and +now her youth, swifter, ever swifter, into the region where the sun +dipped nightly among pale rising stars, leaving her brief strip of life +colder, more and more unlit. + +Just beyond this end she imagined shadows. + +She saw Dick's car whirling towards her, whirling away again, making for +distant Mexico, where his treasure lay. In the interval he had found +that treasure and realized it. He was now coming back again. He had +landed in England yesterday. + +Seated in her deck-chair on the veranda, she watched the sun sink to the +level of the hazel trees. The last swallows already flashed their dark +wings against the fading gold. Over that western end to-morrow or the +next day, amid a cloud of whirling white dust, would emerge, again out +of nothingness, the noisy car that brought Dick Messenger back to her, +back from the Mexican expedition that ensured his great new riches, back +into her heart and life. In the other direction she would depart a week +or so later, her life in his keeping, and his in hers ... and the feet +of their children, in due course, would run up and down the mysterious +lane in search of flowers, butterflies, excitement, in search of life. + +She wondered ... and as the light faded her wondering grew deeper. +Questions that had lain dormant for twelve months became audible +suddenly. Would Dick be satisfied with this humble cottage which meant +so much to her that she felt she could never, never leave it? Would not +his money, his new position, demand palaces elsewhere? He was ambitious. +Could his ambitions set an altar of sacrifice to his love? And +she--could she, on the other hand, walk happy and satisfied along the +western curve, leaving her lane finally behind her, lost, untravelled, +forgotten? Could she face this sacrifice for him? Was he, in a word, +_the_ man whose appearance out of the sunrise she had been watching and +waiting for all these hurrying, swift years? + +She wondered. Now that the decisive moment was so near, unhappy doubts +assailed her. Her wondering grew deeper, spread, enveloped, penetrated +her being like a gathering darkness. And the sun sank lower, dusk crept +along the hedgerows, the flowers closed their little burning eyes. +Shadows passed hand in hand along the familiar bend that was so short, +so soon travelled over and left behind that a mistake must ruin all its +sweetest joy. To wander down it with a companion to whom its flowers, +its butterflies, its shadows brought no full message, must turn it +chill, dark, lonely, colourless.... Her thoughts slipped on thus into a +soft inner reverie born of that scented twilight hour of honeysuckle and +wild roses, born too of her deep self-questioning, of wonder, of +yearning unsatisfied. + +The lane, meanwhile, produced its customary few figures, moving +homewards through the dusk. She knew them well, these familiar figures +of the countryside, had known them from childhood onwards--labourers, +hedgers, ditchers and the like, with whom now, even in her reverie, she +exchanged the usual friendly greetings across the wicket-gate. This +time, however, she gave but her mind to them, her heart absorbed with +its own personal and immediate problem. + +Melancey had come and gone; old Averill, carrying his hedger's +sickle-knife, had followed; and she was vaguely looking for Hezekiah +Purdy, bent with years and rheumatism, his tea-pail always rattling, his +shuffling feet making a sorry dust, when the figure she did not quite +recognize came into view, emerging unexpectedly from the sunrise end. +Was it Purdy? Yes--no--yet, if not, who was it? Of course it must be +Purdy. Yet while the others, being homeward bound, came naturally from +west to east, with this new figure it was otherwise, so that he was +half-way down the curve before she fully realized him. Out of the +eastern end the man drew nearer, a stranger therefore; out of the +unknown regions where the sun rose, and where no shadows were, he moved +towards her down the deserted lane, perhaps a trespasser, an intruder +possibly, but certainly an unfamiliar figure. + +Without particular attention or interest, she watched him drift nearer +down her little semi-private lane of dream, passing leisurely from east +to west, the mere fact that he was there establishing an intimacy that +remained at first unsuspected. It was her eye that watched him, not her +mind. What was he doing here, where going, whither come, she wondered +vaguely, the lane both his background and his starting-point? A little +by-way, after all, this haunted lane. The real world, she knew, swept +down the big high-road beyond, unconscious of the humble folk its +unimportant tributary served. Suddenly the burden of the years assailed +her. Had she, then, missed life by living here? + +Then, with a little shock, her heart contracted as she became aware of +two eyes fixed upon her in the dusk. The stranger had already reached +the wicket-gate and now stood leaning against it, staring at her over +its spiked wooden top. It was certainly not old Purdy. The blood rushed +back into her heart again as she returned the gaze. He was watching her +with a curious intentness, with an odd sense of authority almost, with +something that persuaded her instantly of a definite purpose in his +being there. He was waiting for her--expecting her to come down and +speak with him, as she had spoken with the others. Of this, her little +habit, he made use, she felt. Shyly, half-nervously, she left her +deck-chair and went slowly down the short gravel path between the +flowers, noticing meanwhile that his clothes were ragged, his hair +unkempt, his face worn and ravaged as by want and suffering, yet that +his eyes were curiously young. His eyes, indeed, were full brown smiling +eyes, and it was the surprise of his youth that impressed her chiefly. +That he could be tramp or trespasser left her. She felt no fear. + +She wished him "Good evening" in her calm, quiet voice, adding with +sympathy, "And who are you, I wonder? You want to ask me something?" It +flashed across her that his shabby clothing was somehow a disguise. Over +his shoulder hung a faded sack. "I can do something for you?" she +pursued inquiringly, as was her kindly custom. "If you are hungry, +thirsty, or----" + +It was the expression of vigour leaping into the deep eyes that stopped +her. "If you need clothes," she had been going to add. She was not +frightened, but suddenly she paused, gripped by a wonder she could not +understand. + +And his first words justified her wonder. "_I_ have something for you," +he said, his voice faint, a kind of stillness in it as though it came +through distance. Also, though this she did not notice, it was an +educated voice, and it was the absence of surprise that made this detail +too natural to claim attention. She had expected it. "Something to give +you. I have brought it for you," the man concluded. + +"Yes," she replied, aware, again without comprehension, that her courage +and her patience were both summoned to support her. "Yes," she repeated +more faintly, as though this was all natural, inevitable, expected. She +saw that the sack was now lifted from his shoulder and that his hand +plunged into it, as it hung apparently loose and empty against the gate. +His eyes, however, never for one instant left her own. Alarm, she was +able to remind herself, she did not feel. She only recognized that this +ragged figure laid something upon her spirit she could not fathom, yet +was compelled to face. + +His next words startled her. She drew, if unconsciously, upon her +courage: + +"A dream." + +The voice was deep, yet still with the faintness as of distance in it. +His hand, she saw, was moving slowly from the empty sack. A strange +attraction, mingled with pity, with yearning too, stirred deeply in her. +The face, it seemed, turned soft, the eyes glowed with some inner fire +of feeling. Her heart now beat unevenly. + +"Something--to--sell to me," she faltered, aware that his glowing eyes +upon her made her tremble. The same instant she was ashamed of the +words, knowing they were uttered by a portion of her that resisted, and +this was not the language he deserved. + +He smiled, and she knew her resistance a vain make-believe he pierced +too easily, though he let it pass in silence. + +"There is, I mean, a price--for every dream," she tried to save herself, +conscious delightfully that her heart was smiling in return. + +The dusk enveloped them, the corncrakes were calling from the fields, +the scent of honeysuckle and wild roses lay round her in a warm wave of +air, yet at the same time she felt as if her naked soul stood side by +side with this figure in the infinitude of space beyond the sunrise end. +The golden stars hung calm and motionless above them. "That price"--his +answer fell like a summons she had actually expected--"you pay to +another, not to me." The voice grew fainter, farther away, dropping +through empty space behind her. "All dreams are but a single dream. You +pay that price to----" + +Her interruption slipped spontaneously from her lips, its inevitable +truth a prophecy: + +"To myself!" + +He smiled again, but this time he did not answer. His hand, instead, now +moved across the gate towards her. + +And before she quite realized what had happened, she was holding a +little object he had passed across to her. She had taken it, obeying, +it seemed, an inner compulsion and authority which were inevitable, +fore-ordained. Lowering her face she examined it in the dusk--a small +green leaf of fern--fingered it with tender caution as it lay in her +palm, gazed for some seconds closely at the tiny thing.... When she +looked up again the stranger, the seller of dreams, as she now imagined +him, had moved some yards away from the gate, and was moving still, a +leisurely quiet tread that stirred no dust, a shadowy outline soft with +dusk and starlight, moving towards the sunrise end, whence he had first +appeared. + +Her heart gave a sudden leap, as once again the burden of the years +assailed her. Her words seemed driven out: + +"Who are you? Before you go--your name! What is your name?" + +His voice, now faint with distance as he melted from sight against the +dark fringe of hazel trees, reached her but indistinctly, though its +meaning was somehow clear: + +"The dream," she heard like a breath of wind against her ear, "shall +bring its own name with it. I wait...." Both sound and figure trailed +off into the unknown space beyond the eastern end, and, leaning against +the wicket-gate as usual, the white dust settling about his heavy boots, +the tea-pail but just ceased from rattling, was--old Purdy. + +Unless the mind can fix the reality of an event in the actual instant of +its happening, judgment soon dwindles into a confusion between memory +and argument. Five minutes later, when old Purdy had gone his way again, +she found herself already wondering, reflecting, questioning. Yearning +had perhaps conjured with emotion to fashion both voice and figure out +of imagination, out of this perfumed dusk, out of the troubled heart's +desire. Confusion in time had further helped to metamorphose old Purdy +into some legendary shape that had stolen upon her mood of reverie from +the shadows of her beloved lane.... Yet the dream she had accepted from +a stranger hand, a little fern leaf, remained at any rate to shape a +delightful certainty her brain might criticize while her heart believed. +The fern leaf assuredly was real. A fairy gift! Those who eat of this +fern-seed, she remembered as she sank into sleep that night, shall see +the fairies! And, indeed, a few hours later she walked in dream along +the familiar curve between the hedges, her own childhood taking her +by the hand as she played with the flowers, the butterflies, the glad +swallows beckoning while they flashed. Without the smallest sense of +surprise or unexpectedness, too, she met at the eastern end--two +figures. They stood, as she with her childhood stood, hand in hand, the +seller of dreams and her lover, waiting since time began, she realized, +waiting with some great unuttered question on their lips. Neither +addressed her, neither spoke a word. Dick looked at her, ambition, hard +and restless, shining in his eyes; in the eyes of the other--dark, +gentle, piercing, but extraordinarily young for all the ragged hair +about the face the shabby clothes, the ravaged and unkempt appearance--a +brightness as of the coming dawn. + +A choice, she understood, was offered to her; there was a decision she +must make. She realized, as though some great wind blew it into her +from outer space, another, a new standard to which her judgment must +inevitably conform, or admit the purpose of her life evaded finally. The +same moment she knew what her decision was. No hesitation touched her. +Calm, yet trembling, her courage and her patience faced the decision and +accepted it. The hands then instantly fell apart, unclasped. One figure +turned and vanished down the lane towards the departing end, but with +the other, now hand in hand, she rose floating, gliding without effort, +a strange bliss in her heart, to meet the sunrise. + +"He has awakened ... so he cannot stay," she heard, like a breath of +wind that whispered into her ear. "I, who bring you this dream--I wait." + +She did not wake at once when the dream was ended, but slept on long +beyond her accustomed hour, missing thereby Melancey, Averill, old Purdy +as they passed the wicket-gate in the early hours. She woke, however, +with a new clear knowledge of herself, of her mind and heart, to all of +which in simple truth to her own soul she must conform. The fern-seed +she placed in a locket attached to a fine gold chain about her neck. +During the long, lonely, expectant yet unsatisfied years that followed +she wore it day and night. + + +2 + +She had the curious feeling that she remained young. Others grew older, +but not she. She watched her contemporaries slowly give the signs, +while she herself held stationary. Even those younger than herself went +past her, growing older in the ordinary way, whereas her heart, her +mind, even her appearance, she felt certain, hardly aged at all. In a +room full of people she felt pity often as she read the signs in their +faces knowing her own unchanged. Their eyes were burning out, but hers +burned on. It was neither vanity nor delusion, but an inner conviction +she could not alter. + +The age she held to was the year she had received the fern-seed from +old Purdy, or rather, from an imaginary figure her reverie had set +momentarily in old Purdy's place. That figure of her reverie, the dream +that followed, the subsequent confession to Dick Messenger, meeting his +own half-way--these marked the year when she stopped growing older. To +that year she seemed chained, gazing into the sunrise end--waiting, ever +waiting. + +Whether in her absent-minded reverie she had actually plucked the bit +of fern herself, or whether, after all, old Purdy had handed it to +her, was not a point that troubled her. It was in her locket about her +neck still, day and night. The seller of dreams was an established +imaginative reality in her life. Her heart assured her she would meet +him again one day. She waited. It was very curious, it was rather +pathetic. Men came and went, she saw her chances pass; her answer was +invariably "No." + +The break came suddenly, and with devastating effect. As she was +dressing carefully for the party, full of excited anticipation like some +young girl still, she saw looking out upon her from the long mirror a +face of plain middle-age. A blackness rose about her. It seemed the +mirror shattered. The long, long dream, at any rate, fell in a thousand +broken pieces at her feet. It was perhaps the ball dress, perhaps the +flowers in her hair; it may have been the low-cut gown that betrayed the +neck and throat, or the one brilliant jewel that proved her eyes now +dimmed beside it--but most probably it was the tell-tale hands, whose +ageing no artifice ever can conceal. The middle-aged woman, at any rate, +rushed from the glass and claimed her. + +It was a long time, too, before the signs of tears had been carefully +obliterated again, and the battle with herself--to go or not to go--was +decided by clear courage. She would not send a hurried excuse of +illness, but would take the place where she now belonged. She saw +herself, a fading figure, more than half-way now towards the sunset end, +within sight even of the shadowed emptiness that lay beyond the sun's +dipping edge. She had lingered over-long, expecting a dream to confirm a +dream; she had been oblivious of the truth that the lane went rushing +just the same. It was now too late. The speed increased. She had waited, +waited for nothing. The seller of dreams was a myth. No man could need +her as she now was. + +Yet the chief ingredient in her decision was, oddly enough, itself a +sign of youth. A party, a ball, is ever an adventure. Fate, with her +destined eyes aglow, may be bidden too, waiting among the throng, +waiting for that very one who hesitates whether to go or not to go. Who +knows what the evening may bring forth? It was this anticipation, +faintly beckoning, its voice the merest echo of her shadowy youth, that +tipped the scales between an evening of sleepless regrets at home and +hours of neglected loneliness, watching the young fulfil the happy +night. This and her courage weighed the balance down against the +afflicting weariness of her sudden disillusion. + +Therefore she went, her aunt, in whose house she was a visitor, +accompanying her. They arrived late, walking under the awning alone into +the great mansion. Music, flowers, lovely dresses, and bright happy +faces filled the air about them. The dancing feet, the flashing eyes, +the swing of the music, the throng of graceful figures expressed one +word--pleasure. Pleasure, of course, meant youth. Beneath the calm +summer stars youth realized itself prodigally, reckless of years to +follow. Under the same calm stars, some fifty miles away in Kent, her +stretch of deserted lane flowed peacefully, never pausing, passing +relentlessly out into unknown space beyond the edge of the world. A girl +and a middle-aged woman bravely watched both scenes. + +"Dreadfully overcrowded," remarked her prosaic aunt. "When I was a young +thing there was more taste--always room to dance, at any rate." + +"It is a rabble rather," replied the middle-aged woman, while the girl +added, "but I enjoy it." She had enjoyed one duty-dance with an elderly +man to whom her aunt had introduced her. She now sat watching the rabble +whirl and laugh. Her friend, behind unabashed lorgnettes, made +occasional comments. + +"There's Mabel. Look at her frock, will you--the naked back. The way he +holds her, too!" + +She looked at Mabel Messenger, exactly her own age, wife of the +successful engineer, yet bearing herself almost like a girl. + +"_He's_ away in Mexico, as usual," went on her aunt, "with somebody +else, also as usual." + +"I don't envy her," mentioned the middle-aged woman, while the girl +added, "but she did well for herself, anyhow." + +"It's a mistake to wait too long," was a suggestion she did not comment +on. + +The host's brother came up and carried off her aunt. She was left alone. +An old gentleman dropped into the vacated chair. Only in the centre of +the brilliantly lit room was there dancing now; people stood and talked +in animated throngs, every seat along the walls, every chair and sofa in +alcove corners occupied. The landing outside the great flung doors was +packed; some, going on elsewhere, were already leaving, but others +arriving late still poured up the staircase. Her loneliness remained +unnoticed; with many other women, similarly stationed behind the +whirling, moving dancers, she sat looking on, an artificial smile of +enjoyment upon her face, but the eyes empty and unlit. + +Two pictures she watched simultaneously--the gay ballroom and the lane +that ran east and west. + +Midnight was past and supper over, though she had not noticed it. Her +aunt had disappeared finally, it seemed. The two pictures filled her +mind, absorbed her. What she was feeling was not clear, for there was +confusion in her between the two scenes somewhere--as though the +brilliant ballroom lay set against the dark background of the lane +beneath the quiet stars. The contrast struck her. How calm and lovely +the night lane seemed against this feverish gaiety, this heat, this +artificial perfume, these exaggerated clothes. Like a small, rapid +cinema-picture the dazzling ballroom passed along the dark throat of +the deserted lane. A patch of light, alive with whirling animalculae, +it shone a moment against the velvet background of the midnight +country-side. It grew smaller and smaller. It vanished over the edge +of the departing end. It was gone. + +Night and the stars enveloped her, and her eyes became accustomed to the +change, so that she saw the sandy strip of lane, the hazel bushes, the +dim outline of the cottage. Her naked soul, it seemed again, stood +facing an infinitude. Yet the scent of roses, of dew-soaked grass came +to her. A blackbird was whistling in the hedge. The eastern end showed +itself now more plainly. The tops of the trees defined themselves. There +came a glimmer in the sky, an early swallow flashed past against a +streak of pale sweet gold. Old Purdy, his tea-pail faintly rattling, a +stir of thick white dust about his feet, came slowly round the curve. It +was the sunrise. + +A deep, passionate thrill ran through her body from head to feet. There +was a clap beside her--in the air it seemed--as though the wings of the +early swallow had flashed past her very ear, or the approaching sunrise +called aloud. She turned her head--along the brightening lane, but also +across the gay ballroom. Old Purdy, straightening up his bent shoulders, +was gazing over the wicket-gate into her eyes. + +Something quivered. A shimmer ran fluttering before her sight. She +trembled. Over the crowd of intervening heads, as over the spiked top of +the little gate, a man was gazing at her. + +Old Purdy, however, did not fade, nor did his outline wholly pass. There +was this confusion between two pictures. Yet this man who gazed at her +was in the London ballroom. He was so tall and straight. The same moment +her aunt's face appeared below his shoulder, only just visible, and he +turned his head, but did not turn his eyes, to listen to her. Both +looked her way; they moved, threading their way towards her. It meant an +introduction coming. He had asked for it. + +She did not catch his name, so quickly, yet so easily and naturally the +little formalities were managed, and she was dancing. The same sweet, +dim confusion was about her. His touch, his voice, his eyes combined +extraordinarily in a sense of complete possession to which she yielded +utterly. The two pictures, moreover, still held their place. Behind the +glaring lights ran the pale sweet gold of a country dawn; woven like a +silver thread among the strings she heard the blackbirds whistling; in +the stale, heated air lay the subtle freshness of a summer sunrise. +Their dancing feet bore them along in a flowing motion that curved from +east to west. + +They danced without speaking; one rhythm took them; like a single person +they glided over the smooth, perfect floor, and, more and more to her, +it was as if the floor flowed with them, bearing them along. Such +dancing she had never known. The strange sweetness of the confusion +that half-entranced her increased--almost as though she lay upon her +partner's arms and that he bore her through the air. Both the sense of +weight and the touch of her feet on solid ground were gone delightfully. +The London room grew hazy, too; the other figures faded; the ceiling, +half transparent, let through a filtering glimmer of the dawn. Her +thoughts--surely he shared them with her--went out floating beneath this +brightening sky. There was a sound of wakening birds, a smell of +flowers. + +They had danced perhaps five minutes when both stopped abruptly as with +one accord. + +"Shall we sit it out--if you've no objection?" he suggested in the very +instant that the same thought occurred to her. "The conservatory, among +the flowers," he added, leading her to the corner among scented blooms +and plants, exactly as she herself desired. There were leaves and ferns +about them in the warm air. The light was dim. A streak of gold in the +sky showed through the glass. But for one other couple they were alone. + +"I have something to say to you," he began. "You must have thought it +curious--I've been staring at you so. The whole evening I've been +watching you." + +"I--hadn't noticed," she said truthfully, her voice, as it were, not +quite her own. "I've not been dancing--only once, that is." + +But her heart was dancing as she said it. For the first time she became +aware of her partner more distinctly--of his deep, resonant voice, his +soldierly tall figure, his deferential, almost protective manner. She +turned suddenly and looked into his face. The clear, rather penetrating +eyes reminded her of someone she had known. + +At the same instant he used her thought, turning it in his own +direction. "I can't remember, for the life of me," he said quietly, +"where I have seen you before. Your face is familiar to me, oddly +familiar--years ago--in my first youth somewhere." + +It was as though he broke something to her gently--something he was sure +of and knew positively, that yet might shock and startle her. + +The blood rushed from her heart as she quickly turned her gaze away. The +wave of deep feeling that rose with a sensation of glowing warmth +troubled her voice. "I find in you, too, a faint resemblance to--someone +I have met," she murmured. Without meaning it she let slip the added +words, "when I was a girl." + +She felt him start, but he saved the situation, making it ordinary again +by obtaining her permission to smoke, then slowly lighting his cigarette +before he spoke. + +"You must forgive me," he put in with a smile, "but your name, when you +were kind enough to let me be introduced, escaped me. I did not catch +it." + +She told him her surname, but he asked in his persuasive yet somehow +masterful way for the Christian name as well. He turned round instantly +as she gave it, staring hard at her with meaning, with an examining +intentness, with open curiosity. There was a question on his lips, but +she interrupted, delaying it by a question of her own. Without looking +at him she knew and feared his question. Her voice just concealed a +trembling that was in her throat. + +"My aunt," she agreed lightly, "is incorrigible. Do you know I didn't +catch yours either? Oh--I meant your surname," she added, confusion +gaining upon her when he mentioned his first name only. + +He became suddenly more earnest, his voice deepened, his whole manner +took on the guise of deliberate intention backed by some profound +emotion that he could no longer hide. The music, which had momentarily +ceased, began again, and a couple, who had been sitting out diagonally +across from them, rose and went out. They were now quite alone. The sky +was brighter. + +"I must tell you," he went on in a way that compelled her to look up and +meet his intent gaze. "You really must allow me. I feel sure somehow +you'll understand. At any rate," he added like a boy, "you won't laugh." + +She believes she gave the permission and assurance. Memory fails her a +little here, for as she returned his gaze, it seemed a curious change +came stealing over him, yet at first so imperceptibly, so vaguely, that +she could not say when it began, nor how it happened. + +"Yes," she murmured, "please----" The change defined itself. She stopped +dead. + +"I know now where I've seen you before. I remember." His voice vibrated +like a wind in big trees. It enveloped her. + +"Yes," she repeated in a whisper, for the hammering of her heart made +both a louder tone or further words impossible. She knew not what he was +going to say, yet at the same time she knew with accuracy. Her eyes +gazed helplessly into his. The change absorbed her. Within his outline +she watched another outline grow. Behind the immaculate evening clothes +a ragged, unkempt figure rose. A worn, ravaged face with young burning +eyes peered through his own. "Please, please," she whispered again very +faintly. He took her hand in his. + +His voice came from very far away, yet drawing nearer, and the scene +about them faded, vanished. The lane that curved east and west now +stretched behind him, and she sat gazing towards the sunrise end, as +years ago when the girl passed into the woman first. + +"I knew--a friend of yours--Dick Messenger," he was saying in this +distant voice that yet was close beside her, "knew him at school, at +Cambridge, and later in Mexico. We worked in the same mines together, +only he was contractor and I was--in difficulties. That made no +difference. He--he told me about a girl--of his love and admiration, an +admiration that remained, but a love that had already faded." + +She saw only the ragged outline within the well-groomed figure of the +man who spoke. The young eyes that gazed so piercingly into hers +belonged to him, the seller of her dream of years before. It was to this +ragged stranger in her lane she made her answer: + +"I, too, now remember," she said softly. "Please go on." + +"He gave me his confidence, asking me where his duty lay, and I told him +that the real love comes once only; it knows no doubt, no fading. I told +him this----" + +"We both discovered it in time," she said to herself, so low it was +scarcely audible, yet not resisting as he laid his other hand upon the +one he already held. + +"I also told him there was only one true dream," the voice continued, +the inner face drawing nearer to the outer that contained it. "I asked +him, and he told me--everything. I knew all about this girl. Her +picture, too, he showed me." + +The voice broke off. The flood of love and pity, of sympathy and +understanding that rose in her like a power long suppressed, threatened +tears, yet happy, yearning tears like those of a girl, which only the +quick, strong pressure of his hands prevented. + +"The--little painting--yes, I know it," she faltered. + +"It saved me," he said simply. "It changed my life. From that moment I +began--living decently again--living for an ideal." Without knowing that +she did so, the pressure of her hand upon his own came instantly. +"He--he gave it to me," the voice went on, "to keep. He said he could +neither keep it himself nor destroy it. It was the day before he sailed. +I remember it as yesterday. I said I must give him something in return, +or it would cut friendship. But I had nothing in the world to give. We +were in the hills. I picked a leaf of fern instead. 'Fern-seed,' I told +him, 'it will make you see the fairies and find your true dream.' I +remember his laugh to this day--a sad, uneasy laugh. 'I shall give it to +her,' he told me, 'when I give her my difficult explanation.' But I +said, 'Give it with my love, and tell her that I wait.' He looked at me +with surprise, incredulous. Then he said slowly, 'Why not? If--if only +you hadn't let yourself go to pieces like this!'" + +An immensity of clear emotion she could not understand passed over her +in a wave. Involuntarily she moved closer against him. With her eyes +unflinchingly upon his own, she whispered: "You were hungry, thirsty, +you had no clothes.... You waited!" + +"You're reading my thoughts, as I knew one day you would." It seemed as +if their minds, their bodies too, were one, as he said the words. "You, +too--you waited." His voice was low. + +There came a glow between them as of hidden fire; their faces shone; +there was a brightening as of dawn upon their skins, within their eyes, +lighting their very hair. Out of this happy sky his voice floated to her +with the blackbird's song: + +"And that night I dreamed of you. I dreamed I met you in an English +country lane." + +"We did," she murmured, as though it were quite natural. + +"I dreamed I gave you the fern leaf--across a wicket-gate--and in front +of a little house that was our home. In my dream--I handed to you--a +dream----" + +"You did." And as she whispered it the two figures merged into one +before her very eyes. "See," she added softly, "I have it still. It is +in my locket at this moment, for I have worn it day and night through +all these years of waiting." She began fumbling at her chain. + +He smiled. "Such things," he said gently, "are beyond me rather. I have +found you. That's all that matters. That"--he smiled again--"is real at +any rate." + +"A vision," she murmured, half to herself and half to him, "I can +understand. A dream, though wonderful, is a dream. But the little fern +you gave me," drawing the fine gold chain from her bosom, "the actual +leaf I have worn all these years in my locket!" + +He smiled as she held the locket out to him, her fingers feeling for the +little spring. He shook his head, but so slightly she did not notice +it. + +"I will prove it to you," she said. "I must. Look!" she cried, as with +trembling hand she pressed the hidden catch. "There! There!" + +With heads close together they bent over. The tiny lid flew open. And as +he took her for one quick instant in his arms the sun flashed his first +golden shaft upon them, covering them with light. But her exclamation of +incredulous surprise he smothered with a kiss. For inside the little +locket there lay--nothing. It was quite empty. + + + + +XV + +"VENGEANCE IS MINE" + + +1 + +An active, vigorous man in Holy orders, yet compelled by heart trouble +to resign a living in Kent before full middle age, he had found suitable +work with the Red Cross in France; and it rather pleased a strain of +innocent vanity in him that Rouen, whence he derived his Norman blood, +should be the scene of his activities. + +He was a gentle-minded soul, a man deeply read and thoughtful, but +goodness perhaps his out-standing quality, believing no evil of others. +He had been slow, for instance, at first to credit the German +atrocities, until the evidence had compelled him to face the appalling +facts. With acceptance, then, he had experienced a revulsion which other +gentle minds have probably also experienced--a burning desire, namely, +that the perpetrators should be fitly punished. + +This primitive instinct of revenge--he called it a lust--he sternly +repressed; it involved a descent to lower levels of conduct +irreconcilable with the progress of the race he so passionately believed +in. Revenge pertained to savage days. But, though he hid away the +instinct in his heart, afraid of its clamour and persistency, it revived +from time to time, as fresh horrors made it bleed anew. It remained +alive, unsatisfied; while, with its analysis, his mind strove +unconsciously. That an intellectual nation should deliberately include +frightfulness as a chief item in its creed perplexed him horribly; it +seemed to him conscious spiritual evil openly affirmed. Some genuine +worship of Odin, Wotan, Moloch lay still embedded in the German outlook, +and beneath the veneer of their pretentious culture. He often wondered, +too, what effect the recognition of these horrors must have upon gentle +minds in other men, and especially upon imaginative minds. How did they +deal with the fact that this appalling thing existed in human nature in +the twentieth century? Its survival, indeed, caused his belief in +civilization as a whole to waver. Was progress, his pet ideal and +cherished faith, after all a mockery? Had human nature not advanced...? + +His work in the great hospitals and convalescent camps beyond the town +was tiring; he found little time for recreation, much less for rest; a +light dinner and bed by ten o'clock was the usual way of spending his +evenings. He had no social intercourse, for everyone else was as busy as +himself. The enforced solitude, not quite wholesome, was unavoidable. +He found no outlet for his thoughts. First-hand acquaintance with +suffering, physical and mental, was no new thing to him, but this close +familiarity, day by day, with maimed and broken humanity preyed +considerably on his mind, while the fortitude and cheerfulness shown by +the victims deepened the impression of respectful, yearning wonder made +upon him. They were so young, so fine and careless, these lads whom the +German lust for power had robbed of limbs, and eyes, of mind, of life +itself. The sense of horror grew in him with cumulative but unrelieved +effect. + +With the lengthening of the days in February, and especially when March +saw the welcome change to summer time, the natural desire for open air +asserted itself. Instead of retiring early to his dingy bedroom, he +would stroll out after dinner through the ancient streets. When the air +was not too chilly, he would prolong these outings, starting at sunset +and coming home beneath the bright mysterious stars. He knew at length +every turn and winding of the old-world alleys, every gable, every +tower and spire, from the _Vieux Marche_, where Joan of Arc was burnt, +to the busy quays, thronged now with soldiers from half a dozen +countries. He wandered on past grey gateways of crumbling stone that +marked the former banks of the old tidal river. An English army, five +centuries ago, had camped here among reeds and swamps, besieging the +Norman capital, where now they brought in supplies of men and material +upon modern docks, a mighty invasion of a very different kind. +Imaginative reflection was his constant mood. + +But it was the haunted streets that touched him most, stirring some +chord his ancestry had planted in him. The forest of spires thronged the +air with strange stone flowers, silvered by moonlight as though white +fire streamed from branch and petal; the old church towers soared; the +cathedral touched the stars. After dark the modern note, paramount in +the daylight, seemed hushed; with sunset it underwent a definite +night-change. Although the darkened streets kept alive in him the menace +of fire and death, the crowding soldiers, dipped to the face in shadow, +seemed somehow negligible; the leaning roofs and gables hid them in a +purple sea of mist that blurred their modern garb, steel weapons, and +the like. Shadows themselves, they entered the being of the town; their +feet moved silently; there was a hush and murmur; the brooding buildings +absorbed them easily. + +Ancient and modern, that is, unable successfully to mingle, let fall +grotesque, incongruous shadows on his thoughts. The spirit of mediaeval +days stole over him, exercising its inevitable sway upon a temperament +already predisposed to welcome it. Witchcraft and wonder, pagan +superstition and speculation, combined with an ancestral tendency to +weave a spell, half of acceptance, half of shrinking, about his +imaginative soul in which poetry and logic seemed otherwise fairly +balanced. Too weary for critical judgment to discern clear outlines, his +mind, during these magical twilight walks, became the playground of +opposing forces, some power of dreaming, it seems, too easily in the +ascendant. The soul of ancient Rouen, stealing beside his footsteps in +the dusk, put forth a shadowy hand and touched him. + +This shadowy spell he denied as far as in him lay, though the resistance +offered by reason to instinct lacked true driving power. The dice were +loaded otherwise in such a soul. His own blood harked back unconsciously +to the days when men were tortured, broken on the wheel, walled up +alive, and burnt for small offences. This shadowy hand stirred faint +ancestral memories in him, part instinct, part desire. The next step, by +which he saw a similar attitude flowering full blown in the German +frightfulness, was too easily made to be rejected. The German horrors +made him believe that this ignorant cruelty of olden days threatened the +world now in a modern, organized shape that proved its survival in the +human heart. Shuddering, he fought against the natural desire for +adequate punishment, but forgot that repressed emotions sooner or later +must assert themselves. Essentially irrepressible, they may force an +outlet in distorted fashion. He hardly recognized, perhaps, their actual +claim, yet it was audible occasionally. For, owing to his loneliness, +the natural outlet, in talk and intercourse, was denied. + +Then, with the softer winds, he yearned for country air. The sweet +spring days had come; morning and evening were divine; above the town +the orchards were in bloom. Birds blew their tiny bugles on the hills. +The midday sun began to burn. + +It was the time of the final violence, when the German hordes flung +like driven cattle against the Western line where free men fought for +liberty. Fate hovered dreadfully in the balance that spring of 1918; +Amiens was threatened, and if Amiens fell, Rouen must be evacuated. The +town, already full, became now over-full. On his way home one evening he +passed the station, crowded with homeless new arrivals. "Got the wind +up, it seems, in Amiens!" cried a cheery voice, as an officer he knew +went by him hurriedly. And as he heard it the mood of the spring became +of a sudden uppermost. He reached a decision. The German horror came +abruptly closer. This further overcrowding of the narrow streets was +more than he could face. + +It was a small, personal decision merely, but he _must_ get out among +woods and fields, among flowers and wholesome, growing things, taste +simple, innocent life again. The following evening he would pack his +haversack with food and tramp the four miles to the great _Foret +Verte_--delicious name!--and spend the night with trees and stars, +breathing his full of sweetness, calm and peace. He was too accustomed +to the thunder of the guns to be disturbed by it. The song of a thrush, +the whistle of a blackbird, would easily drown that. He made his plan +accordingly. + +The next two nights, however, a warm soft rain was falling; only on the +third evening could he put his little plan into execution. Anticipatory +enjoyment, meanwhile, lightened his heart; he did his daily work more +competently, the spell of the ancient city weakened somewhat. The +shadowy hand withdrew. + + +2 + +Meanwhile, a curious adventure intervened. + +His good and simple heart, disciplined these many years in the way a man +should walk, received upon its imaginative side, a stimulus that, in his +case, amounted to a shock. That a strange and comely woman should make +eyes at him disturbed his equilibrium considerably; that he should enjoy +the attack, though without at first responding openly--even without full +comprehension of its meaning--disturbed it even more. It was, moreover, +no ordinary attack. + +He saw her first the night after his decision when, in a mood of +disappointment due to the rain, he came down to his lonely dinner. The +room, he saw, was crowded with new arrivals, from Amiens, doubtless, +where they had "the wind up." The wealthier civilians had fled for +safety to Rouen. These interested and, in a measure, stimulated him. He +looked at them sympathetically, wondering what dear home-life they had +so hurriedly relinquished at the near thunder of the enemy guns, and, in +so doing, he noticed, sitting alone at a small table just in front of +his own--yet with her back to him--a woman. + +She drew his attention instantly. The first glance told him that she was +young and well-to-do; the second, that she was unusual. What precisely +made her unusual he could not say, although he at once began to study +her intently. Dignity, atmosphere, personality, he perceived beyond all +question. She sat there with an air. The becoming little hat with its +challenging feather slightly tilted, the set of the shoulders, the neat +waist and slender outline; possibly, too, the hair about the neck, and +the faint perfume that was wafted towards him as the serving girl swept +past, combined in the persuasion. Yet he felt it as more than a +persuasion. She attracted him with a subtle vehemence he had never felt +before. The instant he set eyes upon her his blood ran faster. The +thought rose passionately in him, almost the words that phrased it: "I +wish I knew her." + +This sudden flash of response his whole being certainly gave--to the +back of an unknown woman. It was both vehement and instinctive. He lay +stress upon its instinctive character; he was aware of it before reason +told him why. That it was "in response" he also noted, for although he +had not seen her face and she assuredly had made no sign, he felt that +attraction which involves also invitation. So vehement, moreover, was +this response in him that he felt shy and ashamed the same instant, for +it almost seemed he had expressed his thought in audible words. He +flushed, and the flush ran through his body; he was conscious of heated +blood as in a youth of twenty-five, and when a man past forty knows +this touch of fever he may also know, though he may not recognize it, +that the danger signal which means possible abandon has been lit. +Moreover, as though to prove his instinct justified, it was at this very +instant that the woman turned and stared at him deliberately. She looked +into his eyes, and he looked into hers. He knew a moment's keen +distress, a sharpest possible discomfort, that after all he _had_ +expressed his desire audibly. Yet, though he blushed, he did not lower +his eyes. The embarrassment passed instantly, replaced by a thrill of +strangest pleasure and satisfaction. He knew a tinge of inexplicable +dismay as well. He felt for a second helpless before what seemed a +challenge in her eyes. The eyes were too compelling. They mastered him. + +In order to meet his gaze she had to make a full turn in her chair, for +her table was placed directly in front of his own. She did so without +concealment. It was no mere attempt to see what lay behind by making a +half-turn and pretending to look elsewhere; no corner of the eye +business; but a full, straight, direct, significant stare. She looked +into his soul as though she called him, he looked into hers as though +he answered. Sitting there like a statue, motionless, without a bow, +without a smile, he returned her intense regard unflinchingly and yet +unwillingly. He made no sign. He shivered again.... It was perhaps ten +seconds before she turned away with an air as if she had delivered her +message and received his answer, but in those ten seconds a series of +singular ideas crowded his mind, leaving an impression that ten years +could never efface. The face and eyes produced a kind of intoxication in +him. There was almost recognition, as though she said: "Ah, there you +are! I was waiting; you'll have to come, of course. You must!" And just +before she turned away she smiled. + +He felt confused and helpless. + +The face he described as unusual; familiar, too, as with the atmosphere +of some long forgotten dream, and if beauty perhaps was absent, +character and individuality were supreme. Implacable resolution was +stamped upon the features, which yet were sweet and womanly, stirring an +emotion in him that he could not name and certainly did not recognize. +The eyes, slanting a little upwards, were full of fire, the mouth +voluptuous but very firm, the chin and jaw most delicately modelled, +yet with a masculine strength that told of inflexible resolve. The +resolution, as a whole, was the most relentless he had ever seen upon a +human countenance. It dominated him. "How vain to resist the will," he +thought, "that lies behind!" He was conscious of enslavement; she +conveyed a message that he must obey, admitting compliance with her +unknown purpose. + +That some extraordinary wordless exchange was registered thus between +them seemed very clear; and it was just at this moment, as if to signify +her satisfaction, that she smiled. At his feeling of willing compliance +with some purpose in her mind, the smile appeared. It was faint, so +faint indeed that the eyes betrayed it rather than the mouth and lips; +but it was there; he saw it and he thrilled again to this added touch of +wonder and enchantment. Yet, strangest of all, he maintains that with +the smile there fluttered over the resolute face a sudden arresting +tenderness, as though some wild flower lit a granite surface with its +melting loveliness. He was aware in the clear strong eyes of unshed +tears, of sympathy, of self-sacrifice he called maternal, of clinging +love. It was this tenderness, as of a soft and gracious mother, and this +implacable resolution, as of a stern, relentless man, that left upon his +receptive soul the strange impression of sweetness yet of domination. + +The brief ten seconds were over. She turned away as deliberately as she +had turned to look. He found himself trembling with confused emotions +he could not disentangle, could not even name; for, with the subtle +intoxication of compliance in his soul lay also a vigorous protest +that included refusal, even a violent refusal given with horror. This +unknown woman, without actual speech or definite gesture, had lit a +flame in him that linked on far away and out of sight with the magic of +the ancient city's mediaeval spell. Both, he decided, were undesirable, +both to be resisted. + +He was quite decided about this. She pertained to forgotten yet unburied +things, her modern aspect a mere disguise, a disguise that some deep +unsatisfied instinct in him pierced with ease. + +He found himself equally decided, too, upon another thing which, in +spite of his momentary confusion, stood out clearly: the magic of the +city, the enchantment of the woman, both attacked a constitutional +weakness in his blood, a line of least resistance. It wore no physical +aspect, breathed no hint of ordinary romance; the mere male and female, +moral or immoral touch was wholly absent; yet passion lurked there, +tumultuous if hidden, and a tract of consciousness, long untravelled, +was lit by sudden ominous flares. His character, his temperament, his +calling in life as a former clergyman and now a Red Cross worker, being +what they were, he stood on the brink of an adventure not dangerous +alone but containing a challenge of fundamental kind that involved his +very soul. + +No further thrill, however, awaited him immediately. He left his table +before she did, having intercepted no slightest hint of desired +acquaintanceship or intercourse. He, naturally, made no advances; she, +equally, made no smallest sign. Her face remained hidden, he caught no +flash of eyes, no gesture, no hint of possible invitation. He went +upstairs to his dingy room, and in due course fell asleep. The next day +he saw her not, her place in the dining-room was empty; but in the late +evening of the following day, as the soft spring sunshine found him +prepared for his postponed expedition, he met her suddenly on the +stairs. He was going down with haversack and in walking kit to an early +dinner, when he saw her coming up; she was perhaps a dozen steps below +him; they must meet. A wave of confused, embarrassed pleasure swept +him. He realized that this was no chance meeting. She meant to speak to +him. + +Violent attraction and an equally violent repulsion seized him. There +was no escape, nor, had escape been possible, would he have attempted +it. He went down four steps, she mounted four towards him; then he took +one and she took one. They met. For a moment they stood level, while he +shrank against the wall to let her pass. He had the feeling that but for +the support of that wall he must have lost his balance and fallen into +her, for the sunlight from the landing window caught her face and lit +it, and she was younger, he saw, than he had thought, and far more +comely. Her atmosphere enveloped him, the sense of attraction and +repulsion became intense. She moved past him with the slightest possible +bow of recognition; then, having passed, she turned. + +She stood a little higher than himself, a step at most, and she thus +looked down at him. Her eyes blazed into his. She smiled, and he was +aware again of the domination and the sweetness. The perfume of her near +presence drowned him; his head swam. "We count upon you," she said in a +low firm voice, as though giving a command; "I know ... we may. We do." +And, before he knew what he was saying, trembling a little between deep +pleasure and a contrary impulse that sought to choke the utterance, he +heard his own voice answering. "You can count upon me...." And she was +already half-way up the next flight of stairs ere he could move a +muscle, or attempt to thread a meaning into the singular exchange. + +Yet meaning, he well knew, there was. + +She was gone; her footsteps overhead had died away. He stood there +trembling like a boy of twenty, yet also like a man of forty in whom +fires, long dreaded, now blazed sullenly. She had opened the furnace +door, the draught rushed through. He felt again the old unwelcome spell; +he saw the twisted streets 'mid leaning gables and shadowy towers of a +day forgotten; he heard the ominous murmurs of a crowd that thirsted +for wheel and scaffold and fire; and, aware of vengeance, sweet and +terrible, aware, too, that he welcomed it, his heart was troubled and +afraid. + +In a brief second the impression came and went; following it swiftly, +the sweetness of the woman swept him: he forgot his shrinking in a rush +of wild delicious pleasure. The intoxication in him deepened. She had +recognized him! She had bowed and even smiled; she had spoken, assuming +familiarity, intimacy, including him in her secret purposes! It was +this sweet intimacy cleverly injected, that overcame the repulsion he +acknowledged, winning complete obedience to the unknown meaning of her +words. This meaning, for the moment, lay in darkness; yet it was a +portion of his own self, he felt, that concealed it of set purpose. He +kept it hid, he looked deliberately another way; for, if he faced it +with full recognition, he knew that he must resist it to the death. He +allowed himself to ask vague questions--then let her dominating spell +confuse the answers so that he did not hear them. The challenge to his +soul, that is, he evaded. + +What is commonly called sex lay only slightly in his troubled +emotions; her purpose had nothing that kept step with chance +acquaintanceship. There lay meaning, indeed, in her smile and voice, +but these were no hand-maids to a vulgar intrigue in a foreign hotel. +Her will breathed cleaner air; her purpose aimed at some graver, +mightier climax than the mere subjection of an elderly victim like +himself. That will, that purpose, he felt certain, were implacable as +death, the resolve in those bold eyes was not a common one. For, in +some strange way, he divined the strong maternity in her; the maternal +instinct was deeply, even predominantly, involved; he felt positive +that a divine tenderness, deeply outraged, was a chief ingredient too. +In some way, then, she needed him, yet not she alone, for the pronoun +"we" was used, and there were others with her; in some way, equally, a +part of him was already her and their accomplice, an unresisting +slave, a willing co-conspirator. + +He knew one other thing, and it was this that he kept concealed so +carefully from himself. His recognition of it was sub-conscious +possibly, but for that very reason true: her purpose was consistent with +the satisfaction at last of a deep instinct in him that clamoured to +know gratification. It was for these odd, mingled reasons that he stood +trembling when she left him on the stairs, and finally went down to his +hurried meal with a heart that knew wonder, anticipation, and delight, +but also dread. + + +3 + +The table in front of him remained unoccupied; his dinner finished, he +went out hastily. + +As he passed through the crowded streets, his chief desire was to be +quickly free of the old muffled buildings and airless alleys with their +clinging atmosphere of other days. He longed for the sweet taste of the +heights, the smells of the forest whither he was bound. This _Foret +Verte_, he knew, rolled for leagues towards the north, empty of houses +as of human beings; it was the home of deer and birds and rabbits, of +wild boar too. There would be spring flowers among the brushwood, +anemones, celandine, oxslip, daffodils. The vapours of the town +oppressed him, the warm and heavy moisture stifled; he wanted space and +the sight of clean simple things that would stimulate his mind with +lighter thoughts. + +He soon passed the Rampe, skirted the ugly villas of modern Bihorel and, +rising now with every step, entered the _Route Neuve_. He went unduly +fast; he was already above the Cathedral spire; below him the Seine +meandered round the chalky hills, laden with war-barges, and across a +dip, still pink in the afterglow, rose the blunt Down of Bonsecours with +its anti-aircraft batteries. Poetry and violent fact crashed everywhere; +he longed to top the hill and leave these unhappy reminders of death +behind him. In front the sweet woods already beckoned through the +twilight. He hastened. Yet while he deliberately fixed his imagination +on promised peace and beauty, an undercurrent ran sullenly in his mind, +busy with quite other thoughts. The unknown woman and her singular +words, the following mystery of the ancient city, the soft beating +wonder of the two together, these worked their incalculable magic +persistently about him. Repression merely added to their power. His mind +was a prey to some shadowy, remote anxiety that, intangible, invisible, +yet knocked with ghostly fingers upon some door of ancient memory.... He +watched the moon rise above the eastern ridge, in the west the afterglow +of sunset still hung red. But these did not hold his attention as they +normally must have done. Attention seemed elsewhere. The undercurrent +bore him down a siding, into a backwater, as it were, that clamoured for +discharge. + +He thought suddenly, then, of weather, what he called "German +weather"--that combination of natural conditions which so oddly favoured +the enemy always. It had often occurred to him as strange; on sea and +land, mist, rain and wind, the fog and drying sun worked ever on _their_ +side. The coincidence was odd, to say the least. And now this glimpse of +rising moon and sunset sky reminded him unpleasantly of the subject. +Legends of pagan weather-gods passed through his mind like hurrying +shadows. These shadows multiplied, changed form, vanished and returned. +They came and went with incoherence, a straggling stream, rushing from +one point to another, manoeuvring for position, but all unled, unguided +by his will. The physical exercise filled his brain with blood, and +thought danced undirected, picture upon picture driving by, so that soon +he slipped from German weather and pagan gods to the witchcraft of past +centuries, of its alleged association with the natural powers of the +elements, and thus, eventually, to his cherished beliefs that humanity +had advanced. + +Such remnants of primitive days were grotesque superstition, of course. +But had humanity advanced? Had the individual progressed after all? +Civilization, was it not the merest artificial growth? And the old +perplexity rushed through his mind again--the German barbarity +and blood-lust, the savagery, the undoubted sadic impulses, the +frightfulness taught with cool calculation by their highest minds, +approved by their professors, endorsed by their clergy, applauded by +their women even--all the unwelcome, undesired thoughts came flocking +back upon him, escorted by the trooping shadows. They lay, these +questions, still unsolved within him; it was the undercurrent, flowing +more swiftly now, that bore them to the surface. It had acquired +momentum; it was leading somewhere. + +They were a thoughtful, intellectual race, these Germans; their music, +literature, philosophy, their science--how reconcile the opposing +qualities? He had read that their herd-instinct was unusually developed, +though betraying the characteristics of a low wild savage type--the +lupine. It might be true. Fear and danger wakened this collective +instinct into terrific activity, making them blind and humourless; they +fought best, like wolves, in contact; they howled and whined and boasted +loudly all together to inspire terror; their Hymn of Hate was but an +elaboration of the wolf's fierce bark, giving them herd-courage; and a +savage discipline was necessary to their lupine type. + +These reflections thronged his mind as the blood coursed in his veins +with the rapid climbing; yet one and all, the beauty of the evening, the +magic of the hidden town, the thoughts of German horror, German weather, +German gods, all these, even the odd detail that they revived a pagan +practice by hammering nails into effigies and idols--all led finally to +one blazing centre that nothing could dislodge nor anything conceal; a +woman's voice and eyes. To these he knew quite well, was due the +undesired intensification of the very mood, the very emotions, the very +thoughts he had come out on purpose to escape. + +"It is the night of the vernal equinox," occurred to him suddenly, sharp +as a whispered voice beside him. He had no notion whence the idea was +born. It had no particular meaning, so far as he remembered. + +"It had _then_ ..." said the voice imperiously, rising, it seemed, +directly out of the under-current in his soul. + +It startled him. He increased his pace. He walked very quickly, +whistling softly as he went. + +The dusk had fallen when at length he topped the long, slow hill, and +left the last of the atrocious straggling villas well behind him. The +ancient city lay far below in murky haze and smoke, but tinged now with +the silver of the growing moon. + + +4 + +He stood now on the open plateau. He was on the heights at last. + +The night air met him freshly in the face, so that he forgot the fatigue +of the long climb uphill, taken too fast somewhat for his years. He drew +a deep draught into his lungs and stepped out briskly. + +Far in the upper sky light flaky clouds raced through the reddened air, +but the wind kept to these higher strata, and the world about him lay +very still. Few lights showed in the farms and cottages, for this was +the direct route of the Gothas, and nothing that could help the German +hawks to find the river was visible. + +His mind cleared pleasantly; this keen sweet air held no mystery; he put +his best foot foremost, whistling still, but a little more loudly than +before. Among the orchards he saw the daisies glimmer. Also, he heard +the guns, a thudding concussion in the direction of the coveted Amiens, +where, some sixty miles as the crow flies, they roared their terror into +the calm evening skies. He cursed the sound, in the town below it was +not audible. Thought jumped then to the men who fired them, and so to +the prisoners who worked on the roads outside the hospitals and camps he +visited daily. He passed them every morning and night, and the N.C.O. +invariably saluted his Red Cross uniform, a salute he returned, when he +could not avoid it, with embarrassment. + +One man in particular stood out clearly in this memory; he had exchanged +glances with him, noted the expression of his face, the number of his +gang printed on coat and trousers--"82." The fellow had somehow managed +to establish a relationship; he would look up and smile or frown; if the +news, from his point of view, was good, he smiled; if it was bad, he +scowled; once, insolently enough--when the Germans had taken Albert, +Peronne, Bapaume--he grinned. + +Something about the sullen, close-cropped face, typically Prussian, made +the other shudder. It was the visage of an animal, neither evil nor +malignant, even good-natured sometimes when it smiled, yet of an animal +that could be fierce with the lust of happiness, ferocious with delight. +The sullen savagery of a human wolf lay in it somewhere. He pictured its +owner impervious to shame, to normal human instinct as civilized people +know these. Doubtless he read his own feelings into it. He could imagine +the man doing anything and everything, regarding chivalry and sporting +instinct as proof of fear or weakness. He could picture this member of +the wolf-pack killing a woman or a child, mutilating, cutting off little +hands even, with the conscientious conviction that it was right and +sensible to destroy _any_ individual of an enemy tribe. It was, to him, +an atrocious and inhuman face. + +It now cropped up with unpleasant vividness, as he listened to the +distant guns and thought of Amiens with its back against the wall, its +inhabitants flying---- + +Ah! Amiens...! He again saw the woman staring into his obedient eyes +across the narrow space between the tables. He smelt the delicious +perfume of her dress and person on the stairs. He heard her commanding +voice, her very words: "We count on you.... I know we can ... we do." +And her background was of twisted streets, dark alley-ways and leaning +gables.... + +He hurried, whistling loudly an air that he invented suddenly, using his +stick like a golf club at every loose stone his feet encountered, making +as much noise as possible. He told himself he was a parson and a Red +Cross worker. He looked up and saw that the stars were out. The pace +made him warm, and he shifted his haversack to the other shoulder. The +moon, he observed, now cast his shadow for a long distance on the sandy +road. + +After another mile, while the air grew sharper and twilight surrendered +finally to the moon, the road began to curve and dip, the cottages lay +farther out in the dim fields, the farms and barns occurred at longer +intervals. A dog barked now and again; he saw cows lying down for the +night beneath shadowy fruit-trees. And then the scent in the air changed +slightly, and a darkening of the near horizon warned him that the forest +had come close. + +This was an event. Its influence breathed already a new perfume; the +shadows from its myriad trees stole out and touched him. Ten minutes +later he reached its actual frontier cutting across the plateau like a +line of sentries at attention. He slowed down a little. Here, within +sight and touch of his long-desired objective, he hesitated. It +stretched, he knew from the map, for many leagues to the north, +uninhabited, lonely, the home of peace and silence; there were flowers +there, and cool sweet spaces where the moonlight fell. Yet here, within +scent and touch of it, he slowed down a moment to draw breath. A forest +on the map is one thing; visible before the eyes when night has fallen, +it is another. It is real. + +The wind, not noticeable hitherto, now murmured towards him from the +serried trees that seemed to manufacture darkness out of nothing. This +murmur hummed about him. It enveloped him. Piercing it, another sound +that was not the guns just reached him, but so distant that he hardly +noticed it. He looked back. Dusk suddenly merged in night. He stopped. + +"How practical the French are," he said to himself--aloud--as he looked +at the road running straight as a ruled line into the heart of the +trees. "They waste no energy, no space, no time. Admirable!" + +It pierced the forest like a lance, tapering to a faint point in the +misty distance. The trees ate its undeviating straightness as though +they would smother it from sight, as though its rigid outline marred +their mystery. He admired the practical makers of the road, yet sided, +too, with the poetry of the trees. He stood there staring, waiting, +dawdling.... About him, save for this murmur of the wind, was silence. +Nothing living stirred. The world lay extraordinarily still. That other +distant sound had died away. + +He lit his pipe, glad that the match blew out and the damp tobacco +needed several matches before the pipe drew properly. His puttees hurt +him a little, he stooped to loosen them. His haversack swung round in +front as he straightened up again, he shifted it laboriously to the +other shoulder. A tiny stone in his right boot caused irritation. Its +removal took a considerable time, for he had to sit down, and a log was +not at once forthcoming. Moreover, the laces gave him trouble, and his +fingers had grown thick with heat and the knots were difficult to +tie.... + +"There!" He said it aloud, standing up again. "Now at last, I'm ready!" +Then added a mild imprecation, for his pipe had gone out while he +stooped over the recalcitrant boot, and it had to be lighted once again. +"Ah!" he gasped finally with a sigh as, facing the forest for the third +time, he shuffled his tunic straight, altered his haversack once more, +changed his stick from the right hand to the left--and faced the foolish +truth without further pretence. + +He mopped his forehead carefully, as though at the same time trying to +mop away from his mind a faint anxiety, a very faint uneasiness, that +gathered there. Was someone standing near him? Had somebody come close? +He listened intently. It was the blood singing in his ears, of course, +that curious distant noise. For, truth to tell, the loneliness bit just +below the surface of what he found enjoyable. It seemed to him that +somebody was coming, someone he could not see, so that he looked back +over his shoulder once again, glanced quickly right and left, then +peered down the long opening cut through the woods in front--when there +came suddenly a roar and a blaze of dazzling light from behind, so +instantaneously that he barely had time to obey the instinct of +self-preservation and step aside. He actually leapt. Pressed against the +hedge, he saw a motor-car rush past him like a whirlwind, flooding the +sandy road with fire; a second followed it; and, to his complete +amazement, then, a third. + +They were powerful, private cars, so-called. This struck him instantly. +Two other things he noticed, as they dived down the throat of the long +white road--they showed no tail-lights. This made him wonder. And, +secondly, the drivers, clearly seen, were women. They were not even +in uniform--which made him wonder even more. The occupants, too, +were women. He caught the outline of toque and feather--or was it +flowers?--against the closed windows in the moonlight as the procession +rushed past him. + +He felt bewildered and astonished. Private motors were rare, and +military regulations exceedingly strict; the danger of spies dressed in +French uniform was constant; cars armed with machine guns, he knew, +patrolled the countryside in all directions. Shaken and alarmed, he +thought of favoured persons fleeing stealthily by night, of treachery, +disguise and swift surprise; he thought of various things as he stood +peering down the road for ten minutes after all sight and sound of the +cars had died away. But no solution of the mystery occurred to him. +Down the white throat the motors vanished. His pipe had gone out; he lit +it, and puffed furiously. + +His thoughts, at any rate, took temporarily a new direction now. The +road was not as lonely as he had imagined. A natural reaction set in at +once, and this proof of practical, modern life banished the shadows from +his mind effectually. He started off once more, oblivious of his former +hesitation. He even felt a trifle shamed and foolish, pretending that +the vanished mood had not existed. The tobacco had been damp. His boot +had really hurt him. + +Yet bewilderment and surprise stayed with him. The swiftness of the +incident was disconcerting; the cars arrived and vanished with such +extraordinary rapidity; their noisy irruption into this peaceful spot +seemed incongruous; they roared, blazed, rushed and disappeared; silence +resumed its former sway. + +But the silence persisted, whereas the noise was gone. + +This touch of the incongruous remained with him as he now went ever +deeper into the heart of the quiet forest. This odd incongruity of +dreams remained. + + +5 + +The keen air stole from the woods, cooling his body and his mind; +anemones gleamed faintly among the brushwood, lit by the pallid +moonlight. There were beauty, calm and silence, the slow breathing of +the earth beneath the comforting sweet stars. War, in this haunt of +ancient peace, seemed an incredible anachronism. His thoughts turned to +gentle happy hopes of a day when the lion and the lamb would yet lie +down together, and a little child would lead them without fear. His soul +dwelt with peaceful longings and calm desires. + +He walked on steadily, until the inflexible straightness of the endless +road began to afflict him, and he longed for a turning to the right or +left. He looked eagerly about him for a woodland path. Time mattered +little; he could wait for the sunrise and walk home "beneath the young +grey dawn"; he had food and matches, he could light a fire, and +sleep---- No!--after all, he would not light a fire, perhaps; he might +be accused of signalling to hostile aircraft, or a _garde forestiere_ +might catch him. He would not bother with a fire. The night was warm, he +could enjoy himself and pass the time quite happily without artificial +heat; probably he would need no sleep at all.... And just then he +noticed an opening on his right, where a seductive pathway led in among +the trees. The moon, now higher in the sky, lit this woodland trail +enticingly; it seemed the very opening he had looked for, and with a +thrill of pleasure he at once turned down it, leaving the ugly road +behind him with relief. + +The sound of his footsteps hushed instantly on the leaves and moss; the +silence became noticeable; an unusual stillness followed; it seemed that +something in his mind was also hushed. His feet moved stealthily, as +though anxious to conceal his presence from surprise. His steps dragged +purposely; their rustling through the thick dead leaves, perhaps, was +pleasant to him. He was not sure. + +The path opened presently into a clearing where the moonlight made a +pool of silver, the surrounding brushwood fell away; and in the centre +a gigantic outline rose. It was, he saw, a beech tree that dwarfed the +surrounding forest by its grandeur. Its bulk loomed very splendid +against the sky, a faint rustle just audible in its myriad tiny leaves. +Dipped in the moonlight, it had such majesty of proportion, such +symmetry, that he stopped in admiration. It was, he saw, a multiple +tree, five stems springing with attempted spirals out of an enormous +trunk; it was immense; it had a presence, the space framed it to +perfection. The clearing, evidently, was a favourite resting place for +summer picknickers, a playground, probably, for city children on holiday +afternoons; woodcutters, too, had been here recently, for he noticed +piled brushwood ready to be carted. It indicated admirably, he felt, +the limits of his night expedition. Here he would rest awhile, eat his +late supper, sleep perhaps round a small---- No! again--a fire he need +_not_ make; a spark might easily set the woods ablaze, it was against +both forest and military regulations. This idea of a fire, otherwise so +natural, was distasteful, even repugnant, to him. He wondered a little +why it recurred. He noticed this time, moreover, something unpleasant +connected with the suggestion of a fire, something that made him shrink; +almost a ghostly dread lay hidden in it. + +This startled him. A dozen excellent reasons, supplied by his brain, +warned him that a fire was unwise; but the true reason, supplied by +another part of him, concealed itself with care, as though afraid that +reason might detect its nature and fix the label on. Disliking this +reminder of his earlier mood, he moved forward into the clearing, +swinging his stick aggressively and whistling. He approached the tree, +where a dozen thick roots dipped into the earth. Admiring, looking +up and down, he paced slowly round its prodigious girth, then stood +absolutely still. His heart stopped abruptly, his blood became +congealed. He saw something that filled him with a sudden emptiness of +terror. On this western side the shadow lay very black; it was between +the thick limbs, half stem, half root, where the dark hollows gave easy +hiding-places, that he was positive he detected movement. A portion of +the trunk had moved. + +He stood stock still and stared--not three feet from the trunk--when +there came a second movement. Concealed in the shadows there crouched a +living form. The movement defined itself immediately. Half reclining, +half standing, a living being pressed itself close against the tree, yet +fitting so neatly into the wide scooped hollows, that it was scarcely +distinguishable from its ebony background. But for the chance movement +he must have passed it undetected. Equally, his outstretched fingers +might have touched it. The blood rushed from his heart, as he saw this +second movement. + +Detaching itself from the obscure background, the figure rose and stood +before him. It swayed a little, then stepped out into the patch of +moonlight on his left. Three feet lay between them. The figure then bent +over. A pallid face with burning eyes thrust forward and peered straight +into his own. + +The human being was a woman. The same instant he recognized the eyes +that had stared him out of countenance in the dining-room two nights +ago. He was petrified. She stared him out of countenance now. + +And, as she did so, the under-current he had tried to ignore so long +swept to the surface in a tumultuous flood, obliterating his normal +self. Something elaborately built up in his soul by years of artificial +training collapsed like a house of cards, and he knew himself undone. + +"They've got me...!" flashed dreadfully through his mind. It was, again, +like a message delivered in a dream where the significance of acts +performed and language uttered, concealed at the moment, is revealed +much later only. + +"After all--they've got me...!" + + +6 + +The dialogue that followed seemed strange to him only when looking back +upon it. The element of surprise again was negligible if not wholly +absent, but the incongruity of dreams, almost of nightmare, became more +marked. Though the affair was unlikely, it was far from incredible. So +completely were this man and woman involved in some purpose common to +them both that their talk, their meeting, their instinctive sympathy at +the time seemed natural. The same stream bore them irresistibly towards +the same far sea. Only, as yet, this common purpose remained concealed. +Nor could he define the violent emotions that troubled him. Their exact +description was in him, but so deep that he could not draw it up. +Moonlight lay upon his thought, merging clear outlines. + +Divided against himself, the cleavage left no authoritative self in +control; his desire to take an immediate decision resulted in a confused +struggle, where shame and pleasure, attraction and revulsion mingled +painfully. Incongruous details tumbled helter-skelter about his mind: +for no obvious reason, he remembered again his Red Cross uniform, his +former holy calling, his nationality too; he was a servant of mercy, a +teacher of the love of God; he was an English gentleman. Against which +rose other details, as in opposition, holding just beyond the reach of +words, yet rising, he recognized well enough, from the bed-rock of the +human animal, whereon a few centuries have imposed the thin crust of +refinement men call civilization. He was aware of joy and loathing. + +In the first few seconds he knew the clash of a dreadful fundamental +struggle, while the spell of this woman's strange enchantment poured +over him, seeking the reconciliation he himself could not achieve. Yet +the reconciliation _she_ sought meant victory or defeat; no compromise +lay in it. Something imperious emanating from her already dominated +the warring elements towards a coherent whole. He stood before her, +quivering with emotions he dared not name. Her great womanhood he +recognized, acknowledging obedience to her undisclosed intentions. And +this idea of coming surrender terrified him. Whence came, too, that +queenly touch about her that made him feel he should have sunk upon his +knees? + +The conflict resulted in a curious compromise. He raised his hand; he +saluted; he found very ordinary words. + +"You passed me only a short time ago," he stammered, "in the motors. +There were others with you----" + +"Knowing that you would find us and come after. We count on your +presence and your willing help." Her voice was firm as with unalterable +conviction. It was persuasive too. He nodded, as though acquiescence +seemed the only course. + +"We need your sympathy; we must have your power too." + +He bowed again. "My power!" Something exulted in him. But he murmured +only. It was natural, he felt; he gave consent without a question. + +Strange words he both understood and did not understand. Her voice, low +and silvery, was that of a gentle, cultured woman, but command rang +through it with a clang of metal, terrible behind the sweetness. She +moved a little closer, standing erect before him in the moonlight, her +figure borrowing something of the great tree's majesty behind her. It +was incongruous, this gentle and yet sinister air she wore. Whence +came, in this calm peaceful spot, the suggestion of a wild and savage +background to her? Why were there tumult and oppression in his heart, +pain, horror, tenderness and mercy, mixed beyond disentanglement? Why +did he think already, but helplessly, of escape, yet at the same time +burn to stay? Whence came again, too, a certain queenly touch he felt +in her? + +"The gods have brought you," broke across his turmoil in a half whisper +whose breath almost touched his face. "You belong to us." + +The deeps rose in him. Seduced by the sweetness and the power, the +warring divisions in his being drew together. His under-self more and +more obtained the mastery she willed. Then something in the French she +used flickered across his mind with a faint reminder of normal things +again. + +"Belgian----" he began, and then stopped short, as her instant rejoinder +broke in upon his halting speech and petrified him. In her voice sang +that triumphant tenderness that only the feminine powers of the Universe +may compass: it seemed the sky sang with her, the mating birds, wild +flowers, the south wind and the running streams. All these, even the +silver birches, lent their fluid, feminine undertones to the two +pregnant words with which she interrupted him and completed his own +unfinished sentence: + +"---- and mother." + +With the dreadful calm of an absolute assurance, she stood and watched +him. + +His understanding already showed signs of clearing. She stretched her +hands out with a passionate appeal, a yearning gesture, the eloquence of +which should explain all that remained unspoken. He saw their grace and +symmetry, exquisite in the moonlight, then watched them fold together in +an attitude of prayer. Beautiful mother hands they were; hands made to +smooth the pillows of the world, to comfort, bless, caress, hands that +little children everywhere must lean upon and love-perfect symbol of +protective, self-forgetful motherhood. + +This tenderness he noted; he noted next--the strength. In the folded +hands he divined the expression of another great world-power, fulfilling +the implacable resolution of the mouth and eyes. He was aware of +relentless purpose, more--of merciless revenge, as by a protective +motherhood outraged beyond endurance. Moreover, the gesture held appeal; +these hands, so close that their actual perfume reached him, sought his +own in help. The power in himself as man, as male, as father--this was +required of him in the fulfillment of the unknown purpose to which this +woman summoned him. His understanding cleared still more. + +The couple faced one another, staring fixedly beneath the giant beech +that overarched them. In the dark of his eyes, he knew, lay growing +terror. He shivered, and the shiver passed down his spine, making his +whole body tremble. There stirred in him an excitement he loathed, yet +welcomed, as the primitive male in him, answering the summons, reared up +with instinctive, dreadful glee to shatter the bars that civilization +had so confidently set upon its freedom. A primal emotion of his +under-being, ancient lust that had too long gone hungry and unfed, +leaped towards some possible satisfaction. It was incredible; it was, of +course, a dream. But judgment wavered; increasing terror ate his will +away. Violence and sweetness, relief and degradation, fought in his +soul, as he trembled before a power that now slowly mastered him. This +glee and loathing formed their ghastly partnership. He could have +strangled the woman where she stood. Equally, he could have knelt and +kissed her feet. + +The vehemence of the conflict paralysed him. + +"A mother's hands ..." he murmured at length, the words escaping like +bubbles that rose to the surface of a seething cauldron and then burst. + +And the woman smiled as though she read his mind and saw his little +trembling. The smile crept down from the eyes towards the mouth; he saw +her lips part slightly; he saw her teeth. + +But her reply once more transfixed him. Two syllables she uttered in a +voice of iron: + +"Louvain." + + * * * * * + +The sound acted upon him like a Word of Power in some Eastern fairy +tale. It knit the present to a past that he now recognized could never +die. Humanity had _not_ advanced. The hidden source of his secret joy +began to glow. For this woman focused in him passions that life had +hitherto denied, pretending they were atrophied, and the primitive male, +the naked savage rose up, with glee in its lustful eyes and blood upon +its lips. Acquired civilization, a pitiful mockery, split through its +thin veneer and fled. + +"Belgian ... Louvain ... Mother ..." he whispered, yet astonished at the +volume of sound that now left his mouth. His voice had a sudden +fullness. It seemed a cave-man roared the words. + +She touched his hand, and he knew a sudden intensification of life +within him; immense energy poured through his veins; a mediaeval spirit +used his eyes; great pagan instincts strained and urged against his +heart, against his very muscles. He longed for action. + +And he cried aloud: "I am with you, with you to the end!" + +Her spell had vivified beyond all possible resistance that primitive +consciousness which is ever the bed-rock of the human animal. + +A racial memory, inset against the forest scenery, flashed suddenly +through the depths laid bare. Below a sinking moon dark figures flew in +streaming lines and groups; tormented cries went down the wind; he saw +torn, blasted trees that swayed and rocked; there was a leaping fire, a +gleaming knife, an altar. He saw a sacrifice. + +It flashed away and vanished. In its place the woman stood, with shining +eyes fixed on his face, one arm outstretched, one hand upon his flesh. +She shifted slightly, and her cloak swung open. He saw clinging skins +wound closely about her figure; leaves, flowers and trailing green hung +from her shoulders, fluttering down the lines of her triumphant physical +beauty. There was a perfume of wild roses, incense, ivy bloom, whose +subtle intoxication drowned his senses. He saw a sparkling girdle round +the waist, a knife thrust through it tight against the hip. And his +secret joy, the glee, the pleasure of some unlawful and unholy lust +leaped through his blood towards the abandonment of satisfaction. + +The moon revealed a glimpse, no more. An instant he saw her thus, half +savage and half sweet, symbol of primitive justice entering the present +through the door of vanished centuries. + +The cloak swung back again, the outstretched hand withdrew, but from a +world he knew had altered. + +To-day sank out of sight. The moon shone pale with terror and delight on +Yesterday. + + +7 + +Across this altered world a faint new sound now reached his ears, as +though a human wail of anguished terror trembled and changed into the +cry of some captured helpless animal. He thought of a wolf apart from +the comfort of its pack, savage yet abject. The despair of a last appeal +was in the sound. It floated past, it died away. The woman moved closer +suddenly. + +"All is prepared," she said, in the same low, silvery voice; "we must +not tarry. The equinox is come, the tide of power flows. The sacrifice +is here; we hold him fast. We only awaited you." Her shining eyes were +raised to his. "Your soul is with us now?" she whispered. + +"My soul is with you." + +"And midnight," she continued, "is at hand. We use, of course, their +methods. Henceforth the gods--their old-world gods--shall work on our +side. They demand a sacrifice, and justice has provided one." + +His understanding cleared still more then; the last veil of confusion +was drawing from his mind. The old, old names went thundering through +his consciousness--Odin, Wotan, Moloch--accessible ever to invocation +and worship of the rightful kind. It seemed as natural as though he read +in his pulpit the prayer for rain, or gave out the hymn for those at +sea. That was merely an empty form, whereas this was real. Sea, storm +and earthquake, all natural activities, lay under the direction of those +elemental powers called the gods. Names changed, the principle remained. + +"Their weather shall be ours," he cried, with sudden passion, as a +memory of unhallowed usages he had thought erased from life burned in +him; while, stranger still, resentment stirred--revolt--against the +system, against the very deity he had worshipped hitherto. For these had +never once interfered to help the cause of right; their feebleness was +now laid bare before his eyes. And a two-fold lust rose in him. +"Vengeance is ours!" he cried in a louder voice, through which this +sudden loathing of the cross poured hatred. "Vengeance and justice! Now +bind the victim! Bring on the sacrifice!" + +"He is already bound." And as the woman moved a little, the curious +erection behind her caught his eye--the piled brushwood he had imagined +was the work of woodmen, picnickers, or playing children. He realized +its true meaning. + +It now delighted and appalled him. Awe deepened in him, a wind of ice +passed over him. Civilization made one more fluttering effort. He +gasped, he shivered; he tried to speak. But no words came. A thin cry, +as of a frightened child, escaped him. + +"It is the only way," the woman whispered softly. "We steal from them +the power of their own deities." Her head flung back with a marvellous +gesture of grace and power; she stood before him a figure of perfect +womanhood, gentle and tender, yet at the same time alive and cruel with +the passions of an ignorant and savage past. Her folded hands were +clasped, her face turned heavenwards. "I am a mother," she added, with +amazing passion, her eyes glistening in the moonlight with unshed tears. +"We all"--she glanced towards the forest, her voice rising to a wild and +poignant cry--"all, all of us are mothers!" + +It was then the final clearing of his understanding happened, and he +realized his own part in what would follow. Yet before the realization +he felt himself not merely ineffective, but powerless. The struggling +forces in him were so evenly matched that paralysis of the will +resulted. His dry lips contrived merely a few words of confused and +feeble protest. + +"Me!" he faltered. "My help----?" + +"Justice," she answered; and though softly uttered, it was as though the +mediaeval towers clanged their bells. That secret, ghastly joy again rose +in him; admiration, wonder, desire followed instantly. A fugitive memory +of Joan of Arc flashed by, as with armoured wings, upon the moonlight. +Some power similarly heroic, some purpose similarly inflexible, emanated +from this woman, the savour of whose physical enchantment, whose very +breath, rose to his brain like incense. Again he shuddered. The spasm of +secret pleasure shocked him. He sighed. He felt alert, yet stunned. + +Her words went down the wind between them: + +"You are so weak, you English," he heard her terrible whisper, "so nobly +forgiving, so fine, yet so forgetful. You refuse the weapon _they_ place +within your hands." Her face thrust closer, the great eyes blazed upon +him. "If we would save the children"--the voice rose and fell like +wind--"we must worship where they worship, we must sacrifice to their +savage deities...." + +The stream of her words flowed over him with this nightmare magic that +seemed natural, without surprise. He listened, he trembled, and again he +sighed. Yet in his blood there was sudden roaring. + +"... Louvain ... the hands of little children ... we have the proof," he +heard, oddly intermingled with another set of words that clamoured +vainly in his brain for utterance; "the diary in his own handwriting, +his gloating pleasure ... the little, innocent hands...." + +"Justice is mine!" rang through some fading region of his now fainting +soul, but found no audible utterance. + +"... Mist, rain and wind ... the gods of German Weather.... We all ... +are mothers...." + +"I will repay," came forth in actual words, yet so low he hardly heard +the sound. But the woman heard. + +"_We!_" she cried fiercely, "_we_ will repay!"... + +"God!" The voice seemed torn from his throat. "Oh God--_my_ God!" + +"_Our_ gods," she said steadily in that tone of iron, "are near. The +sacrifice is ready. And _you_--servant of mercy, priest of a younger +deity, and English--you bring the power that makes it effectual. The +circuit is complete." + +It was perhaps the tears in her appealing eyes, perhaps it was her +words, her voice, the wonder of her presence; all combined possibly in +the spell that finally then struck down his will as with a single blow +that paralysed his last resistance. The monstrous, half-legendary spirit +of a primitive day recaptured him completely; he yielded to the spell of +this tender, cruel woman, mother and avenging angel, whom horror and +suffering had flung back upon the practices of uncivilized centuries. A +common desire, a common lust and purpose, degraded both of them. They +understood one another. Dropping back into a gulf of savage worship that +set up idols in the place of God, they prayed to Odin and his awful +crew.... + +It was again the touch of her hand that galvanized him. She raised him; +he had been kneeling in slavish wonder and admiration at her feet. He +leaped to do the bidding, however terrible, of this woman who was +priestess, queen indeed, of a long-forgotten orgy. + +"Vengeance at last!" he cried, in an exultant voice that no longer +frightened him. "Now light the fire! Bring on the sacrifice!" + +There was a rustling among the nearer branches, the forest stirred; the +leaves of last year brushed against advancing feet. Yet before he could +turn to see, before even the last words had wholly left his lips, the +woman, whose hand still touched his fingers, suddenly tossed her cloak +aside, and flinging her bare arms about his neck, drew him with +impetuous passion towards her face and kissed him, as with delighted +fury of exultant passion, full upon the mouth. Her body, in its clinging +skins, pressed close against his own; her heat poured into him. She held +him fiercely, savagely, and her burning kiss consumed his modern soul +away with the fire of a primal day. + +"The gods have given you to us," she cried, releasing him. "Your soul is +ours!" + +She turned--they turned together--to look for one upon whose last hour +the moon now shed her horrid silver. + + +8 + +This silvery moonlight fell upon the scene. + +Incongruously he remembered the flowers that soon would know the +cuckoo's call; the soft mysterious stars shone down; the woods lay +silent underneath the sky. + +An amazing fantasy of dream shot here and there. "I am a man, an +Englishman, a padre!" ran twisting through his mind, as though _she_ +whispered them to emphasize the ghastly contrast of reality. A memory of +his own Kentish village with its Sunday school fled past, his dream of +the Lion and the Lamb close after it. He saw children playing on the +green.... He saw their happy little hands.... + +Justice, punishment, revenge--he could not disentangle them. No longer +did he wish to. The tide of violence was at his lips, quenching an +ancient thirst. He drank. It seemed he could drink forever. These tender +pictures only sweetened horror. That kiss had burned his modern soul +away. + +The woman waved her hand; there swept from the underbrush a score of +figures dressed like herself in skins, with leaves and flowers entwined +among their flying hair. He was surrounded in a moment. Upon each face +he noted the same tenderness and terrible resolve that their commander +wore. They pressed about him, dancing with enchanting grace, yet with +full-blooded abandon, across the chequered light and shadow. It was the +brimming energy of their movements that swept him off his feet, waking +the desire for fierce rhythmical expression. His own muscles leaped and +ached; for this energy, it seemed, poured into him from the tossing arms +and legs, the shimmering bodies whence hair and skins flung loose, +setting the very air awhirl. It flowed over into inanimate objects even, +so that the trees waved their branches although no wind stirred--hair, +skins and hands, rushing leaves and flying fingers touched his face, his +neck, his arms and shoulders, catching him away into this orgy of an +ancient, sacrificial ritual. Faces with shining eyes peered into his, +then sped away; grew in a cloud upon the moonlight; sank back in shadow; +reappeared, touched him, whispered, vanished. Silvery limbs gleamed +everywhere. Chanting rose in a wave, to fall away again into forest +rustlings; there were smiles that flashed, then fainted into moonlight, +red lips and gleaming teeth that shone, then faded out. The secret +glade, picked from the heart of the forest by the moon, became a torrent +of tumultuous life, a whirlpool of passionate emotions Time had not +killed. + +But it was the eyes that mastered him, for in their yearning, mating so +incongruously with the savage grace--in the eyes shone ever tears. He +was aware of gentle women, of womanhood, of accumulated feminine power +that nothing could withstand, but of feminine power in majesty, its +essential protective tenderness roused, as by tribal instinct, into a +collective fury of implacable revenge. He was, above all, aware of +motherhood--of mothers. And the man, the male, the father in him rose +like a storm to meet it. + +From the torrent of voices certain sentences emerged; sometimes chanted, +sometimes driven into his whirling mind as though big whispers thrust +them down his ears. "You are with us to the end," he caught. "We have +the proof. And punishment is ours!" + +It merged in wind, others took its place: + +"We hold him fast. The old gods wait and listen." + +The body of rushing whispers flowed like a storm-wind past. + +A lovely face, fluttering close against his own, paused an instant, and +starry eyes gazed into his with a passion of gratitude, dimming a moment +their stern fury with a mother's tenderness: "For the little ones ... it +is necessary, it is the only way.... Our own children...." The face went +out in a gust of blackness, as the chorus rose with a new note of awe +and reverence, and a score of throats uttered in unison a single cry: +"The raven! The White Horses! His signs! Great Odin hears!" + +He saw the great dark bird flap slowly across the clearing, and melt +against the shadow of the giant beech; he heard its hoarse, croaking +note; the crowds of heads bowed low before its passage. The White Horses +he did not see; only a sound as of considerable masses of air regularly +displaced was audible far overhead. But the veiled light, as though +great thunder-clouds had risen, he saw distinctly. The sky above the +clearing where he stood, panting and dishevelled, was blocked by a mass +that owned unusual outline. These clouds now topped the forest, hiding +the moon and stars. The flowers went out like nightlights blown. The +wind rose slowly, then with sudden violence. There was a roaring in the +tree-tops. The branches tossed and shook. + +"The White Horses!" cried the voices, in a frenzy of adoration. "He is +here!" + +It came swiftly, this collective mass; it was both apt and terrible. +There was an immense footstep. It was there. + +Then panic seized him, he felt an answering tumult in himself, the Past +surged through him like a sea at flood. Some inner sight, peering across +the wreckage of To-day, perceived an outline that in its size dwarfed +mountains, a pair of monstrous shoulders, a face that rolled through +a full quarter of the heavens. Above the ruin of civilization, now +fulfilled in the microcosm of his own being, the menacing shadow of a +forgotten deity peered down upon the earth, yet upon one detail of it +chiefly--the human group that had been wildly dancing, but that now +chanted in solemn conclave about a forest altar. + +For some minutes a dead silence reigned; the pouring winds left +emptiness in which no leaf stirred; there was a hush, a stillness that +could be felt. The kneeling figures stretched forth a level sea of +arms towards the altar; from the lowered heads the hair hung down in +torrents, against which the naked flesh shone white; the skins upon the +rows of backs gleamed yellow. The obscurity deepened overhead. It was +the time of adoration. He knelt as well, arms similarly outstretched, +while the lust of vengeance burned within him. + +Then came, across the stillness, the stirring of big wings, a rustling +as the great bird settled in the higher branches of the beech. The +ominous note broke through the silence; and with one accord the shining +backs were straightened. The company rose, swayed, parting into groups +and lines. Two score voices resumed the solemn chant. The throng of +pallid faces passed to and fro like great fire-flies that shone and +vanished. He, too, heard his own voice in unison, while his feet, as +with instinctive knowledge, trod the same measure that the others trod. + +Out of this tumult and clearly audible above the chorus and the rustling +feet rang out suddenly, in a sweetly fluting tone, the leader's voice: + +"The Fire! But first the hands!" + +A rush of figures set instantly towards a thicket where the underbrush +stood densest. Skins, trailing flowers, bare waving arms and tossing +hair swept past on a burst of perfume. It was as though the trees +themselves sped by. And the torrent of voices shook the very air in +answer: + +"The Fire! But first--the hands!" + +Across this roaring volume pierced then, once again, that wailing sound +which seemed both human and non-human--the anguished cry as of some +lonely wolf in metamorphosis, apart from the collective safety of the +pack, abjectly terrified, feeling the teeth of the final trap, and +knowing the helpless feet within the steel. There was a crash of rending +boughs and tearing branches. There was a tumult in the thicket, though +of brief duration--then silence. + +He stood watching, listening, overmastered by a diabolical sensation of +expectancy he knew to be atrocious. Turning in the direction of the cry, +his straining eyes seemed filled with blood; in his temples the pulses +throbbed and hammered audibly. The next second he stiffened into a +stone-like rigidity, as a figure, struggling violently yet half +collapsed, was borne hurriedly past by a score of eager arms that swept +it towards the beech tree, and then proceeded to fasten it in an upright +position against the trunk. It was a man bound tight with thongs, +adorned with leaves and flowers and trailing green. The face was hidden, +for the head sagged forward on the breast, but he saw the arms forced +flat against the giant trunk, held helpless beyond all possible escape; +he saw the knife, poised and aimed by slender, graceful fingers above +the victim's wrists laid bare; he saw the--hands. + +"An eye for an eye," he heard, "a tooth for a tooth!" It rose in awful +chorus. Yet this time, although the words roared close about him, they +seemed farther away, as if wind brought them through the crowding trees +from far off. + +"Light the fire! Prepare the sacrifice!" came on a following wind; and, +while strange distance held the voices as before, a new faint sound now +audible was very close. There was a crackling. Some ten feet beyond the +tree a column of thick smoke rose in the air; he was aware of heat not +meant for modern purposes; of yellow light that was not the light of +stars. + +The figure writhed, and the face swung suddenly sideways. Glaring with +panic hopelessness past the judge and past the hanging knife, the eyes +found his own. There was a pause of perhaps five seconds, but in these +five seconds centuries rolled by. The priest of To-day looked down into +the well of time. For five hundred years he gazed into those twin +eyeballs, glazed with the abject terror of a last appeal. They +recognized one another. + +The centuries dragged appallingly. The drama of civilization, in a +sluggish stream, went slowly by, halting, meandering, losing itself, +then reappearing. Sharpest pains, as of a thousand knives, accompanied +its dreadful, endless lethargy. Its million hesitations made him suffer +a million deaths of agony. Terror, despair and anger, all futile and +without effect upon its progress, destroyed a thousand times his soul, +which yet some hope--a towering, indestructible hope--a thousand times +renewed. This despair and hope alternately broke his being, ever to +fashion it anew. His torture seemed not of this world. Yet hope +survived. The sluggish stream moved onward, forward.... + +There came an instant of sharpest, dislocating torture. The yellow light +grew slightly brighter. He saw the eyelids flicker. + +It was at this moment he realized abruptly that he stood alone, apart +from the others, unnoticed apparently, perhaps forgotten; his feet held +steady; his voice no longer sang. And at this discovery a quivering +shock ran through his being, as though the will were suddenly loosened +into a new activity, yet an activity that halted between two terrifying +alternatives. + +It was as though the flicker of those eyelids loosed a spring. + +Two instincts, clashing in his being, fought furiously for the mastery. +One, ancient as this sacrifice, savage as the legendary figure brooding +in the heavens above him, battled fiercely with another, acquired +more recently in human evolution, that had not yet crystallized into +permanence. He saw a child, playing in a Kentish orchard with toys and +flowers the little innocent hands made living ... he saw a lowly manger, +figures kneeling round it, and one star shining overhead in piercing and +prophetic beauty. + +Thought was impossible; he saw these symbols only, as the two contrary +instincts, alternately hidden and revealed, fought for permanent +possession of his soul. Each strove to dominate him; it seemed that +violent blows were struck that wounded physically; he was bruised, he +ached, he gasped for breath; his body swayed, held upright only, it +seemed, by the awful appeal in the fixed and staring eyes. + +The challenge had come at last to final action; the conqueror, he well +knew, would remain an integral portion of his character, his soul. + +It was the old, old battle, waged eternally in every human heart, in +every tribe, in every race, in every period, the essential principle +indeed, behind the great world-war. In the stress and confusion of +the fight, as the eyes of the victim, savage in victory, abject in +defeat--the appealing eyes of that animal face against the tree stared +with their awful blaze into his own, this flashed clearly over him. +It was the battle between might and right, between love and hate, +forgiveness and vengeance, Christ and the Devil. He heard the menacing +thunder of "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," then above its +angry volume rose suddenly another small silvery voice that pierced with +sweetness:--"Vengeance is mine, I will repay ..." sang through him as +with unimaginable hope. + +Something became incandescent in him then. He realized a singular +merging of powers in absolute opposition to each other. It was as though +they harmonized. Yet it was through this small, silvery voice the +apparent magic came. The words, of course, were his own in memory, +but they rose from his modern soul, now reawakening.... He started +painfully. He noted again that he stood apart, alone, perhaps forgotten +of the others. The woman, leading a dancing throng about the blazing +brushwood, was far from him. Her mind, too sure of his compliance, had +momentarily left him. The chain was weakened. The circuit knew a break. + +But this sudden realization was not of spontaneous origin. His heart had +not produced it of its own accord. The unholy tumult of the orgy held +him too slavishly in its awful sway for the tiny point of his modern +soul to have pierced it thus unaided. The light flashed to him from an +outside, natural source of simple loveliness--the singing of a bird. +From the distance, faint and exquisite, there had reached him the +silvery notes of a happy thrush, awake in the night, and telling its +joy over and over again to itself. The innocent beauty of its song came +through the forest and fell into his soul.... + +The eyes, he became aware, had shifted, focusing now upon an object +nearer to them. The knife was moving. There was a convulsive wriggle of +the body, the head dropped loosely forward, no cry was audible. But, at +the same moment, the inner battle ceased and an unexpected climax came. +Did the soul of the bully faint with fear? Did the spirit leave him at +the actual touch of earthly vengeance? The watcher never knew. In that +appalling moment when the knife was about to begin the mission that the +fire would complete, the roar of inner battle ended abruptly, and +that small silvery voice drew the words of invincible power from his +reawakening soul. "Ye do it also unto me ..." pealed o'er the forest. + +He reeled. He acted instantaneously. Yet before he had dashed the knife +from the hand of the executioner, scattered the pile of blazing wood, +plunged through the astonished worshippers with a violence of strength +that amazed even himself; before he had torn the thongs apart and +loosened the fainting victim from the tree; before he had uttered a +single word or cry, though it seemed to him he roared with a voice of +thousands--he witnessed a sight that came surely from the Heaven of his +earliest childhood days, from that Heaven whose God is love and whose +forgiveness was taught him at his mother's knee. + +With superhuman rapidity it passed before him and was gone. Yet it was +no earthly figure that emerged from the forest, ran with this incredible +swiftness past the startled throng, and reached the tree. He saw the +shape; the same instant it was there; wrapped in light, as though a +flame from the sacrificial fire flashed past him over the ground. It was +of an incandescent brightness, yet brightest of all were the little +outstretched hands. These were of purest gold, of a brilliance +incredibly shining. + +It was no earthly child that stretched forth these arms of generous +forgiveness and took the bewildered prisoner by the hand just as the +knife descended and touched the helpless wrists. The thongs were already +loosened, and the victim, fallen to his knees, looked wildly this way +and that for a way of possible escape, when the shining hands were laid +upon his own. The murderer rose. Another instant and the throng must +have been upon him, tearing him limb from limb. But the radiant little +face looked down into his own; she raised him to his feet; with +superhuman swiftness she led him through the infuriated concourse as +though he had become invisible, guiding him safely past the furies into +the cover of the trees. Close before his eyes, this happened; he saw the +waft of golden brilliance, he heard the final gulp of it, as wind took +the dazzling of its fiery appearance into space. They were gone.... + + +9 + +He stood watching the disappearing motor-cars, wondering uneasily who +the occupants were and what their business, whither and why did they +hurry so swiftly through the night? He was still trying to light his +pipe, but the damp tobacco would not burn. + +The air stole out of the forest, cooling his body and his mind; he saw +the anemones gleam; there was only peace and calm about him, the earth +lay waiting for the sweet, mysterious stars. The moon was higher; he +looked up; a late bird sang. Three strips of cloud, spaced far apart, +were the footsteps of the South Wind, as she flew to bring more birds +from Africa. His thoughts turned to gentle, happy hopes of a day when +the lion and the lamb should lie down together, and a little child +should lead them. War, in this haunt of ancient peace, seemed an +incredible anachronism. + +He did not go farther; he did not enter the forest; he turned back along +the quiet road he had come, ate his food on a farmer's gate, and over +a pipe sat dreaming of his sure belief that humanity had advanced. He +went home to his hotel soon after midnight. He slept well, and next day +walked back the four miles from the hospitals, instead of using the car. +Another hospital searcher walked with him. They discussed the news. + +"The weather's better anyhow," said his companion. "In our favour at +last!" + +"That's something," he agreed, as they passed a gang of prisoners and +crossed the road to avoid saluting. + +"Been another escape, I hear," the other mentioned. "He won't get far. +How on earth do they manage it? The M.O. had a yarn that he was helped +by a motor-car. I wonder what they'll do to him." + +"Oh, nothing much. Bread and water and extra work, I suppose?" + +The other laughed. "I'm not so sure," he said lightly. "Humanity hasn't +advanced very much in that kind of thing." + +A fugitive memory flashed for an instant through the other's brain as he +listened. He had an odd feeling for a second that he had heard this +conversation before somewhere. A ghostly sense of familiarity brushed +his mind, then vanished. At dinner that night the table in front of him +was unoccupied. He did not, however, notice that it was unoccupied. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's notes + + +Punctuation errors have been corrected. Also the following changes have +been made, on page + +39 "pleasel" changed to "pleased" (to what dream he pleased.) + +107 "peform" changed to "perform" (father will perform the sacrifice) + +124 "morever" changed to "moreover" (leisure, moreover. Grimwood) + +126 "be" changed to "he" (where had he come from) + +182 "it" changed to "is" (the house is getting on) + +190 "hanging" changed to "banging" (the front door banging) + +195 "saidly" changed to "sadly" (he said sadly) + +240 "implicity" changed to "implicitly" (had obeyed implicitly, +believing everything) + +254 "additioin" changed to "addition" (respect in addition to his +gratitude.) + +256 "yho" changed to "who" (but a man who has served) + +262 "sunride" changed to "sunrise" (from the sunrise end.) + +266 "has" changed to "his" (Purdy had gone his way again) + +278 "incredudous" changed to "incredulous" (of incredulous surprise) + +286 "deliberatelly" changed to "deliberately" (away as deliberately as +she had turned to look + +307 "diety" changed to "deity" (against the very deity he had +worshipped). + +Otherwise the original text has been preserved, including inconsistent +spelling and hyphenation. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wolves of God, by +Algernon Blackwood and Wilfred Wilson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOLVES OF GOD *** + +***** This file should be named 38310.txt or 38310.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/3/1/38310/ + +Produced by David Starner, eagkw and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was +produced from scanned images of public domain material +from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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