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diff --git a/old/51963-h/51963-h.htm b/old/51963-h/51963-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1786383..0000000 --- a/old/51963-h/51963-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7527 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Other World - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51963] -Last Updated: November 16, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE OTHER WORLD - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h4> - Author of ‘The Jessamy Bride,’ ‘Nell Gwyn, Comedian,’ ‘The Original - Woman,’ ‘Castle Omeragii,’ Etc. Etc. - </h4> - <h4> - London: Eveleigh Nash - </h4> - <h3> - MCMIV - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “<i>This Other World is indeed not so far distant from our own that is - ruled by the sunne and moon. Therein the Prince of the Power of the Air - hath his dominion, whose servants are the Witch and the Warlock,... the - Night hagge,... and those that some, for want of a better name, term - Ghosts, Ghouls (breeders of sadde dreams),... also the Hob Goblin (himself - a foul fiend, albeit full of pranks),... Lyars all, but dangerous to - trajfick with and very treacherous to Mankind. They lure to Perdition - soone or late.</i>” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> “MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE BASELESS FABRIC </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE BLOOD ORANGES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he majority of the - passengers aboard the steam yacht <i>Bluebottle</i> said that it was - anybody’s game. In the smoking-room—when neither Somers nor Norgate - was present of course—the betting varied daily according to the - events of the day. At first the odds were slightly in favour of Teddy - Somers—yes, she undoubtedly gave signs of enjoying the companionship - of Mr Somers. She had been seen by trustworthy witnesses standing behind - him while he sketched with a rapid pencil the group of Portuguese boatmen - surrounding the solitary Scotchman, who had got the better of them all in - a bargain, within the first hour of the arrival of the yacht in Funchal - Bay. Afterwards she had been noticed carefully gumming the drawing upon a - cardboard mount. Would a girl take all that trouble about a man unless she - had a sincere regard for him? was the question which a sapient one put to - a section of his fellow passengers, accompanying an offer of three to one - on Somers. - </p> - <p> - But after a pause, which somehow seemed to suggest an aggregation of - thought—the pauses of a conscientious smoker are frequently fraught - with suggestions—a youth who had been accused of writing poetry, but - whose excellent cigars did much to allay that suspicion, remarked—“What - you say about the drawing suggests that the girl takes an interest in him, - and that would be fatal to her falling in love with him.” There was - another long pause, during which the smokers looked at one another, - carefully refraining from glancing at the speaker, until the man who had - offered the odds said— - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to tell us that a girl’s being interested in a chap isn’t the - first step to her falling in love with him?” - </p> - <p> - “I have no hesitation in saying so much—I could say a good deal more - on the same subject,” replied the propounder of the theory. - </p> - <p> - Then it was that a number of the men glanced quickly toward him,—there - was something of an appeal for mercy in the glance of most of them: it - seemed as if they were not particularly anxious to hear a good deal more - on the same subject. - </p> - <p> - It is scarcely necessary to say, however, that the circumstance of their - not wanting to hear a good deal more did not prevent the poet (alleged) - from telling them a good deal more. It took him twenty-five minutes to - formulate his theory, which was to the effect that it is impossible—impossible - was the word he employed: there is no spirit of compromise on the part of - a theorist, especially when he is young, and more especially when he has - been suspected of writing poetry—<i>impossible</i> for a woman to - love a man who has at first merely interested her. - </p> - <p> - “Love is a passion, whereas interest is—well, interest is merely - interest,” said he, with that air of finality which a youthful theorist - assumes when he is particularly absurd—and knows it. “Yes, when a - woman hates a man thoroughly, and for the best of reasons,—though - for that matter she may hate him thoroughly without having any reason for - it,—she is nearer to loving him thoroughly than she is to loving a - man who merely interests her, however deep may be the interest which he - arouses.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll give three to one in sovereigns on Somers,” said the man who had - originally offered the same odds. He was clearly not amenable to the - dictates of reason, the theorist said: he certainly was not amenable to - the dictates of a theory, which, however, is not exactly the same thing. - </p> - <p> - “It’s anybody’s game, just now,” remarked another of the sapient ones. - </p> - <p> - “Anybody’s except the man’s in whom she has become interested,” said the - theorist. - </p> - <p> - “My dear young man,” said the professional cynic—he had scarcely - recovered from a severe attack of <i>mal de mer</i>—“My dear young - man, you’re not a very much greater ass than most boys of your age; but - you will really not strike people as being much below the average if you - only refrain from formulating any theory respecting any woman. The only - thing that it is safe to say about a woman—any woman—every - woman—is that no human being knows what she will do next.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but we were not talking about what a woman will do next, but what - she will do first,” said the poet, who was not easily crushed. “Now I say - that she——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do dry up!” shouted a smoking man in a corner, who had just rung for - a whisky-and-soda. “I’ve heard more nonsense within the past half-hour - than I ever heard during an entire year of my life. There is no sense in - arguing, but there is some sense in betting. If you believe in your - theory, back it with a sovereign to show that you’re in earnest.” - </p> - <p> - But the young man’s theory did not run into coin; though in other - directions three to one on Teddy Somers was officially reported as offered - and taken. - </p> - <p> - Two days afterwards the layer of the odds tried to hedge. The fact was - that the girl had shown such a marked inclination for the society of Jack - Norgate in preference to that of Teddy Somers, it seemed as if the former - would, to make use of an apt phrase, romp in. But before the steam yacht - <i>Bluebottle</i> had crossed the equator the odds were even, as a - passenger named Molloy—he was reputed to be of Irish descent—remarked. - </p> - <p> - It was a pleasant company that had left Gravesend on September 10th, for - the six months’ cruise to cheat the winter (see advertisements) in the - steam yacht <i>Bluebottle</i>, 3500 tons, Captain Grosvenor, R.N.R., in - command. The passengers numbered sixty, and included singularly few - disagreeable persons, in spite of the fact that the voyage was one that - only people with money and leisure could afford. The vessel was well - found, and her commander and officers were the pick of the Company’s - fleet, and possessed innumerable resources in the way of deck games. The - report found ready credence in the service that Captain Grosvenor had - gained his position through being the originator of deck-golf. However - this may be, he certainly recognised in the amplest way the - responsibilities of the position of trust which he occupied, and he never - allowed any duty to interfere with his daily exposition of the splendid - possibilities of deck-golf. He had started a golf tournament before the - yacht had left the Channel, and he hove to for three days in the Bay of - Biscay, when the heavy sea that was running threatened to interfere with - the playing off of the tie between Colonel Mydleton and Sir Edwin Everard. - </p> - <p> - The cruise promised to be all that the advertisements had predicted it - would be. But before Madeira was reached comments were made upon the - extraordinary scarcity of young girls among the passengers. Among a - certain section of the passengers the comments on this point had a highly - congratulatory tone, but among another section the matter was touched upon - with a considerable amount of grumbling. Old voyagers, who were - accompanied by vigilant wives (their own), foresaw a tranquil voyage, - undisturbed by those complications which their experience told them - invariably arise when attractive young women are to be found in graceful - attitudes on deck chairs. On the other hand, however, there were several - men aboard who had just sufficient experience of going down to the sea in - steam yachts to cause them to look askance, during their first day aboard, - over the deck chairs, which were occupied mainly by fathers and matrons. - Yes, there was, undoubtedly, a scarcity of girls. - </p> - <p> - The fact is that such a pleasure cruise as that which had been mapped out - for the <i>Bluebottle</i> differs essentially from the ordinary Indian or - Australian voyage. On the two last-named, girls are to be found by the - score going out or returning. It is not a matter of pleasure with them—though - most of them contrive to get a good deal of pleasure out of it—but a - matter of necessity. The majority of people who set out on a cruise in a - steam yacht do so only because time hangs heavy on their hands, and they - do not take their daughters with them, for the simple reason that their - daughters decline to expatriate themselves for six or eight months at the - most critical period of their lives. - </p> - <p> - Only six young women were among the passengers, of the <i>Bluebottle</i>; - of these only three were quite good-looking, and of these three the only - really beautiful one was Viola Compton. It did not take the experienced - voyagers long to perceive that Miss Compton would have an extremely good - time aboard the yacht. With all their experience they knew no better than - to suppose that a girl is having a good time when she has half a dozen men - at her feet, and a reserve force of twenty others ready to prostrate - themselves before her at a moment’s notice—when she is sneered at by - her less pretty sisters, who tell one another that she gives herself - insufferable airs—when she is frowned at by the wives of uncertain - husbands, who call her (among themselves) a forward minx, and when she - cannot snub the most odious of the men who disarrange her cushions for - her, and prevent her from reading her novels by insisting on chatting to - her on all the inanities which a long voyage fosters in men who on shore - are alluded to as “genial.” If to be in such a position is to be having a - good time, Viola had certainly the best time on record even before the - yacht had crossed the Line. She had about a score of men around her who - never allowed her to have a moment to herself; she was bored by Colonel - Mydleton’s story of Lord Roberts’ mistakes when in India, the crowning one - being—according to Colonel Mydleton—the march to Kandahar, - which he assured her was one of the greatest fiascos of the century; she - was rendered uncomfortable for a whole afternoon of exquisite sunshine by - the proximity of the poet, who insisted on repeating to her a volume of - lyrics that only awaited a publisher; she was awakened from a delightful - doze after tiffin by the commonplace jests of the young man who fondly - believed himself to be a humourist; she was sneered at by the other girls - and frowned upon by the matrons, and she was made the subject of bets in - the smoking-room,—in short, she was having, most people agreed, an - uncommonly good time aboard. - </p> - <p> - The captain knew better, however: he had kept his eyes open during a - lifetime of voyages on passenger steamers, and he could see a good deal - with his eyes without the aid of a binocular telescope. - </p> - <p> - There could be no doubt that Miss Compton treated both Teddy Somers and - Jack Norgate with a favour which she could not see her way to extend to - the other passengers. It was only natural that she should do so, the - captain saw at once, though he was too experienced to say so even to his - chief engineer, who was a Scotchman. Norgate and Somers were both nice - chaps, and had won distinction for themselves in the world. The former was - a mighty hunter, and had slain lions in the region of the Zambesi and - bears in the Rockies: the latter was well known as an artist; he was - something of a musician as well, and he had once had a play produced which - had taken a very respectable position amongst the failures of the season. - Both men were very well off,—the one could afford to be a hunter, - and the other could even afford to be an artist. They were both clearly - devoted to Viola; but this fact did not seem to interfere with the - friendship which existed between them. Neither of the two tried to cut out - the other so far as the girl was concerned. When Somers was sitting by her - side, Norgate kept apart from them, and when Norgate chanced to find - himself with her, his friend—although the tropical moonlight was - flooding the heaven—continued his smoking on the bridge with the - captain. - </p> - <p> - The captain was lost in admiration of both men; he reserved some for the - girl, however: he acknowledged that she was behaving very well indeed—that - is, of course, for the only really pretty girl aboard a ship. The captain - was a strong believer in the advantages of a healthy competition between - young women: the tyranny of the monopolist had frequently come within his - range of vision. Yes, he saw that Miss Compton was behaving discreetly. - She did not seek to play off one man against the other, nor did she make - the attempt to play off a third man against both. For his own part, he - utterly failed in his attempt to find out in what direction her affections - tended. He saw that the girl liked both men, but he did not know which of - them she loved—assuming that she actually did love one of them. He - wondered if the girl herself knew. He was strongly inclined to believe - that she did not. - </p> - <p> - But that was just where he made a mistake. She did know, and she - communicated her knowledge to Teddy Somers one night when they stood - together watching the marvellous phosphorescence of the South Atlantic - within ten days’ sail of the Cape. A concert was going on in the great - saloon, so that there was an appropriate musical background, so to speak, - for their conversation. Teddy had said something to her that forced from - her an involuntary cry—or was it a sigh? - </p> - <p> - Then there was a pause—with appropriate music: it came from a banjo - in the saloon. - </p> - <p> - “Is that your answer?” he inquired, laying one of his hands upon hers as - it lay on the brass plating of the bulwarks. - </p> - <p> - “My answer?” she said. “I’m so sorry—so very sorry, Mr Somers.” - </p> - <p> - “Sorry? Why should you be sorry?” he said softly. “I tell you that I love - you with all——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not say it again—for pity’s sake do not say it again,” she - cried, almost piteously. “You must never speak to me of love; I have - promised to love only Jack—Mr Norgate.” - </p> - <p> - “What—you have promised?—you have——” - </p> - <p> - “It only happened after tiffin to-day. I thought perhaps he might have - told you—I thought perhaps you noticed that he and I—oh yes, - you certainly behaved as if you took it for granted that... ah, I am so - sorry that you misunderstood.... I think that I must have loved him from - the first.” - </p> - <p> - There was another long pause. He looked down into the gleaming water that - rushed along the side of the ship. Then she laid one of her hands on his, - saying— - </p> - <p> - “Believe me, Mr Somers, I am sorry—oh, so sorry!” - </p> - <p> - He took her hand tenderly, looking into her face as he said— - </p> - <p> - “My dear child, you have no reason to be sorry: I know Jack Norgate well, - and I know that a better fellow does not live: you will be happy with him, - I am sure. And as for me—well, I suppose I was a bit of a fool to - think that you——” - </p> - <p> - “Do not say that,” she cried. “I am not worthy of you—I am not - worthy of him. Oh, who am I that I should break up such a friendship as - yours and his? I begin to wish that I had never come aboard this steamer.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not flatter yourself that you have come between us, my dear,” he said, - with a little laugh. “Oh no; ‘shall I, wasting with despair?’—well, - I think not. Men don’t waste with despair except on the lyric stage. My - dear girl, he has won you fairly, and I congratulate him; and you—yes, - I congratulate you. He is a white man, as they say on the Great Pacific - slope. Listen to that banjo! Confound it! I wonder shall I ever be able to - listen to the banjo again.... Shall we join the revellers in the saloon?” - </p> - <p> - They went into the saloon together, and took seats on a vacant sofa. Some - people eyed them suspiciously and said that Miss Compton was having an - exceedingly good time aboard the yacht. - </p> - <p> - Later on, Somers congratulated his friend very sincerely, and his friend - accepted his congratulations in a very tolerant spirit. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose it’s what every chap must come to sooner or - later. Viola is far better than I deserve—than any chap deserves.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a very poor sort of girl that isn’t better than the best chap - deserves, and although I think you are the best chap in the world, I - should be sorry to think that Miss Compton has not made a wise choice. May - you be happy together!” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, old chap. I must confess to you frankly that some days ago I - thought that you——” - </p> - <p> - “That I?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that you had a certain tendresse for her yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I! Oh, your judgment must have been warped by a lover’s jealousy. ‘The - thief doth think each bush an officer’—the lover fancies that every - man’s taste must be the same as his own. May you both be happy!” - </p> - <p> - It seemed that his prayer was granted so far at least as the next day was - concerned, for certainly no two people could appear happier than the - lovers, as they sat together under the awning, watching half a dozen of - their fellow-passengers perspiring over their golf. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Compton—she was an invalid taking the cruise for her health’s - sake—was compelled to remain in her berth all day, but Jack Norgate - visited her with her daughter after tiffin and doubtless obtained the - maternal blessing, for when he came on deck alone in the afternoon his - face was beaming as Moses’ face beamed on one occasion. There was a slight - tornado about dinner-time and the vessel rolled about so as to necessitate - the use of the “fiddles” on the table. It continued blowing and raining - until darkness set in, so that the smoking-room was crowded, and three - bridge-parties assembled in the chief saloon as well as a poker-party and - a chess-party. Four bells had just been made, when one of the stewards - startled all the saloon by crying out of the pantries— - </p> - <p> - “Coming, sir!” - </p> - <p> - A moment afterwards he hurried into the saloon, putting on his jacket, and - looked round as if waiting to receive an order. The passengers glanced at - him and laughed. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter?” asked the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t some one call me, sir?” the man inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Not that we heard,” replied the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I thought I heard some one sing out, sir,” said the steward, looking - round. - </p> - <p> - “It must have been some one on deck,” suggested Colonel Mydleton. “Shall I - cut the cards for you, doctor?” - </p> - <p> - The steward went on deck. He was met by Mr Somers, who, in reply to the - man’s inquiry, said— - </p> - <p> - “Call you? No, I didn’t call you.” - </p> - <p> - “The infant Samuel,” said one of the poker players, and the others at the - table laughed. - </p> - <p> - “It’s raining cats and dogs, or whatever the equivalent to cats and dogs - is in these parallels,” said Somers. “I got wet watching the <i>Bluebottle</i> - show a clean pair of heels to a tramp. She’s in our wake just now. I think - I’ll turn into my berth.” - </p> - <p> - He went to the bar and called for a brandy-and-soda, and then sang out - “Good night,” as he hurried to his cabin. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Miss Compton appeared at the breakfast table, and so did - Somers, but Norgate had clearly overslept himself, for he was absent. The - captain inquired for him. - </p> - <p> - “He must be on deck, sir,” said one of the stewards, “for he was not in - his cabin when I went with his chocolate an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he’ll turn up before we have finished breakfast,” said Somers, - attacking his devilled kidneys. - </p> - <p> - But his prediction was not realised. A pantry boy was sent on deck in - search of Mr Norgate, but Mr Norgate was not to be found. A steward - hurried to his cabin, but returned in a few minutes, saying that his bunk - had not been slept in. The captain rose from the table with a - well-simulated laugh. A search was organised. It failed to find him. The - awful truth had to be faced: Mr Norgate was not aboard. Viola Compton was - hysterical. Teddy Somers was silent; no one had ever seen him so deathly - pale before. - </p> - <p> - Theories were forthcoming to account for Norgate’s suicide—people - took it for granted, of course, that he had committed suicide. Only one - person suggested the possibility of his having fallen overboard, and of - his cry being that which the steward had heard, for a part of the pantry - was open on the starboard side. But against this it was urged that Mr - Somers must have been on deck at the time the steward had heard, or had - fancied he heard, that cry, and Mr Somers said he had heard nothing. - </p> - <p> - For a week the gloom hung over the whole party; but by the time the Cape - was reached, Miss Compton was able to appear at the table once more. She - looked heartbroken; but every one said she was bearing up wonderfully. - Only the poet had the bad taste to offer her his sympathy through the - medium of a sonnet. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - On leaving the Cape the bereaved girl seemed to find a certain plaintive - consolation in the society of Mr Somers. He sat beside her in his deck - chair, and they talked together about poor Jack Norgate; but after a week - or two, steaming from Bombay to Ceylon, and thence through the Straits to - Sydney, they began to talk about other subjects, and before long the girl - began visibly to brighten. The passengers said she was a woman. - </p> - <p> - And she proved that they were right, for when one lovely night Teddy - Somers suggested very delicately to her that his affection for her was the - same as it had always been, there was more than a little reproach in her - voice as she cried— - </p> - <p> - “Oh, stop—stop—for Heaven’s sake! My love is dead—buried - with him. I cannot hear any one talk to me of love.” - </p> - <p> - He pressed her hand and left her without another word. - </p> - <p> - She remained in her deck chair far removed from the rest of the passengers - for a long time, thinking her thoughts, whatever they may have been. The - moon was almost at the full, so that it was high in the sky before the - quartermaster made six bells, and those of the passengers who had not - already gone to their berths arose from their chairs, murmuring that they - had no notion it was within an hour of midnight. A few of them, passing - the solitary figure of the girl on her chair, said “Good night” to her in - a cheery way, and then shook their heads suggestively together with such - an exchange of sentiments as “Poor girl!—Poor girl!” - </p> - <p> - “Very sad!” - </p> - <p> - “Melancholy affair!” but it is doubtful if their hearts were so - overcharged with sympathy as to interfere to any marked degree with their - slumbers. - </p> - <p> - The girl remained upon the deserted deck and watched the quartermasters - collecting and storing away all the passengers’ chairs which lay scattered - about, just as their owners had vacated them. When they had finished their - job no one of the ship’s company remained on the quarterdeck. The sound of - the little swish made by a leaping flying-fish had a suggestion of - something mysterious about it as it reached her ears: it seemed like the - faint whisper of a secret of the sea—it seemed as if some voice - outside the ship was saying “Hist!” to her, to attract her attention - before making a revelation to her. - </p> - <p> - But she knew what the sound was, and she did not move from her chair. - </p> - <p> - “Alas—alas!” she murmured, “you can tell me nothing. Ah! there is - nothing for me to be told. I know all that will be known until the sea - gives up its dead. He loved me, and the sea snatched him from me.” - </p> - <p> - The tears with which her heart was filled began to overflow. She wept - softly for a long time, and when at last she gave a sigh and wiped the - mist from her eyes she found that the moon, previously so brilliant, had - become dim. Its outline was blurred, so that, although the atmosphere was - full of moonlight, it was impossible to say what was the centre of the - illumination. It seemed to Viola as if a thin diaphanous silk curtain had - fallen between the moon and the sea. Every object which an hour before had - cast a black shadow athwart the deck—the spars of the mainmast, the - quarterboat hanging in its davits—was clearly seen as ever, only - without the strong contrasts of light and shade. The sea out to the - horizon was of a luminous grey, which bore but a shadowy resemblance to - the dark-blue carpet traversed by the glittering golden pathway to the - moon, over which Viola had pensively gazed in the early night before - Somers had come to her side. - </p> - <p> - She now stood at the bulwarks looking across that shadowy expanse, - marvelling at the change which had come about within so short a space of - time. - </p> - <p> - “My life—it is my life,” she sighed. “A short time ago it was made - luminous by love; but now—ah! now——” - </p> - <p> - She turned away with another sigh and walked back to her deck chair. She - was in the act of picking up her cushions from the seat when, glancing - astern, she was amazed on becoming aware of the fact that she was not - alone at that part of the ship. She saw two figures standing together on - the raised poop that covered the steam-steering apparatus at the farthest - curve of the stern. - </p> - <p> - She was amazed. She asked herself how it was possible that she had failed - to see them when she had looked astern a few minutes before. The figures - were of course shadowy in the strange mistily luminous atmosphere, but - they were sufficiently conspicuous in the place where they stood to make - her confident that, had they been there five minutes before, she would - have seen them. - </p> - <p> - She stood there wondering, the cushion which she had picked up hanging - from her hand, who the men were that had come so mysteriously before her - eyes an hour after the last of the passengers had, as she thought, - descended to their berths. - </p> - <p> - She could not recognise either of them. They were separated from her by - half the length of the stern. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she gave a little gasp. The cushion which she had held dropped - from her hand, for one of the figures made a movement, turning his back to - the low poop rail over which he had been leaning, and that moment was - enough, even in the pale light, to allow of her recognising the features - of Jack Norgate. - </p> - <p> - She gave a little cry of mingled wonder and joy, but before she had taken - even a step toward that tableau, she had shrieked out; for in the second - that separated her exclamations, the figure whom she saw in front of the - one she knew had sprung upon him, causing him to overbalance himself on - the low rail against which he was leaning, and to disappear over the side. - </p> - <p> - She shrieked and sprang forward; at that moment the second figure seemed - to fade away and to vanish into nothingness before her eyes. She staggered - diagonally across the deck astern, but before she had taken more than a - dozen blind steps her foot caught in the lashing of the tarpaulin which - was spread over a pile of deck chairs, and she fell forward. One of the - officers on watch, who had heard her cry, swung himself down from the roof - of the deckhouse and ran to her help. - </p> - <p> - “Good God! Miss Compton, what has happened anyway?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “There—there,” she gasped, pointing to the poop. “He went over the - side—a minute ago—there is still time to stop the steamer and - pick him up.” - </p> - <p> - “Who went over the side? No one was aft but yourself,” said the officer. - </p> - <p> - “It was Jack—Mr Norgate. Oh, why will you make no effort to rescue - him? I tell you that I saw him go over.” - </p> - <p> - The officer felt how she was trembling with excitement. She tried to rush - across the deck, but would have fallen through sheer weakness, if the man - had not supported her. He brought her to the seat at the side of the cabin - dome-light. - </p> - <p> - “You are overcome, Miss Compton,” he said. “You must calm yourself while I - look into this business.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not believe that I saw anything; but I tell you—oh, he will - be lost while you are delaying,” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing of the sort,” he said. “But for heaven’s sake sit here. Leave the - thing to me.” - </p> - <p> - He ran astern and made a pretence of peering into the distance of the - ship’s seething wake. He was wondering what he should do. The poor girl - was evidently the victim of a hallucination. Several weeks had passed - since her lover had disappeared, and all this time her grief at his loss - had been poignant. This thing that had happened was the natural result of - the terrible strain upon her nerves. Of course he never thought of awaking - the captain or of stopping the vessel. - </p> - <p> - While he was still peering over the taffrail, her voice sounded beside - him. - </p> - <p> - “Here—it was just here,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He turned about. - </p> - <p> - “Good Lord! Miss Compton, you should not have left your seat,” he cried. - “Let me help you down to the cabin.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you not seen him in the water?” - </p> - <p> - “There is no one in the water. In this light I would be able to see a - man’s head a mile astern. I will put my arm under yours and help you to - get below. Trust to me. We would all do whatever it was in our power for - your sake. We all sympathise with you. Shall I send a quartermaster for - the doctor?” - </p> - <p> - Viola had thrown herself down on the seat where he had placed her, and was - sobbing with her hands before her face. The man did his best to soothe - her. He made a sign to a quartermaster who had come aft to register the - patent log, and told him to send the ship’s doctor aft. He had no notion - of accepting the sole responsibility of soothing a young woman who was - subject to disquieting hallucinations. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes the doctor relieved him of his charge. Miss Compton had - become quite tranquil. Only now and again she gazed into the steamer’s - wake and pressed her hand to her side. She allowed herself to be helped - below in a short time, and did not refuse the dose of bromide which the - doctor thought it his duty to administer to her. - </p> - <p> - The next day the doctor and the fourth officer had a whispered conference. - They agreed that it would be better to say nothing to any of the other - passengers respecting Miss Compton’s hallucination. - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl—poor girl!” said the doctor. “I have been observing her - for some time, and I cannot say that I was surprised at what occurred last - night.. It is only remarkable that the breakdown did not happen sooner.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad that none of the rest of the ship’s company heard her when she - cried out,” said the officer. “Lord! you should have seen the look in her - eyes when she stretched out her hand and insisted that she had seen the - man topple over. I thought it well to do my best to humour her until I had - a chance of sending for you. I felt that it was on the cards that she - might throw herself over the side.” - </p> - <p> - “It was touch and go,” said the doctor. “Ah, poor girl!” - </p> - <p> - A week had passed before Viola reappeared among the passengers. Her mother - explained to kind inquirers that she had remained on deck quite too late - one night and had caught a chill. The doctor bore out her unimaginative - explanation of the girl’s absence, and added that it was much easier than - most people suspected to catch a chill south of the Line. When Viola was - at last permitted to come on deck she received many tokens of the interest - which her fellow-passengers had in her progress toward recovery. - </p> - <p> - It was not until the evening of her first day out of her cabin that Somers - contrived to get a word or two with her alone. - </p> - <p> - He was asking after her health when she turned upon him suddenly, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Mr Somers, it was you who threw Jack overboard!” - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” he cried, starting back from her. “For heaven’s sake, Viola, - do not say so monstrous a thing! What!—I—Jack———-” - </p> - <p> - “You did it,” she said firmly. - </p> - <p> - “My dear child, how on earth have you got hold of such a notion?” he asked - her. - </p> - <p> - “It was revealed to me that night—the night before I broke down,” - she replied. “I had been sitting alone in my deck chair, and I was at the - point of going below, when there—there on the poop at the side of - the wheel astern, the whole dreadful scene was revealed to me. I tell you - that I saw it all—Jack and you: I was not sure at first that the - second figure was you, but I know now that it was you. I saw Jack turn - round and lean against the rail, and that was the moment when you sprang - at him.” - </p> - <p> - The man took some steps away from her. - </p> - <p> - He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. He returned to her in a few - moments, and said— - </p> - <p> - “My dear child—oh, Viola! how is it possible for you to entertain so - horrible a thought? Jack Norgate—my best friend!” - </p> - <p> - “You hoped to marry me—he is your rival—you murdered him!” - </p> - <p> - Somers flung up his hands with an exclamation and hurried down to his - cabin. - </p> - <p> - The next day he came to her after tiffin. - </p> - <p> - “I want to speak a word to you apart,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She went with him very far forward. Only a few passengers were on deck, - and these were in their chairs astern. - </p> - <p> - “I want to confess to you,” he said in a low voice. “I want to confess to - you that it was I who threw Jack Norgate overboard.” - </p> - <p> - She started and stared at him. She could not speak for some time. At last - she was able to say in a whisper— - </p> - <p> - “You—you—murdered him?” - </p> - <p> - “I murdered him. The temptation came over me. Oh, Viola, you do not know - how I loved you—how I love you! My God!—should do it again if - I thought it would give me a chance of you.” - </p> - <p> - She continued staring at him, and then seated herself by his side. - </p> - <p> - “You—threw him overboard?” she whispered again. - </p> - <p> - “We were standing side by side on the poop deck far aft, watching the - tramp steamer on that night; the yacht was rolling—he slipped—I - gave him a push.... I have lost my soul for love of you, and you think the - sacrifice worthless.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it is too horrible—too terrible!” she said. “For me—for - me!” - </p> - <p> - He was silent. So was she. They sat together side by side for an hour. His - terrible confession had dazed her. She was the first to break the silence. - </p> - <p> - “Terrible—it is terrible!” she murmured. “Who could have told me - that there was any love such as this in the world?” - </p> - <p> - “It is my love for you,” he said quietly. “It is the love that dares all—all - the powers of time and eternity. I tell you that I would do it again; I - would kill any other man who came between us. But my crime has been - purposeless; we are to part for ever at Sydney in two days.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said. “It is better that we should part.” - </p> - <p> - She gave him her hand. He held it tightly for a moment, then dropped it - suddenly, and left her standing alone on the deck. - </p> - <p> - “Was there ever such love in the world?” she murmured. “But it is terrible—terrible!” - </p> - <p> - The next day she went to where he was sitting alone, far from the other - passengers. - </p> - <p> - “Mr Somers,” she said, “you will not really leave the yacht at Sydney?” - </p> - <p> - “If you tell me to stay, I will stay by the ship—I will stay by you, - and you shall know what love means,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she said, “I think I have learned that already.” - </p> - <p> - “My beloved—you tell me to stay?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe that you love me,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “My darling—my beloved! You are more to me than all the world—you - are dearer to me than my hope of heaven!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes: you have shown me that you are speaking the truth. It is very - terrible, but I know that it is the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “It is the truth. And I know that you love me.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if I ever loved any one else,” said she, after a pause—“that - is, I wonder if any one else ever loved me as you have done.” - </p> - <p> - That was all that passed between them at the time; but two days later his - hand was clasping hers as the steamer went past the Heads into the - loveliest harbour of the world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was very early in the morning when he left his cabin to go on deck. The - yacht was swinging at anchor. The sound of many voices came from the deck. - </p> - <p> - She was waiting to receive him at the door of his cabin. He put both his - hands out to her: she did not take even one of them. She stared at him. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you are the greatest scoundrel in the world,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Viola—dearest!” - </p> - <p> - “I say you are the greatest scoundrel that ever lived, for you tried to - obtain my love by telling me a lie—a lie—a horrible lie. You - did not murder Jack Norgate. He fell overboard by accident that night, - when no one was near him, and he was picked up by the ocean tramp which - you had been watching—not beside him, but on the bridge. You are a - wicked man. You told me that you murdered him, but you did nothing of the - sort. There he is, coming toward us. I did not tell him how false you - were, and I do not intend to tell him; but I know it for myself.” - </p> - <p> - “It was you yourself who suggested the thing to me,” said he. “Did you not - come to me accusing me of having murdered him? Did you not say that it had - been revealed to you in a vision?” - </p> - <p> - “A vision? Oh, I was in need of a dose of bromide—that’s all,” said - she. - </p> - <p> - Then Jack Norgate came up with the captain by his side. The hand that Mr - Somers offered him was limp and clammy. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s another of the ghost seers,” laughed Jack. “They all look on me as - a ghost aboard this craft.” - </p> - <p> - “It was a marvellous escape,” said the captain. “Luckily the tramp was a - fine old slow tub, and still more luckily she had a good look-out for one - hour only. Why, you couldn’t have been in the water for more than ten - minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “It seemed about a week to me, old man,” said Jack. “And as for the tramp—well, - we arrived at Sydney before you any way.” - </p> - <p> - The captain laughed. - </p> - <p> - “It was a providential escape,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “It was a providential escape,” said Viola, putting her arm through Jack’s - and walking away with him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - “MAGIC IN THE WEB OF IT.” - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> am so pleased - that it has come about, my dearest Madge,” said Mrs Harland. “I always - hoped that Julian would take a fancy—I mean that you—that you - would come to think tenderly of Julian. It was the one hope of my life. - What should I have done if he had come to me with a story of having fallen - in love with one of those horrid modern young women—the sort who are - for ever having their names in the papers about something or other—charities - and things? Charity has become the most effective means of - self-advertisement in these days.” - </p> - <p> - “If he had come to you saying that he loved such a girl, you—you - would have loved her too, you dear old thing!” cried Madge, kissing her on - both cheeks. - </p> - <p> - “Madge, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mrs Harland with dignity—the - dignity of the lady with a grievance. - </p> - <p> - “It is of yourself you would feel ashamed if your son came to you with a - tale of loving a girl—any girl—and you failed to see her - exactly with his eyes,” laughed Madge. “But I know you are glad that your - duty in this respect is so easy: you have always loved me, haven’t you? - How could you help it? When I think of how naughty I used to be; of the - panes in the greenhouse I used to break, playing cricket with Julian—panes - that involved no penalties; when I think of your early peas that I used to - steal and eat raw out of the pods; when I think of all the mischief I used - to put poor Julian up to, usually giving him a good lead over; and when I - reflect that not once did I ever receive more than a verbal reproof from - you, then I know that you could not help loving me,—it was not my - fault that you did not think of me as the greatest nuisance in the - county.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Harland laughed, though she had entered upon this interview with the - girl who was to be her daughter-in-law very seriously, and in by no means - a laughing spirit. - </p> - <p> - “I loved you always, because you were always a girl to be loved, and my - prayer day and night, dear, was that Julian would come to think so in good - time,” said she. “I was, I admit, slightly alarmed to find how very - friendly you and he always were: every one knows that nothing is so fatal - to falling in love as great friendliness.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Madge. “How funny it was that I should never think about - the matter at all! And yet I feel that I must always have loved him, just - as I do now. How could any one help it, my dearest mother?” - </p> - <p> - The fond mother of Julian Harland made no attempt to answer so difficult a - question. Some mothers may be able to formulate on economic grounds how it - is that young men do not find it impossible to resist the charms of their - numerous daughters; but the mother of an only son declines to entertain - the notion that he may fail to attract any girl who has had the good - fortune to appear attractive in his eyes. That was why Mrs Harland fully - acquiesced in Madge’s view of the irresistible qualities of Julian. - </p> - <p> - “He is a good boy, he has never been otherwise than a good boy,” she said. - “Still—well, I know that his future is safe in your keeping, my - Madge.” - </p> - <p> - She had heard of extremely good boys making extremely undesirable matches - with young women in tobacconists’ shops. It would seem as if every - university town must be overflowing with tobacconists’ shops, and as if - every tobacconist’s shop must be overcrowded with attractive young ladies; - one reads so much (in books written by ladies) of the undergraduate - victims to tobacconists’ girls. She felt glad that her son Julian had not - come to her from Oxford with a story of having made up his mind that he - could only be entirely happy if married to one of these. She felt that he - had been a really good son in choosing Madge Winston, the most beautiful - girl in the county, rather than a snub-nosed, golden-haired girl from - behind a tobacconist’s counter. Yes, he deserved great credit for his - discrimination. - </p> - <p> - “And I am doubly glad that you have become engaged just now,” she - continued. “You will keep him at home, Madge.” - </p> - <p> - “He has never shown any tendency to roam again,” said Madge, with an - inquiring look into Mrs Harland’s eyes. “He has often said that having had - his tiger-shooting in Kashmir, he is perfectly satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - “It was not that sort of shooting that was in my mind,” said Mrs Harland. - “But his father was a soldier—my father was a soldier. Look round - the hall, Madge—nothing but uniforms in every picture. That is why——” - </p> - <p> - “You are afraid that if this war breaks out in earnest——” - </p> - <p> - “That’s it—that’s it. He belongs to a race of soldiers. There has - not been a war since Blenheim between England and any other Power in which - a Harland and a Severn have not fought.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a splendid thing to be able to say; and yet Julian was content - with his Militia. Isn’t that strange?” - </p> - <p> - “It was for my sake, dearest Madge. I saw in his face before he was - sixteen the old racial longing to be a soldier, and I made an appeal to - him. He put his career away from him for my sake, Madge. He promised to - stay at home with me in my loneliness.” - </p> - <p> - “You were able to make such an appeal to him?” There was a suggestion of - surprise in the girl’s voice, and it carried with it a curious suggestion - of coldness as well. - </p> - <p> - “Was it selfish of me—was it, Madge? Oh! I dare say it was. Yes, it - must have been selfish; but think of my position, dear. He is all I have - in the world now. What would life be worth to me if he were away, or if he - were in danger? And then, think of his responsibilities. The property is - not a large one, and it requires careful treatment. You don’t think that I - was unreasonable, Madge?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh no, no,” said the girl. “You were right, quite right; only——” - </p> - <p> - “Only—only what, dear?” said Mrs Harland. “What is on my mind - exactly at this moment,” said Madge, “is, that I—I would not have - been strong enough to say that to him.” - </p> - <p> - “To say what to him, Madge?” - </p> - <p> - “What you said—to ask him to stay at home when he had his heart set - on being a soldier, as his father and as his grandfathers were. Even now—but - what’s the use of discussing a situation that cannot arise? Even if the - war breaks out, he is only a Militia captain, so that he cannot be called - on for duty in a campaign.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, the war will be over in a month or two, and there is no chance - of the Militia being called out; but it is just for the next month or so - that I have my fears—my fears, I should say. I have none now that I - know that you have promised to make him happy—to make <i>me</i> - happy. I had my fears that at the first sound of the trumpet in his ears - all the instincts of his house... Look at those uniforms in every picture - round the hall.... Ah, I was afraid that he might ask me to release him - from his promise.” - </p> - <p> - “And you knew that you would have released him without a word of demur,” - said Madge. “You know that you would do so, for you belong to a fighting - house, too. Bless me, I’m the only representative of civilianism among you - all. Oh, it is high time that the fighting Severns and the fighting - Harlands got a pacific element introduced among them.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I feel,” said Mrs Harland. “Madge, you will not allow him - ever to yield to that tradition of his house. I feel that so long as he is - by your side he is safe. One campaign at least will take place without a - descendant of the Harlands having anything to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - Before Madge had time to make a reply the gravel of the drive was sent - flying against the lowest panes of the room by the feet of a horse reined - in suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “Julian has returned with some important news,” said Madge, glancing - outside. - </p> - <p> - In another instant a man’s step sounded in the porch, and Julian Harland - entered the old oak hall with a newspaper in the same hand that held his - hunting crop. - </p> - <p> - “It has come at last!” he cried. “War! war! war!” - </p> - <p> - “England has declared war against the Transvaal!” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “On the contrary, it is Mr Kruger, the Boer farmer, who has declared war - against Great Britain!” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Mr Kruger!” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry—very sorry! War is terrible! I know what war means,” - said Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - “Sorry!—sorry!” cried her son. “Why, what is there to be grieved, - about? You’re not a friend of Mr Kruger’s, mother?” - </p> - <p> - “I know what war means,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “And I don’t,” said he. - </p> - <p> - There was something in his voice that suggested a sigh, and it seemed that - he was aware of this himself, for he threw his riding crop into a corner, - and cried out quite cheerily—“I’m happy to feel all the springs of - domesticity welling up within my bosom since you made me the happiest chap - in the county, my Madge. I have no greater ambition than to sit in a chair - at one side of the fire with you to look at, my Madge. How rosy you are, - my dear. What is keeping the lunch, mother? We must drink together - ‘Confusion to Kruger!’ His ultimatum—fancy a half-caste Dutch - peasant having the impudence to write an ultimatum to Great Britain!—it - expires to-day. We’ll not leave the hall till we are sure it has expired.” - </p> - <p> - He continued in this excited strain during lunch, and Madge found that she - too was in the same vein. War was in the air, and while the crowds in - London were cheering aloud and singing “God Save the Queen!” with flashing - eyes, the little group of three at the table in that old Somerset hall - stood up and drank to the success of the Queen’s soldiers in South Africa. - Around them on the oak panels were the pictures of Harlands in red coats, - Harlands in blue coats, Harlands in the demi-armour of the Stuarts, - Harlands in the chain mail of the Lancastrians. Every man of them carried - a sword and kept his eyes fixed on the living head of their house sternly, - anxiously. - </p> - <p> - And that was why Julian, after drinking to the toast which he had given a - moment before, remained on his feet with his glass still in his hand, and - with his eyes looking from picture to picture as though he had never seen - one of them previously in his life. - </p> - <p> - His mother watched him, so did Madge. - </p> - <p> - The glass dropped from his hand and was smashed in pieces on the floor, - and he fell back into his chair and gave a loud laugh. - </p> - <p> - “That’s Kruger!” he cried: “smashed!—smashed!—beyond recovery!—beyond - coaguline—smashed—and without a Harland raising his hand - against him,—that’s what they are saying—those Harlands that - have had their eyes fixed on me, as if I needed their prompting. Come - along, sweet womenfolk, and have a look at the sundial that Rogers - unearthed when digging the new rose-bed, where the remains of the old maze - were,—the date is carved on it, 1472 a.d. Just think of it, hidden - for perhaps three hundred years and only unearthed yesterday, at the very - hour that you promised to be my own Madge! A good omen! What does it mean - except that a new era for the old house is beginning? Come along, my - dearest.” - </p> - <p> - There was no great alacrity in Madge’s response to his challenge. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is father was - killed in the Soudan, having inherited the property when his elder brother - had been killed, a few years before, in Zulu-land. Four brothers, all of - them men of splendid physique, had been slain in battle within a space of - four years, and three widows and many children had been left desolate. - </p> - <p> - He knew the story of heroism associated with every one of the four, and he - knew the stories of the heroism associated with the death of his - grandfather at the Alma, and his greatgrandfather at Waterloo. That was - why he had taken it for granted from his earliest years that he was to be - a solder. It never occurred to him that there was any other destiny - possible for a Harland of the Hall. - </p> - <p> - But when his mother came to him one day and poured her plaint into his - ear, entreating him for her sake to think of himself as associated with a - happier fate, he had yielded to her, though he made no admissions in - regard to the comparative happiness involved in the fate of dying on the - field of battle, or as a senile fox-hunter after a protracted run to - hounds. He showed himself to be a dutiful son, and he went to Oxford and - then ate his dinners at the Temple, as he believed a reasonably aspiring - country gentleman should do if he wished to retain his self-respect. He - had also drilled every year with the Militia regiment in which he held a - commission, and was rapidly qualifying for the rank of major. - </p> - <p> - But during these years the country was engaged in no war that made any - great demand upon its resources: he had no great temptation to go against - the Afridis, and he felt sure that Khartoum could be reached by Kitchener - without his personal supervision. But his mother noticed a change upon him - as he read day by day of the probabilities of a war breaking out between - England and the Transvaal. A strange uneasiness seemed to have come over - him, and he talked of nothing except South Africa as a campaigning ground. - </p> - <p> - His mother became more uneasy than he was, and she was only in a measure - relieved when one day he came to her, telling her that he had asked Madge - Winston, the daughter of the Vicar of Hurst Harland, to marry him, and - that she had consented. Mrs Harland told him that he had made her the - happiest mother in the world; but from the chat, just recorded, which she - had with Madge in the hall before Julian had returned with the news of the - ultimatum, it will be gathered that she had still some misgivings. - </p> - <p> - They were strengthened by observing Julian’s strange behaviour during the - drinking of the toast. She saw the light that was in his eyes as he talked - a little wildly about the coming campaign. She had seen such a light in - the eyes of his father when talking of a coming campaign. She knew what it - meant. - </p> - <p> - She did not accompany Julian and Madge when they went out together to look - at the old pillar sundial which a gardener had dug up the day before. She - was happily able to make a reasonable excuse for staying behind: a servant - had just brought her a message to the effect that one of the lacemakers of - the village had come by appointment to see her. She had interested herself - for several years in the lacemaking, and was in the habit of getting old - pieces of her own splendid collection repaired by one of the cleverest of - the girls. - </p> - <p> - This girl was still in the hall when Julian and Madge were driven indoors - by a slight shower, and Mrs Harland showed them the piece of work which - she had had mended. It was a delicate handkerchief bordered with rosebuds, - and curiously enough, as Julian pointed out, the sprays arranged - themselves so as to form a constant repetition of the letter M. - </p> - <p> - “That stands for Madge, doesn’t it?” cried he. - </p> - <p> - “It stands for Medici,” said his mother. “This particular piece of lace - belonged to Marie de’ Medici, though no one ever noticed that the rosebuds - entwined themselves into the letter M.” - </p> - <p> - “I will buy the handkerchief from my mother for you, Madge,” he cried. - “Who knows what magic may be ‘in the web of it,’ like poor Desdemona’s! - These Medici were uncanny folk. The earlier ones certainly understood the - art of magic as practised by the highest authorities in the Middle Ages. - Yes, the M stands for Madge. Take it, dear, I won’t be so ungracious as to - add Othello’s charge to Desdemona about keeping it; and if I should find - it in a railway carriage or anywhere else in years to come, you may make - your mind easy. I’ll not strangle you on that account.” - </p> - <p> - “I got it mended on purpose for you, Madge,” said Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - “You are so good,” said the girl, spreading out the filmy thing - admiringly. “You know that there is nothing I love so well as lace, and - this design is the most perfect that could be imagined. A thousand thanks, - dearest mother.” - </p> - <p> - Julian seemed before the evening to have become quite resigned to staying - at home; and during the next few weeks, though he followed the progress of - the preparations for the campaign with great interest, pointing out what - he believed would be the plans of each of the divisional commanders to his - mother and Madge, yet he never semed to be unduly eager in the matter. He - seemed to look on the campaign in a purely academic spirit—merely as - a Kriegspiel,—and his mother’s fears vanished. She blessed the day - that Madge had come to the Hall. It was Madge, and Madge only, who had - succeeded in restraining his burning desire to be in the thick of the - fight. - </p> - <p> - But, then, following swiftly upon the news of the arrival of the First - Army Corps and the successes of the sorties from Ladysmith, which elated - the whole of England for some days, came like a thunderclap the news of a - disaster—a second disaster—a third! It seemed as if the - campaign was going to collapse before it had well begun. The change made - itself apparent in every part of England—in every household in - England, and in none more vividly than at Harland Hall. A change had come - over Julian; he had no word for any one; he walked moodily about the house - and the grounds, taking no interest in anything. He made an excuse for - going up to London for a day or two, and he returned with a mass of news. - The country had been taken by surprise in regard to the Boer preparations. - The campaign was going to be a long one, and every available man was to be - called out; he had it from good authority—the best authority in the - world. - </p> - <p> - His mother saw that the old light had come back to his eyes, and she - shuddered. - </p> - <p> - The next morning when Madge came downstairs she saw her sitting in the - hall, with her head bent down, her son standing over her with a paper in - his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Madge! Madge!” cried the mother, “you will tell him to stay; he is going - to leave us, but you will tell him to stay. He will stay if you implore of - him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said he, “I will stay if Madge asks me; but she will not ask me.” - </p> - <p> - “You will ask him—you will implore of him to stay, Madge, my - daughter!” cried Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. The girl had become deathly pale. She stood at - her chair at the table. She did not speak. - </p> - <p> - “Why are you silent?—why are you dumb?” cried the mother. “Will you - see him go forth to die, as all the others of his family have done in the - past? Cannot you understand what has happened? Oh! you have only just come - down. You have not heard the news: the last of the Reserves have been - called out, and volunteers are being called on from the Militia!” - </p> - <p> - “And I have volunteered,” said Julian in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - She was still deathly pale. Her hands grasped the carved back of the - chair. She did not speak. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Madge, you will tell him?” began Mrs Harland. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the girl, “I will tell him that I am proud of him—that - if he had remained at home now I would never have married him!” - </p> - <p> - She walked steadily across the hall and put both her hands out to him. He - took them in his own, and bent his head down to them, kissing each of - them. - </p> - <p> - Then he raised his head and looked round at the portraits in the panels, - and laughed. - </p> - <p> - He left the Hall in the evening. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the most - dismal Christmas that any one in England could remember. Here and there a - success had been snatched from the enemy; but the list of casualties - published every day made the morning papers a terror to read. The British - losses had passed the tenth thousand, and still Buller could not reach - Ladysmith and Methuen could not cross the Modder. It seemed as if the last - of the Egyptian plagues had fallen on England, and there was not a - household in which there was not one dead! - </p> - <p> - It was a dreary Christmas at Harland Hall. News had arrived a few days - previously of Julian’s safe arrival at the Cape and of his having taken - part in a skirmish on his way to the front. Every morning his mother and - Madge—who had come to stay at the Hall for another month—picked - up the newspaper and glanced with fearing eyes down the usual casualty - list. When they failed to find his name there they breathed again. There - was no thought of festivity in the Hall this Christmas Day, and it was a - relief to Madge as well as to Mrs Harland when bedtime came. Before going - to bed the girl sat for some time before the fire in her room, with - Julian’s portrait in her hand, and on her lap some of the things which his - hands had touched—a shrivelled November rose which he had discovered - on the last stroll they had together through the garden—a swan’s - feather which he had picked up and thrust with a laugh and a mock taunt - into her hair—the lace handkerchief which had been given to her on - the day of the outbreak of the war. She sat there lost in her own thoughts—praying - her own prayers. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she became aware of an unusual sound—a sort of tap at rare - intervals upon her window-pane. At first she fancied that it was a twig of - ivy which was being blown by the breeze against the window, but the next - time the sound came she felt sure that it could only be produced by a tiny - pebble flung up from the carriage drive. - </p> - <p> - For a few moments she was slightly alarmed. She quickly extinguished her - candle, however, and then went to the window, drawing the blind a little - way to one side and peering out. There was no moon, but the sky was full - of stars, and she knew that if any one was on the drive there was light - enough to make her aware of the fact. For some time, however, her eyes, - accustomed to the light of her room, were unable to make out any figure - below; but after waiting at the window for a few minutes, it seemed to her - that she could detect the figure of a man in the middle of the drive. - </p> - <p> - She shut out all the light of the fire behind her and continued peering. - Beyond a doubt there was a man outside. He was waving something white up - to her. In another instant she knew him. A terrible fear took hold upon - her, for she knew that she was looking out at a man in khaki uniform, and - she knew that that man was Julian Harland. And now she saw him distinctly - in the starlight: he was making signs to her, pointing to the porch and - walking in that direction. - </p> - <p> - She dropped the blind. There was no doubt whatever in her mind now: Julian - had returned suddenly, and for some reason he wished to be admitted into - the house secretly. - </p> - <p> - She stole down the broad shallow staircase into the hall, and by the light - of the glowing logs which smouldered in the big grate she found her way to - the oaken door that shut off the porch from the hall. She loosened its - chains as silently as possible, and opened it. Then she went through to - the porch and found herself standing opposite the studded hall door. There - she paused for an instant, asking herself if she should open it. - </p> - <p> - A low tap sounded on it from the outside. - </p> - <p> - “I am here,” she said in a low voice; “am I to open the door for you, - Julian?” - </p> - <p> - “Open, Madge, quick—quick, I am wounded,” he said. - </p> - <p> - With trembling fingers she unfastened the bolt, opened the door, and - allowed him to pass into the porch. - </p> - <p> - “O, my darling, have you been wounded?” she cried. She had not put herself - into his arms: she had a sense of his being wounded, and she was afraid of - hurting him by coming in contact with the wound. She felt his hand on - hers. - </p> - <p> - “It is really only a trifle, Madge,” said he; “you will be able to bind it - up for me, and you must not awaken poor mother. The shock of seeing me - might kill her.” - </p> - <p> - They went side by side into the hall, and he sank down with a sigh of - relief on the big settee before the fire. She broke up one of the - smouldering logs, and it glowed into a great flame which showed her that - his face was very pale and that he had grown a beard. - </p> - <p> - She was on her knees at his knees in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Dearest Julian!” she cried, with her arms about him, “how did you come - without sending me word? Oh, where are you wounded?” - </p> - <p> - “The arm—the right,” he said rather feebly. “It is only a flesh - wound, I know, but it was enough to knock me over, and it has been - bleeding badly. If you wash it and bind it up a bit, however, it will be - all right until the morning, when I can have it looked to.” - </p> - <p> - Slowly and painfully he raised his right arm. He had apparently slit up - the sleeve of his tunic, and the pieces fell away to the right and left of - his arm, showing her a wound black with coagulated blood. - </p> - <p> - “My poor boy—my poor boy!” she said. “I shall do my best with it; - but it is an ugly wound. Why should I not send a man to the surgery? Dr - Gwynne will come at once.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” he said; “I don’t want to make a fuss at this hour. You can - manage without outside help. Hadn’t you better light the candles?” - </p> - <p> - She sprang to her feet, and picking up one of the long chips from the log - basket, lighted it in the fire and then transferred the flame to two of - the old sconces at the side of the fireplace. As the light flickered on - him she saw that his tunic was torn and splashed, and that his putties - were caked with mire. No wayside tramp could be in a more dilapidated - condition than Julian was in. He had clearly been walking some distance; - and yet she could not recollect seeing any clay for miles around of the - same tint as that which was caked upon his garments. - </p> - <p> - She was about to ask him why he should not go upstairs to his own room - where she could attend to him properly, but she restrained her nurse’s - instinct to ask an irritated patient questions. She examined the wound and - said— - </p> - <p> - “I will wash it for you and bind it up till the morning. I shall get a - basin in my own room.” - </p> - <p> - “‘A ministering angel thou!’” he said, with a very wan smile. “By the way, - Madge, do you remember the lace handkerchief—the Medici - handkerchief?” - </p> - <p> - “I was looking at it only an hour ago,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “‘There’s magic in the web of it,” he said. “Fetch it and bind up my wound - with that cobweb drawn over rosebuds and I shall be all right.” - </p> - <p> - She hastened to her room, and in a few moments had picked out from a - drawer some soft linen, a bottle of arnica, and a pair of scissors. She - had attended ambulance classes, and had confidence in her own capacity to - deal with any ordinary “case.” Then she put the lace Medici handkerchief - with the other appliances, and, carrying a large china bowl with her water - jug, came quietly down the stairs once more. - </p> - <p> - He had fallen asleep on the settee, but in an instant he was awake. He was - plainly vigilant at once. - </p> - <p> - “It is beginning to feel a bit stiff, but that is on account of the - bleeding,” he said. “I knew I was doing wisely in awaking you only. I - couldn’t stand a fuss.” - </p> - <p> - “I will make no fuss,” she said, “and I shall hurt you as little as - possible. I will even refrain from asking you any questions.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right; I feel so sleepy,” said he. - </p> - <p> - In a deft and businesslike way she washed the clotted blood from the - wound, and she quickly perceived that it was only a deep flesh wound, but - it had bled a great deal and that had weakened him. She bandaged the arm - with layers of linen, and when the bandage was secure he cried— - </p> - <p> - “Now for the handkerchief—that will make me all right in a moment. - The earlier Medici were, I told you, wonderful folk, though the later——Ah, - you are a good girl.” - </p> - <p> - She knew that he must be humoured. She made no protest against using her - handkerchief in such a way. - </p> - <p> - “You have no idea how relieved I feel,” said he. “My dearest girl, I knew - that I would be safe in your hands. Now get me a big drink of water and I - shall be all right.” - </p> - <p> - She hastened to where a great cut-glass carafe and its goblet stood on the - oak sideboard. He gave an exclamation that suggested more than - satisfaction while the water was sobbing in the throat of the bottle, and - when he had drunk a clear pint he gave a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t had such a drink for weeks,” he said. “Now, dear girl, I’m - dying with sleep, and so, I fancy, are you.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not mean to sleep here?” she cried. “You will go to your own room, - Julian, dear; a fire has been lighted in it every day to keep out any - possible damp.” - </p> - <p> - “I couldn’t think of such luxury when so many of my poor comrades are - lying under the cold stars,” said he. “Don’t urge me, Madge; but go to - your own bed and sleep well.” - </p> - <p> - Even while she was still looking at him, he laid his head back among the - pillows of the settee and fell asleep. She waited by his side only for a - few moments, and then went quietly up to her room. She threw herself on - her knees by her bedside and wept tears of joy at the thought that he had - come safe home again, with only a wound that a few weeks would heal. - </p> - <p> - But when she had undressed and got into bed she could not help feeling - that his homecoming was strange beyond imagination. He had sent no - telegram, he had arrived with the stains of battle still on his uniform, - and, strangest of all, his wound was not an old one. Not many hours had - passed since he had sustained it. - </p> - <p> - What on earth was the explanation of all this? - </p> - <p> - She felt unequal to the task of working out the question. She felt that - all other thoughts should give place to the glorious thought that he was - safe at home. He would explain everything in the morning. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen she awoke this - thought was dominant. He was at home—safe—safe! - </p> - <p> - She listened at the door of his room to catch his cheery laughter with the - first of the servants who might discover him. But no such sound came to - her ears. She was nearly dressed when Mrs Harland entered her room. - </p> - <p> - “Well!” she cried. “Well! you have seen him? Good heavens, why do you look - at me in that way? Have you not seen him?” - </p> - <p> - “Dear Madge,” said Mrs Harland, “your eyes have a strange gleam in them. - What do you mean by asking me if I have seen him—<i>him?</i> Is - there more than one <i>him</i> for me and for you?” - </p> - <p> - “But he came here late last night, he threw pebbles up at that window, and - I let him into the hall and bound up a wound of his—a flesh wound - only. I left him sleeping on the settee.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Harland stared at her. - </p> - <p> - “My poor Madge!” she said. “You have had a vivid dream. How could he - possibly have been here when not a week has passed since we got a - cablegram from him? It would take him a week to get back to Cape Town - alone.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t try to explain anything,” said she. “Only he came into the hall - as sure as we stand here together, and I bound up his wound—just - below the elbow of the right arm. If I did not do so, where is the lace - handkerchief? Here are all the things I was looking at before I heard the - sound of the pebbles on the window, and the Medici handkerchief was there - too. Where is it now?” - </p> - <p> - “Poor child! Poor Madge!” cried Mrs Harland. “You must try to keep your - thoughts away from him for a day or two. You and I need a change of scene - badly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; I am not going mad, I can assure you, my dearest mother,” said - Madge. “I tell you that—where is the handkerchief?” - </p> - <p> - “There is the breakfast gong,” said Mrs Harland. “I believe you, dear; you - were with him in heart.” - </p> - <p> - Madge laughed, and went downstairs. She gave a glance at the sconce in - which she had lighted the candles; it contained four candles burnt down to - the sockets. - </p> - <p> - The papers had no special news; but later in the day two telegrams - arrived. One was for Mrs Harland, the other for Madge. - </p> - <p> - They tore open the covers with palpitating fingers. - </p> - <p> - The first dispatch said: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Flesh wound—very slight.</i>” The second—that addressed to - Madge—said: “<i>Thank you, dearest</i>.” They exchanged telegrams, - but not a word. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - He was invalided home after acting as escort to Cronje down to Cape Town, - and saving a gun at Reddersburg (mentioned in despatches), but no one - alluded to the wound which he had sustained on Christmas Day in a skirmish - at the Modder. - </p> - <p> - One evening, however, when he was able to sit outside the house, Madge - turned to him, saying: “What did you mean by sending me that telegram, ‘<i>Thank - you, dearest?</i>” - </p> - <p> - He gave a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you have still by you that Medici handkerchief?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I must plead as Desdemona - did about hers, it disappeared mysteriously. I cannot produce it for you, - my lord.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, now I should get as mad as any Othello,” said he, “but on second - thoughts I will refrain.” - </p> - <p> - “Listen, dear Julian,” she said. “I am resolved to confess all to you, - though you may think me a bit of a fool. Listen: on Christmas night I went - to my room and seated myself before the fire, thinking of you, dearest,—your - portrait was in my hands, and on the table were some of the treasures your - hands had touched, the handkerchief among them. Then I heard—I - seemed to hear—no, I prefer to tell the truth—I actually heard - the sound of a pebble flung against my window. I looked out, I saw you on - the drive, and I went downstairs and opened the hall door for you. You - were wounded just where you were actually wounded—and I bound up - your arm with the handkerchief and went to bed. In the morning there was - no sign of your having been here, but—but—the handkerchief was - gone. Don’t think me a goose.” - </p> - <p> - “A goose? Heavens! a goose!” he cried. “Listen to my story, dear. When I - was wounded in that scrimmage, I fainted through loss of blood, and when I - recovered my senses I went in search of the ambulance tent. It was late - before I came across a transport waggon, which had been disabled by a - shell. I crept inside it, but found nothing there, and I was dying of - thirst. And then—then—you came to me with bandages and water—plenty - of water in the cut-glass carafe that stands on the sideboard. You lighted - a candle, bound up my arm, and left me comfortably asleep, where I was - found by our ambulance in the morning. Yes, that’s the truth, and that is - why I sent you the telegram, and this is the handkerchief with the stains - upon it still.” - </p> - <p> - He drew the lace handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She - gazed at it, but he only laughed and said— - </p> - <p> - “I told you ‘there’s magic in the web of it.’” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BASELESS FABRIC - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>is sorry that - you’ll be to hear that ould Denny Callan is dead, sir,” said the - station-master—he was, strictly speaking, the junction-master—at - Mallow, to whom I had confided my hopes of eventually reaching my - destination at St Barter’s, in the same county. He had been courteously - voluble, and sometimes even explicit, in giving me advice on this subject; - he also took an optimistic view of the situation. All things considered, - and with a moderate share of good luck, I might reasonably hope to reach - St Barter’s House within a couple of hours. That point, which was becoming - one of great interest to me, being settled, he thought that he was - entitled to assume that I should be grieved to hear of the death of “ould - Denny Callan.” He assumed too much. I had never heard the name of the - lamented Mr Callan. I could not pretend to be overwhelmed with grief at - the news that some one was dead whom I had never heard of being alive. - </p> - <p> - “Tubbe sure, you’re a stranger, sir—what am I thinking of at all—or - you’d know all about the road to St Barter’s,” said the official. “Oh, but - you’d have liked ould Denny, sir, if you’d but have known him. A more - harmless crayture you couldn’t find, search high or low. ‘Tis a great - favourite that he was with the gentlemen—ay, and for that matter, - the ladies—though I wouldn’t like to say a word against him that’s - gone. Oh, they all come away from St Barter’s with a good word for Denny. - Well, well, he’s at rest, and I don’t expect that you’ll have to wait much - longer for your train, sir.” - </p> - <p> - When I had got out of my compartment in the express from Dublin an hour - before, I was told that I should only have to wait for ten minutes to make - the connection that would take me on to Blarney—the station for St - Barter’s—but the train which was reputed to be able to perform this - service for me had not yet been signalled. After the lapse of another - twenty minutes I began to think that the stationmaster had taken too - roseate a view of my future. It did not seem likely that I should, in the - language of the ‘Manual,’ “attain my objective” that day. - </p> - <p> - I had reached a stage of bewildering doubt, which was not mitigated by the - arrival at the junction of a long train, and the announcement of the guard - to the passengers, “Change here for Ameriky,”—it was explained to me - that the train was full of emigrants bound for America via Queenstown,—when - the station-master bustled up to tell me that the Blarney special had just - been signalled from Kilmallock—the Blarney special was getting on - very well, and with good luck should be available for passengers from - Mallow within half an hour. - </p> - <p> - The good luck on which this estimate was founded was not lacking. My train - crawled alongside the platform only five minutes over the half-hour, and - the official wished me a continuance of good luck, adding— - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn’t be like going back to the same place now that poor ould Denny - is gone, if you had ever been there before, sir. Best his sowl! ‘Tis the - harmless crayture that he was. You’ll be sorry that you didn’t know him, - sir, when you find the place a bit lonesome.” - </p> - <p> - I was half-way to Blarney before my sluggish mind was able to appreciate - the contingencies suggested by the station-master. I had never before been - to St Barter’s, but if I had ever been there I should regret my returning - to the place now that a certain person, of whose existence I had been - unaware, was gone. That was how I worked out the matter, and before I had - concluded the operation I had become quite emotional in regard to the - demise of Denny. I shook my head mournfully at the thought that I should - never see him—that I had come too late—too late! I had no idea - that the local colour, which is associated by tradition with this - neighbourhood, was so potent; but, indeed, when the obliging - station-master at Blarney, who entered into conversation with me while the - porter was looking after my luggage, remarked— - </p> - <p> - “So poor ould Denny is gone at last, sir!” I shook my head sadly. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Denny! poor old Denny!” I said with a sigh. “Ah, we’ll all miss - poor old Denny. He was the most harmless man—St Barter’s will not be - the same without him.” - </p> - <p> - The station-master did his best to comfort me for half an hour—that - was the exact space that I had to wait for the car which was to carry me - to St Barter’s. When it did arrive, the excuse given by the red-haired boy - who had charge of the “wee mare” was that it was a grand wake entirely - that Denny had last night. - </p> - <p> - He told me more about it (with statistics of certain comestibles, mostly - liquid) when driving along one of the loveliest roads possible to imagine, - past the grey square tower of Blarney Castle, embowered among its trees, - and on by the side of the greenest slopes I had ever seen, beneath the - branches of one of the groves renowned in history and in song. A broad - stream flowed parallel with the road, and every glimpse that I had through - the trees on both sides was of emerald hills—some in the distance, - others apparently sending their soft ridges athwart the road. I felt that - at last I was in Ireland. - </p> - <p> - On the side of a gracious slope, gradually approached by broad zigzag - drives which follow the swelling curves of long grassy billows, the - buildings of St Barter’s stand. They are neither venerable nor imposing—only - queer. It seemed to me that everybody must have been concerned in their - construction except an architect. But the compiler of a guide-book could, - with every desire to be economical of his space, fill half a dozen pages - with a description of the landscape which faces the windows of the front. - The green terraces below the gardens dip toward the brink of a glen - through which a trout stream rushes, and the woods of this sylvan hollow - straggle up the farther slope, and spread over it in a blaze of autumnal - gold that glows half through the winter. Where the wooded slopes and the - range of green hills begin, undulating into a soft distance of pasturages, - with here and there a white farmhouse shining out of the shadow of an - orchard, and at the dividing line of the low slopes, the turret of Blarney - Castle appears above the dark cloud of its own woods. - </p> - <p> - Before I found myself facing this entrancing landscape, I could not for - the life of me understand why my client, who might have lived where she - pleased, should spend half the year at St Barter’s. But now I understood, - and I took back the words which I had spoken more than once, when in - mid-channel the previous night. A family solicitor may be pardoned for - occasionally calling a client a fool. I had called several of my most - valued clients by this name. I did so for the same reason that Adam gave - for calling the fox a fox—because it was a fox. But I had never to - retract until now. “Hydros” are horrors as a rule, but St Barter’s is a - beatitude. - </p> - <p> - A couple of hours after lunch—the water which was placed on our - table was as exhilarating as champagne—sufficed for the transaction - of the business which had brought me to Ireland, and I was free to return - by the night train. I had, however, no mind to be so businesslike; for the - scenery had clasped me tightly in its embrace, and in addition I found - that the resident medico had been in my form at Marlborough, and I was - delighted to meet him again. I had lost sight of him for nine or ten - years. - </p> - <p> - It was by the side of Dr Barnett that I strolled about the grounds and - learned something of the history of the curious old place. - </p> - <p> - “Rambling? I should think it is rambling,” he said, acquiescing in my - remark. “How could it be anything else, considering the piecemeal way in - which it was built? It was begun by a very brilliant and highly practical - physician more than fifty years ago. When the house, as it was then, was - fully occupied, and he got a letter from a person of quality inquiring for - rooms, he simply put the inquirer off for a week, then set to, built on a - few more rooms, and had them ready for occupation within the time stated. - This went on for several years. If the Lord Lieutenant had written for a - suite of apartments he would have had them ready in ten days. That sort of - thing produces this style of architecture. St Barter’s is the finest - example extant of the pure rambling. But it is the healthiest place in the - world. People come here expecting to die within a fortnight, and they live - on for thirty years.” - </p> - <p> - “But now and again there is a death,” said I. “What about poor ould Denny? - The most harmless crayture——” - </p> - <p> - Dr Barnett stared at me. - </p> - <p> - “Was it in the London papers?” he cried. “Oh, I see; you have been talking - to the driver of the car. Poor ould Denny! He was everybody’s friend.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet quite harmless? The place will never seem the same to me as it - would have done if I had not arrived too late to see Denny. Was he your - assistant, or what?” - </p> - <p> - The doctor laughed. - </p> - <p> - “He was simply ‘poor ould Denny!”’ he said. “That was his profession. It - was pretty comprehensive, I can tell you. He was here when the house would - be overcrowded with ten guests. He roofed a whole wing with his own hands. - Then he dug the pit for the gasometer, thirty years ago, and he lived to - dam the trout stream that works the dynamo for the electric light. He was - also an accomplished <i>masseur</i>, and set up the hatchery that supplied - the stream with trout.” - </p> - <p> - “His name should have been Crichton, not Callan. Anything else?” - </p> - <p> - “He could do tricks on the billiard table, and he knew all that there is - to be known about hair-cutting.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that all?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s all—no, stay! he was a sculptor’s model for some time. I can - show you the result of his labours in this direction, if you would care to - see it.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly should care to see it.” - </p> - <p> - “Come along, then.” - </p> - <p> - He led me half-way round the building, from where the two storeys of the - centre block dwindled away to the single bedroom sheds of one wing. We - passed by the side of the terrace garden, and I made a remark respecting - the fine carving on some of the stone vases. - </p> - <p> - “They were the work of the sculptor who chose Denny for his model,” said - the doctor. “Here we are.” - </p> - <p> - I followed him between two fine cedars, and in another instant we were - face to face with a very striking colossal figure of a man holding aloft a - goblet. The head and the torso were very powerful, but the latter was - joined on to a conventional Greek pedestal, at the foot of which there - peeped out four tiny hoofs of satyrs. - </p> - <p> - “What do you think of it? my friend inquired?” I told him that I thought - there was a good deal of strength in the modelling of the figure, but I - could not understand the satyrs’ hoofs. - </p> - <p> - “I take it for granted that the sculptor left the hair unfinished,’ I - added; for one could not help remarking the roughness of the masses at the - top of the head. The sculptor had merely blocked out the heavy locks of - hair; he had made no attempt to define them. - </p> - <p> - “The story of the work is rather a sad one,” said the doctor. “The - sculptor was a nephew of the man who built this place. He had worked in a - good studio in Italy, and was, I believe, a pupil of the distinguished - Irishman, Foley. He was devoted to his profession, and exhibited in some - of the London galleries. But every one knows that it is very difficult to - make a name—and a profit—as a sculptor, and he realised this - truth only when he had spent the greater part of his small patrimony. He - came here, and built for himself that cottage which you see at the other - side of the terrace, and, in order to keep himself employed, he carved all - these vases and urns which you have been admiring. Unfortunately, however, - among the doctor’s patients at the house there was a wealthy linen - merchant from Ulster—one of that vulgar crowd who had become - suddenly prosperous when the American Civil War prevented the export of - cotton from the southern ports; and this gentleman, meeting the sculptor - daily, and feeling probably that he would like to pose before the world as - a patron of Art, gave him a commission to execute a colossal figure to - support a lamp at the entrance to the new house which he was building for - himself. He made no stipulation as to the design, only the cost was not to - exceed a thousand pounds, and the work was to be ready within a year. Of - course, the poor sculptor was delighted. He accepted the commission, and, - thinking of the artistic rather than the business side of the transaction, - never dreamt of drawing up an agreement with his generous patron. Before a - month had passed, he had obtained his material and made his clay sketches. - Looking about for a model for the figure, he was struck by the fine - proportions of Denny, and had no difficulty in inducing him to add to his - other occupations the more restful one of a sculptor’s model. For several - months the work progressed satisfactorily, and it was very near its - completion, when the model contracted a malady which necessitated the - shaving of his head and interrupted his sittings. The sculptor was not - greatly inconvenienced, however. He turned his attention for some weeks to - the carving of the pedestal, and got that completed before his model was - able to resume his sittings. But even then the sculptor could only deal - with the torso, for Denny’s crown was as bald as an egg. In a couple of - months, however, the doctor assured him that he would have as luxuriant a - crop as would qualify him to pose for one of the artists who produce the - advertisements for hair-restorers. The work was now practically finished. - As the model remarked, the edifice only needed the thatch to be put on the - roof to make it presentable. Then the proud artist wrote to his patron, - telling him that his commission was executed, and inviting him to come and - see it. After the lapse of a week or two the patron arrived, and was - conducted by the sculptor to view his masterpiece. The patron viewed it in - silence for some minutes, and then burst into a fit of laughter. ‘Man, - dear!’ he managed at last to gasp in the raucous accent of his native - province—‘Man, dear! what’s that thing, anyway? Tell us what it is, - if you can. A Greek figure? They must have had funny figures, them Greeks, - if they had feet like yon. You must take me for a queer fool if you fancy - that I’d let the like o’ yon stand fornenst my house. You may make a fool - of yourself as much as you please, but I’ll take good care that you don’t - make a fool of me!’ What could a refined man say to a brute like this? - Well, he said nothing. He stood there in silence, with his eyes fixed upon - the face that he had carved, and the patron left him staring at it. He - stared at it all day, and the doctor, walking round the garden that night, - saw him staring at it in the moonlight, and led him away to the cottage, - and sent him to bed. He never rose from that bed, except once. Two days - later, his housemaid entered his room and found him kneeling at his window—the - statue could be seen where he had placed it—where it now stands—and - he was quite dead.” - </p> - <p> - I could not speak for some time after the doctor had told me the story, - for I felt that it was the saddest I had ever heard. - </p> - <p> - “His heart was broken,” I said. “But perhaps you will tell me that science - has proved that such a rupture is impossible.” - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you nothing of the sort,” said he. “A broken heart is the - best possible way to describe the effect upon a sensitive brain of such a - shock as the sculptor sustained. His heart was broken. I am sorry that I - hadn’t a livelier story for you. People come to Ireland expecting to be - amused; but it seems to me that the history of the island from the - earliest times is one prolonged lament. The finest music of the national - melodies is to be found in the most mournful.” - </p> - <p> - I stood with my eyes fixed upon the statue. - </p> - <p> - “Strange, isn’t it, that I should arrive here to be told that pitiful - story within an hour or two of the death of the model?” said I. “The poor - artist! I am sure that he felt that he was immortalising Denny; and yet—I - suppose that in a year or two no one will know anything either of the - sculptor or his model. Perhaps the vulgarity of the Ulster patron is, - after all, the most enduring of all the qualities that went to the - production of this work.” - </p> - <p> - “The patron eventually became one of the most distinguished bankrupts of - his generation,” said Dr Barnett. “He died a few years ago, but vulgarity - did not die with him. Yes, I think you are right—vulgarity is - immortal.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if our friend Denny was proud to be reproduced in the stone, or - was he mortified at the result of his first connection with art?” I - remarked, while we were strolling back to the house. - </p> - <p> - “He took an interest in the thing up to the very last,” replied the - doctor. “I have often seen him take a surreptitious glance at it, and pass - away from it, stroking his head mournfully. He confided in me once that - his sorrow was that the sculptor had not lived to reproduce his fine head - of hair; and I know that he believed that it was the unfinished state of - the crown of the figure that brought about its rejection. His widow told - me only yesterday that this was the greatest trouble of his last hours. - You see, the figure was a record of his early manhood, but the pride that - he had in looking at it must have been chastened by the feeling that it - did not do justice to his curls—his one vanity was his curly head. - He was nicknamed in Irish ‘The curly-headed boy.’ It was pathetic to hear - his widow repeat the phrase over his body when I visited her in her - trouble yesterday. ‘He was my curly-headed boy—my curly-headed boy - will never know the touch of my comb again!’ she wailed in Irish.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Denny!” said I. - </p> - <p> - “That seems by one consent to be his most appropriate epitaph,” said the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - After dinner that night I played a very pleasant rubber of whist with my - client, and the doctor and his wife. When the party separated I went to - the billiard-room with Barnett, and we played a hundred up. Lighting a - cigar then, I strolled out alone upon the terrace, the doctor having gone - to his room. The night was a brilliant one, and the landscape lay bare and - white beneath the moonlight, which flooded the far-off hills and spread a - garment of filigree over the foliage of the glen and of the slope beyond. - Beneath its brilliance the trout stream, whose voice came fitfully through - the brooding silence of the night, flashed here and there among the trees. - The square tower of the Castle shone like marble in the distance. From one - of the farms of the hillside the faint sound of a dog’s bark reached my - ears. - </p> - <p> - I seated myself on one of the terrace chairs, languidly smoking my cigar - and breathing the strong perfume of the stocks of the garden. I confess - that my mind was dwelling upon the story of that queer piece of sculpture - before which I had stood in the afternoon. It was as sad a story as that - of the poet Keats, only the brutal criticism of the sculptor’s patron was - more savage than the ‘Quarterly Review’ which had bludgeoned the fine poet - to the death. But my sympathy was not given to the artist so fully as to - leave no pity to bestow upon his model, who had lived on for thirty or - forty years with his humble grievance. I could appreciate the feelings of - poor old Denny all the years that he had laboured beneath the burden of - being handed down in effigy to coming generations shorn of his greatest - glory. The one who was known to all men as the curly-haired hoy was doomed - to stand before the eyes of all comers as the possessor of shapeless, - matted locks that were not locks at all! - </p> - <p> - He was not made of the same fibre as the artist; he had not broken down - beneath the weight of that reflection; but I knew it must have been a - heaviness to him all his days. - </p> - <p> - I remained seated in the moonlight for a long time, and just as I thought - that I should turn in, I noticed a figure crossing the little grassy slope - toward the garden. It was, I perceived, the figure of a man, and he was - wearing what I took at first to be an ordinary night suit of light silk; - but before he had gone a dozen steps I perceived that his garment was a - painter’s blouse. He moved silently over the grass, and I could not help - feeling, as I had often done before, how a glance of moonlight on a figure - may produce such an effect of mystery as can never be gained in daylight. - I assumed that the object which was passing away among the flower-beds was - one of the household staff on duty—a watchman, it might be, or a - gardener going to regulate the heating apparatus in a greenhouse. And yet, - looking at him from my seat, he seemed as weird and unsubstantial as a - whiff of mountain mist. - </p> - <p> - I rose from my place, and was about to walk round to the entrance to the - house and get to bed, when I became aware of another figure moving through - the moonlight along the grassy terrace. I gave an exclamation of surprise - when I saw that this one was half nude and white—white as the stone - of the statue beyond the trees—there, it moved—<i>the statue - itself</i>—-I saw it—the figure of the man with his hands held - aloft—the features were the same—the proportions of the body—only - this one was more perfect than the other, for he had a mass of curly locks - clustering over his head like the curls of the Herakles of the Vatican. - </p> - <p> - And even while I stood there watching him, the figure passed away among - the trees. - </p> - <p> - I waited in such a state of amazement as I had never experienced before. I - had the sensation of being newly awakened; but I knew that I had not - fallen asleep for a moment. I was not afraid; only, finding myself in a - situation to which I was unaccustomed, I did not know what I should do. It - took me some minutes to collect myself. - </p> - <p> - Through the stillness I became aware of a curious dull tapping sound—there - it went, tap, tap, tap; then a slight pause, and again tap, tap, tap, tap. - </p> - <p> - A dog behind the house gave a prolonged howl, and along the path below me - a fox-terrier, which I had seen during the day, scurried, its tail between - its legs, and every limb trembling. - </p> - <p> - “Tap, tap, tap”—a pause—“tap, tap, tap, tap.” - </p> - <p> - My mind was made up. I went cautiously along the terrace in the direction - of the garden. I found myself walking stealthily on my toes, as though I - was anxious not to disturb someone who was desirous of quiet; and as I - went on, the sounds of the tapping became more distinct. Almost before I - knew it, I reached that part of the grassy terrace which commanded a view - of the garden; and in an instant I was standing still. I could hear the - beating of my own heart as I saw, under my very eyes, not twenty yards - away, three figures, equally white and shadowy. - </p> - <p> - The nearest to me was of the half-naked man with the head of curls; the - one in the middle was in exactly the same posture—it was the figure - of the statue; and the third was the one which I had seen wearing the long - white blouse, and this was the only one of the three that moved. He was - standing, as it seemed, on the ledge of the pedestal, and a sculptor’s - chisel was in one hand and a mallet in the other. He was working at the - head of the statue, every now and again glancing at the head of the model, - pausing while he did so, and beginning to work again after the lapse of a - second or two. - </p> - <p> - I stood there on the terrace watching this strange scene, and the curious - part of it was that it did not seem in the least degree curious to me - while it was being enacted. On the contrary, I had a distinct sense of - harmony—of artistic finish—the pleasurable sensation of which - one is conscious on the completion of the <i>leit motif</i> of a symphony,—that - is how I can best express what my feelings were at the time. During the - hour that I remained there it never occurred to me that I should draw any - nearer to the shadowy group. As a matter of fact, I believe that there was - uppermost in my mind an apprehension that it was necessary for me to keep - very still, lest I should interfere with the work. I have had precisely - the same feeling when in the studio of a painter while he was at work and - I was watching him. But I could not leave the place where I stood, so long - as that scene was being enacted in the silence, and the three figures were - equally silent. The night knew no sound except that caused by the - chiselling of the stone. - </p> - <p> - An hour must have passed—perhaps more than an hour—and then, - still in silence, the sculptor threw his chisel and his mallet to the - ground. I heard the little thud which each gave on the turf. Then he - sprang to the ground; but his feet made no sound in alighting. I stood on - the terrace and watched him and his model move away across the garden as - silently as they had come, and disappear among the trees at the entrance - to the glen. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - The next morning when I had breakfasted I sought my friend Dr Barnett, and - told him my experience of the night. He did not smile. But he was strictly - scientific. We were smoking together on one of the paths bordered by - laurels, and when I had told him all that I had to tell, he put his hand - on my arm, saying— - </p> - <p> - “My dear boy, the phenomena of ghosts are invariably interesting, and, on - the whole, not more perplexing than other natural phenomena. Sometimes - they are due to one cause, sometimes to another. Most frequently they must - be attributed to the projection of an image upon the eye from within, not - from without. Now, in your case—but we had better stroll round to - the scene of your illusion.” - </p> - <p> - We went together across the lawn in the direction of the companion cedars, - and he continued his discourse. - </p> - <p> - “All that you have told me interests me greatly, showing as it does how, - under certain conditions, the most admirably balanced brain may become - what I may call sensitised—susceptible as a photographic plate to an - image——” - </p> - <p> - At this point his speech was arrested. We had passed between the cedars, - and the statue was facing us. The doctor was gazing up at it. - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens!” he said in a whisper; “he has finished it!” - </p> - <p> - I looked up and saw that the head of the figure was covered with curls. - </p> - <p> - “He has finished it—he has finished it,” the doctor whispered again. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” I said, “he has finished it. I saw him do it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BLACK AS HE IS PAINTED. - </h2> - <h3> - I. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he houses which - constitute the town of Picotee—in the Gambia region a commendable - liberality of spirit prevails as to the requisite elements of a town—were - glistening beneath the intolerable rays of the afternoon sun. To the eyes - of all aboard the mail steamer <i>Penguin</i>, which had just run up a - blue-peter in the anchorage, the town seemed of dazzling whiteness. It was - only the inhabitants of Picotee who knew that the walls of the houses were - not white, but of a sickly yellow tinge; consequently, it was only the - inhabitants who knew how inappropriate it was to allude to their town as - the “whited sepulchre”—a term of reproach which was frequently - levelled against it rather on account of the appalling percentage of - mortality among its inhabitants than by reason of the spotlessness of the - walls, though they did appear spotless when viewed from the sea. In the - saloon of the <i>Penguin</i> the thermometer registered 95°, and when the - passengers complained to the captain of the steamer respecting the - temperature, holding him personally responsible for every degree that it - rose above 70°, he pointed across the dazzling blue waters of the - anchorage to where the town was painfully glistening, and asked his - complainants how they would like to be there. - </p> - <p> - It was universally believed that when the captain had put this inquiry, - the last word had been said regarding the temperature: he, at any rate, - seemed to fancy that he had relieved himself from all responsibility in - the matter. - </p> - <p> - At Picotee things were going on pretty much as usual. But what is progress - at Picotee would be regarded as stagnation elsewhere. - </p> - <p> - There was a fine suggestion of repose about the Kroomen who were dozing in - unpicturesque attitudes in the shade of the palms on the ridge nearest to - the beach; and even Mr Caractacus Brown, who, being one of the merchants - of the place,—he sold parrots to the sailors, and would accept a - contract for green monkeys from the more ambitious collectors of the fauna - of the West Coast,—was not supposed to give way to such weaknesses - as were exhibited by the Kroomen—even Mr Caractacus Brown wiped his - woolly head and admitted to his neighbour, Mr Coriolanus White, that the - day was warm. Having seen Coriolanus selling liquid lard by the spoonful, - he could scarcely do otherwise than admit that the temperature was high. - Devonshire cream was solid in comparison with the lard sold at Picotee. - But, in spite of the heat, a pepper-bird was warbling among the bananas, - and its song broke the monotony of the roar of the great rollers that - broke upon the beach—a roar that varies but that never ends in the - ears of the people of Picotee. - </p> - <p> - Dr Claude Koomadhi, who occupied a villa built on the lovely green slope - above the town, opened the shutters of the room in which he sat, and - listened to the song of the pepper-bird. Upon his features, which seemed - as if they were carved out of black oak and delicately polished, a - sentimental expression appeared. His eyes showed a large proportion of - white as he sighed and remarked to his servant, who brought him a glass of - iced cocoanut milk, that the song of the pepper-bird reminded him of home. - </p> - <p> - “Of ‘ome, sah?” said the old woman. “Lor’ bress yah, sah! dere ain’t no - peppah-buds at Ashantee.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi’s eyes no longer wore a sentimental expression. They flashed - when the old woman had spoken, but she did not notice this circumstance. - She only laid down the tumbler on the table, hitched up her crimson shawl, - and roared with negress’ laughter. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t understand, Sally. I said home—England,” remarked the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, beg pardung, sah; thought yah ‘looded to Ashantee,” said the old - woman as she rolled out of the room, still uttering that senseless laugh. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi did not seem to be greatly put out by that reminder of the - fact that Ashantee was his birthplace. He threw himself back in his cane - chair and took a sip from the tumbler. He then resumed his perusal of the - ‘Saturday Review’ brought by the <i>Penguin</i> in the morning. - </p> - <p> - He did not get through many pages. He shook his head gravely. He could not - approve of the tone of the political article. It suggested compromise. It - was not Conservative enough for Dr Koomadhi. He began to fear that he must - give up the ‘Saturday.’ It was clearly temporising with the enemy. This - would not do for Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - He took another sip of cocoanut milk, and then began pacing the room. He - was clearly restless in his mind; but, perhaps, it would be going too far - to suggest that he was perturbed owing to the spirit of compromise - displayed in the political article which he had just read. No; though a - staunch Conservative, he was still susceptible of a passion beyond the - patriotic desire to assist in maintaining the integrity of the Empire. - This was the origin of his uneasiness. He had been awake all the previous - night thinking over his past life, and trying to think out his future. The - conclusion to which he had come was that as he had successfully overthrown - all the obstacles which had been in his path, to success in the past, - there was no reason why he might not overthrow all that might threaten to - bar his progress in the future. But, in spite of having come to this - conclusion, he was very uneasy. - </p> - <p> - He did not become more settled when he had gone to a drawer in his - writing-desk and had taken out a cabinet portrait—the portrait of a - lady—and had gazed at it for several minutes. He laid it back with - something like a sigh, and then brought out of the same receptacle a - quantity of manuscript, every page of which consisted of a number of - lines, irregular as to their length, but each one beginning with a capital - letter. This is the least compromising way of referring to such - manuscripts. To say that they were poetry would, perhaps, be to place a - fictitious value upon them; but they certainly had one feature in common - with the noblest poems ever written in English: every line began with a - capital letter. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi’s lips—they constituted not the least prominent of his - features—moved as he read to himself the lines which he had written - during the past three months,—since his return to Picotee with - authority to spend some thousands of pounds in carrying out certain - experiments, the result of which would, it was generally hoped, transform - the region of the Gambia into one of the healthiest of her Majesty’s - possessions. Then he sighed again and laid the manuscripts over the - photograph, closing and locking the drawer of the desk. - </p> - <p> - He walked fitfully up and down the room for another hour. Then he opened - his shutters, and the first breath of the evening breeze from the sea came - upon his face. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll do it,” he said resolutely. “Why should I not do it? Surely that old - ridiculous prejudice is worn out. Surely she, at least, will be superior - to such prejudice. Yes, she must—she must. I have succeeded hitherto - in everything that I have attempted, and shall I fail in this?” - </p> - <p> - The roar of the rollers along the beach filled the room, at the open - window of which Dr Koomadhi remained standing for several minutes. - </p> - <h3> - II. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi - belonged to a race who are intolerant of any middle course so far as dress - is concerned. They are either very much dressed or very much undressed. - But he had lived long enough in England to have chastened whatever - yearning he may have had for running into either extreme. Only now and - again—usually when in football costume—he had felt a strange - longing to forswear the more cumbersome tweeds of daily life. This - longing, combined with the circumstance of his being extremely fond of - football, might be accepted as evidence that the traditions of the savages - from whom he had sprung survived in his nature, just as they do in the - youth of Great Britain, only he had not to go so far back as have the most - of the youth of Great Britain, to reach the fountain-head. - </p> - <p> - The evening attire which he now resumed was wholly white,—from his - pith helmet down to his canvas shoes, he was in white, with the exception - of his tie, which was black. He looked at himself in a glass when at the - point of leaving his house, and he felt satisfied with his appearance; - only he should have dearly liked to exchange his black tie for one of - scarlet. He could not understand how it was that he had never passed a - draper’s window in London without staring with envious eyes at the crimson - scarves displayed for sale. No one could know what heroic sacrifices he - made in rejecting all such allurements. No one could know what he suffered - while crushing down that uncivilised longing for a brilliant colour. - </p> - <p> - Just before leaving the house he went to his desk and brought out of one - of the drawers a small ivory box. He unlocked it and stood for some time - with his face down to the thing that the box contained—a - curiously-speckled stone, somewhat resembling a human ear. While keeping - his head down to this thing his lips were moving. He was clearly murmuring - some phrases in a strange language into that curiously shaped stone. - </p> - <p> - Relocking the ivory box, he returned it to the drawer, which he also - locked. Then he left his house, and took a path leading to a well-built - villa standing in front of a banana-jungle, with a tall flag-pole before - its hall door—a flag-pole from which the union-jack fluttered, - indicating to all casual visitors that this was the official residence of - her Majesty’s Commissioner to the Gambia, Commander Hope, R.N. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo, Koomadhi!” came a voice from the open window to the right of the - door. “Pardon me for five minutes. I’m engaged at my correspondence to go - to England by the <i>Penguin</i> this evening. But don’t mind me. Go - through to the drawing-room and my daughter will give you a cup of tea.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, sir,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Don’t hurry on my account. I was - merely calling to mention that I had forwarded my report early in the day; - but I’ll wait inside.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” came the voice from the window. “I’m at the last folios.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi was in the act of entering the porch when his pith helmet was - snatched off by some unseen hand, and a curious shriek sounded on the - balcony above the porch. - </p> - <p> - “The ruffian!” said Koomadhi, with a laugh. “The ruffian! He’s at his - tricks again.” - </p> - <p> - He took a few steps back and looked up to the balcony. There sat an - immense tame baboon, wearing the helmet and screeching with merriment. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll have to give you another lesson, my gentleman,” said the doctor, - shaking his finger at the creature. “Hand me down that helmet at once.” - </p> - <p> - The baboon made a grimace and then raised his right hand to the salute—his - favourite trick. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly the doctor produced a sound with his lips, and in an instant the - monkey had dropped the helmet and had fled in alarm from the balcony to - the roof of the house, whence he gazed in every direction, while the - doctor went into the house with his helmet in his hand. He had merely - given the simian word of alarm, which the creature, understanding its - mother tongue, had promptly acted upon. - </p> - <p> - “‘You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, but the scent’—you - know the rest, sir,” remarked Mr Letts, the Commissioner’s Secretary, who - had observed from his window the whole transaction. - </p> - <p> - “What was that, Letts?” asked the Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - “Koomadhi spoke to the baboon in its own tongue, sir, and it took the hint - of a man and a brother and cleared off.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but where does the shattering of the vase come in?” asked the - Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - “I mean to suggest that a nigger remains a nigger, and remains on speaking - terms with a baboon, even though he has a college degree and wears - tweeds,” said Mr Letts. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said the Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - He had heard the same opinion expressed by various members of his staff - ever since he had anything to do with the administration of affairs on the - West Coast. He had long ago ceased to take even the smallest amount of - interest in the question of the exact depth of a negro’s veneer of - civilisation. - </p> - <h3> - III. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut while Mr Letts - was quoting Thomas Moore’s line—in a corrupt form—to the - Commissioner, Dr Koomadhi was accepting, with a certain amount of dignity, - the greeting which was extended to him by Miss Hope, the Commissioner’s - daughter, in the drawing-room. She had been trying over some songs which - had just arrived from England. Two of them were of a high colour of - sentimentalism, another belonged to that form of poetic composition known - as a coon song. It had a banjo obbligato; but the pianoforte accompaniment - of itself gave more than a suggestion of the twanging of strings and the - banging of a tambourine. Had Dr Koomadhi arrived a few minutes sooner it - would have been his privilege to hear Gertrude Hope chant the chorus— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Jes’ winkie mid y o’ eye, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier— - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Say, how am dat for high?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - But Gertrude had, after singing the melody, pushed the copy under a pile - of music, and had risen from the piano to receive her visitor, at the same - time ringing for tea. - </p> - <p> - He apologised for interrupting her at the piano. - </p> - <p> - “If I had only known that you were singing, I should certainly have—well, - not exactly, stayed away; no, I should have come sooner, and remained a - worshipper in the outer court.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I wasn’t singing—not regularly singing,” said she, with a - laugh. “Trying over stupid songs about lovers’ partings is not singing, Dr - Koomadhi.” - </p> - <p> - “Lovers’ partings?” said he. “They seem particularly well adapted to - lyrical treatment.” - </p> - <p> - “The songs at any rate are heart-breaking,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “They represent the most acute stage of the lovers’ feelings, then?” said - he. - </p> - <p> - “I daresay. I suppose there are degrees of feelings even of lovers.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure of it, Miss Hope.” - </p> - <p> - He was seated in a wicker chair; she had thrown herself into another—a - seat that gave her the appearance of lying in a hammock. He scanned her - from her white forehead down to the dainty feet that crossed one another - on the sloping support of cane-work. She would have been looked on as a - very pretty girl in a London drawing-room; and even a girl who would be - regarded as commonplace there would pass as a marvel of loveliness on the - West Coast of Africa. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” continued Dr Koomadhi, “I’m sure there are degrees of feeling even - among lovers.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a doctor, and so doubtless have had many opportunities of - diagnosing the disease in all its stages,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am a doctor,” said he. “I am also a man. I have felt. I feel.” - </p> - <p> - She gave another laugh. - </p> - <p> - “A complete conjugation of the verb,” said she. “Past and present tenses. - How about the future?” - </p> - <p> - There was only a little pause before he said— - </p> - <p> - “The future is in your hands, Miss Hope. I have come here to-day to tell - you that I have never loved any one in all my life but you, and to ask you - if you will marry me.” - </p> - <p> - There was now a long pause—so long that he became hopeful of her - answer. Then he saw the blank look that was upon her face change—he - saw the flush that came over her white face when she had had time to - realise the import of his words. - </p> - <p> - She started up, and at the same instant the baboon came in front of the - window and raised his right hand to the salute. - </p> - <p> - “You are mad—mad!” she said, in a whisper that had something fierce - about it. Then she lay back in her chair with a laugh. “<i>I</i> marry you—<i>you</i>. - I should as soon marry——” - </p> - <p> - She had pointed to the baboon before she had checked herself. - </p> - <p> - “You would as soon marry the baboon as me?” said he in a low and laboured - voice. - </p> - <p> - “I did not say that, although—Dr Koomadhi, what you have told me has - given me a shock—such a shock as I have never had before. I am not - myself—if I said anything hurtful to you I know that you will - attribute it to the shock—I ask your pardon—sincerely—humbly. - I never thought it possible that you—you—oh, you must have - been mad! You——” - </p> - <p> - “Give me a cup of tea, my dearest, if you don’t want to see me perish - before your eyes.” The words came from outside a window behind Dr - Koomadhi, and in another second a man had entered from the verandah, and - had given a low whistle on perceiving that Miss Hope had a visitor. - </p> - <p> - “Come along,” said Miss Hope, when she had drawn a deep breath—“Come - along and be introduced to Dr Koomadhi. You have often heard of Dr - Koomadhi, I’m sure, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, this is Major Minton.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you do?” said the stranger, giving his hand to the doctor. “I’m - glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and how clever you are.” - </p> - <p> - “You flatter me,” said Dr Koomadhi, shaking hands with the new-comer. “I - must now rush away, Miss Hope,” he added. “I only called to tell your - father that I had forwarded some reports by the <i>Penguin</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Jolly old tub, the <i>Penguin</i>—glad I’ve seen the last of her,” - said Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - “Major Minton arrived by the <i>Penguin</i> this morning,” said Gertrude. - “Must you really go away, Dr Koomadhi?” - </p> - <p> - “Not even the prospect of a cup of your tea would make me swerve from the - path of duty, Miss Hope,” said the doctor, with a smile so chastened as to - be deprived of all its Ethiopian character. - </p> - <p> - He shook hands gracefully with her and Major Minton, and passed out by the - verandah, the baboon standing to one side and solemnly saluting. The Major - was the only one who laughed, and his laugh was a roar. - </p> - <h3> - IV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi found - waiting for him at his house his old friend Mr Ross, the surgeon of the <i>Penguin</i>. - He had been unable to leave the steamer earlier in the day, and he had - only an hour to spend ashore. No, he did not think that anything was the - matter with a bottle of champagne, provided that it was large enough and - dry enough, and that it had been plunged into ice, not ice plunged into - it. - </p> - <p> - These essentials being guaranteed by Dr Koomadhi, Mr Ross’s hour passed—as - he thought—pleasantly enough. The two men sat together on cane - chairs on the balcony facing the sea. It is at such a time, and under such - conditions, that existence on the Gambia becomes not merely endurable, but - absolutely delightful. Mr Ross made a remark to this effect, and expressed - the opinion that his friend was in luck. - </p> - <p> - “In luck? Oh yes. I’m the luckiest fellow in the world,” responded - Koomadhi grimly. “I’ve everything that heart can wish for.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you’re well paid, you don’t mind the climate, and you’re honoured - and respected by the whole community,” said Ross. - </p> - <p> - “Of course—honoured and respected—that’s the strong point of - the situation,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “The only drawback seems to me to be the rather narrow limits of the - society. Still, the Commissioner is a decent enough sort of old boy, and - Letts has a good deal to recommend him. By the way, you’ll not be so badly - off in this matter during the next six months as you have been. We brought - out a chap named Minton—a chap that any one could get on with. He’s - just chucked the service and is going to marry Miss Hope.” - </p> - <p> - “I have just met him at the Residency,” said Koomadhi, filling up with a - steady hand the glass of his guest. “And so he’s going to marry Miss Hope, - is he?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; he confided a lot in me—mostly on the bridge toward the hour - of midnight. The young woman has been engaged to him for a year past. They - met just before the Commissioner got his berth, but the daughter being a - good daughter, and with a larger sense of duty than is possessed by most - girls, swore—in her own way, of course—that nothing should - tempt her to desert her father for at least a year. Much to Minton’s - disgust, as you can understand, she came out here, telling him that if he - still was anxious to marry her, he might follow her at the end of a year. - Well, as he retained his fancy, he came out with us, and I believe you’ll - be in a position to add an official wedding to your other experiences, - Koomadhi.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s something to look forward to,” said Koomadhi. “But how will that - incident improve society in this neighbourhood? I suppose Minton and his - wife will get off to England as soon as possible?” - </p> - <p> - “Not they. Although they are to get married at once, they are to remain - here for six or seven months—until, in fact, the Commissioner gets - his leave, and then they all mean to go home together. Minton has a trifle - of six thousand a-year and a free house in Yorkshire, so Miss Hope is in - luck—so, for that matter, is Minton; she’s a fine young woman, I - believe. I only met her once.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not so certain about her constitution,” said Koomadhi. “Her lungs - are, I believe, all right, but her circulation is defective, and she - suffers from headaches just when she should be at her best.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hang it all! a girl’s a girl for a’ that!” cried Ross. “Your - circulation’s defective, Koomadhi, if you’re capable only of judging a - girl by the stethoscope. You’re too much absorbed in your profession, - that’s what’s the matter with you.” - </p> - <p> - “I daresay you are right,” Koomadhi admitted after a pause of a few - seconds. - </p> - <p> - In the course of the next half-hour, several other topics in addition to - the matrimonial prospects of Major Minton and the constitutional - shortcomings of Miss Hope were discussed on the verandah, until, at - length, the sound of the steam-whistle of the <i>Penguin</i> was borne - shore-wards by the breeze. - </p> - <p> - “That’s a message to me,” said Ross, starting up. “Come down to the shore - and see the last of me for three months at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi put on his helmet, and saw his friend safely through the surf - on his way to where the steamer was swinging at her anchor. The sun had - set before he returned to his house to dinner; and before he had risen - from the table a message came to him that one of the officers of the - Houssas was anxious to see him, being threatened with an attack of fever. - The great stars were burning overhead before he returned from the barrack - of the Houssas, and was able to throw off his coat and lie back in his - chair in his own sitting-room. - </p> - <p> - He had a good deal to think about before going to his bedroom, and he - seemed to find the darkness congenial with his thoughts. In fact, the - negro acknowledged a sort of brotherhood in the night, and he remained for - some hours in that fraternal darkness. It was just midnight when he went, - with only a small amount of groping, to his desk, and took out of its - drawer the ivory box containing the earshaped stone, into whose orifice he - had spoken some words before leaving for the Commissioner’s house in the - afternoon. He unlocked the box and removed the stone. He left his villa, - taking the stone with him, and strolled once more to the house which he - had visited a few hours before. - </p> - <p> - Lights were in the windows of the Residency, and certain musical sounds - were coming from the room where he had been. With the twanging of the - banjo there came the sound of a light bass voice of no particular timbre, - chanting the words of the latest plantation melody— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Don’t you belieb un, Massa John, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Jes’ winkie mid yo’ eye, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Kick up yo’ heels to de gasalier— - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Say, how am dat for high?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi listened while three stanzas of the doggerel were being sung - by Major Minton; then he raised the ear-shaped stone that was in the - hollow of his hand, and whispered some words into it as he had done in the - afternoon. In a second the song stopped, although the singer was in the - middle of a stanza. - </p> - <p> - “Confound it all!” cried Major Minton—Koomadhi heard his voice - distinctly. “One of my strings is broken. I suppose it was the sudden - change of atmosphere that made it give way. It’s a good bit drier here - than aboard the <i>Penguin</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “The concert is over for to-night,” came the voice of the Commissioner. - “It’s about time for all of us to be in our beds.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s my notion too,” said Letts. “Those who object can have their money - returned at the doors.” - </p> - <p> - “It was strange—that breaking of the string without warning,” Dr - Koomadhi heard Gertrude say. - </p> - <p> - He smiled. - </p> - <p> - It was only at midnight in the open air, and when he was alone, that he - allowed himself the luxury of an unbridled smile. He knew the weaknesses - of his race. - </p> - <p> - He put the stone into the pocket of his coat and returned to his house. - </p> - <h3> - V. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he marriage of - Major Minton to Miss Hope took place in another week. Of course the - ceremony was performed by the Lord Bishop of Bonny, who was also - Metropolitan of the Gambia and Senegal. The gunboat that was at the - anchorage displayed every available rag of bunting, and the lieutenant who - commanded her said he would gladly have fired a salute in honour of the - event, only for the fact that the Admiralty made him accountable for every - ounce of powder that he burned, and, in addition, for the wear and tear on - every gun. The guns didn’t bear much tampering with, and there was nothing - so bad for them as firing them: it wore them out, the Admiralty stated, - and the practice must be put a stop to. - </p> - <p> - But if there was no official burning of powder to mark the happy event, - there was a great deal of it that was unofficial and wholly irregular. Dr - Koomadhi spent several hours of the afternoon amputating fingers of - Krooboys that had been mutilated through an imperfect acquaintance, on the - part of the native populace, with the properties of gunpowder when - ignited. An eye or two were reported to be missing, and in the cool of the - evening the Doctor had brought to him, by a conscientious townsman, a - human ear for which no owner could be found. - </p> - <p> - The happy pair went to the Canary Islands for their honeymoon, and - returned radiant at the end of six weeks; and the Commissioner’s <i>ménage</i>, - which had suffered materially through the absence of the Commissioner’s - daughter, was restored in all its former perfection. Every night varied - strains of melody floated to the ears of such persons as were in the - neighbourhood of the Residency; and it was a fact that Major Minton’s - banjo never twanged without attracting an audience of from ten to five - hundred of the negro population of Picotee. The pathway was every night - paved with negroes, who listened, shoulder to shoulder, and kneecap to - kneecap—they sat upon their haunches—to the fascinating songs. - They felt that if the Commissioner had only introduced a tom-tom obbligato - to the tom-tom melodies, the artistic charm of the performance would be - complete. - </p> - <p> - The native evangelist, who occasionally contrived to fill a schoolhouse - with young Christians by the aid of a harmonium,—a wheezy asthmatic - instrument, which, in spite of a long lifetime spent on the West Coast, - had never become fully acclimatised,—felt that his success was - seriously jeopardised by the Major’s secular melodies. When the flock were - privileged to hear such fascinating music unconditionally, he knew that it - was unreasonable to expect them to be regular in their attendance at the - schoolhouse, where the harmonium wheezed only after certain religious - services had been forced on them. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if the Bishop might be approached on the subject of - introducing the banjo into the schoolhouse services. He believed that with - such auxiliaries as the banjo, and perhaps—but this was optional—the - bones, a large evangelistic work might be done in the outlying districts - of Picotee. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi had always been a frequent visitor at the Residence, but for - some time after the marriage of the Commissioner’s daughter he was not - quite so often to be found in the drawing-room of an evening. Gradually, - however, he increased the number of his weekly visits. He was the only - person in the neighbourhood who could (occasionally) beat Major Minton at - billiards, and this fact helped, in a large measure, to overcome the - prejudice which Major Minton frankly admitted (to his wife) he entertained - against the native races of West Africa. Major Minton was becoming a - first-class billiard-player, as any active person who understands the game - is likely to become after a few months’ residence at a West Coast - settlement. - </p> - <p> - “Dr Koomadhi is a gentleman and a Christian,” Mrs Minton remarked one day - when Mr Letts, the Secretary, had challenged discussion upon his favourite - topic—namely, the thinness of the veneer of civilisation upon the - most civilised savage. - </p> - <p> - “He’s a negro-gentleman, I admit,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - “A man who plays so straight a game of billiards can’t be far wrong,” - remarked Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - “I have reasons—the best of reasons—for knowing that Dr - Koomadhi is a forgiving Christian gentleman,” said Gertrude. “Yes, he - shall always be my friend.” - </p> - <p> - She had not forgiven herself for that terrible half-spoken sentence, “I - would as soon marry——” - </p> - <p> - She had not forgiven herself for having glanced at the baboon as she - checked the words that sprang from her almost involuntarily. - </p> - <p> - But Dr Koomadhi was showing day by day that he had forgiven them. - </p> - <p> - And thus it was she felt that he was worthy to be regarded by all men as a - gentleman and a Christian. - </p> - <h3> - VI. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> few days later Dr - Koomadhi was visited by Major Minton. The Major was anxious to have some - shooting at big game, and he was greatly disappointed at being unable to - find in the neighbourhood of Picotee any one who could put him on the - right track to gratify his longing for slaughter. The ivory-hunters did - not find an outlet for their business at Picotee, and the majority of the - inhabitants were as unenterprising, Major Minton said, as the chaw-bacons - of an English village; nay, more so, for the chawbacons were beginning to - know the joy of a metropolitan music hall, and that meant enterprise. He - wondered if Koomadhi would allow him to accompany him on his next - excursion inland. - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi said that no proposal could give him greater pleasure. He would - be going up again in a week or two, and he could promise Major Minton some - first-class sport. He could show him some queer things. - </p> - <p> - Talking of queer things, had Major Minton ever seen a piece of the famous - African sound-stone? - </p> - <p> - It was supposed that the famous statue of Memnon had been carved out of - that stone. - </p> - <p> - Major Minton had considered all that had been written on the subject of - the talking statue utter rot, and he believed so still. Could any sane man - credit a story like that, he was anxious to know? - </p> - <p> - “I suppose not,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “But anyhow, I have now and again come upon pieces of the sound-stone. - I’ll show you a couple of bits.” - </p> - <p> - He produced the roughly cut stone ear, and then an equally rough stone - chipped into the form of a mouth—a negro’s mouth. - </p> - <p> - “They are rum things, to be sure,” said Minton. “I don’t think that I ever - saw stones just the same. Is the material marble?” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t the least idea,” said Koomadhi. “But just put that stone to - your ear for a few moments.” - </p> - <p> - Minton had the mouth-stone in his hand. Koomadhi retained the ear-stone - and put it to his lips the moment that the Major raised his hand. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the Major. “I hear nothing. That sound-stone myth isn’t good - enough for me. I’m not exactly a lunatic yet, and that’s why I’m going to - climb up to your roof to enjoy the sea-breeze. Take your marvellous - sound-stone, and I’ll show you what it is to be a gymnast.” - </p> - <p> - He opened the shutters, got out upon the verandah, and began climbing one - of the supports of the verandah roof. He was a pretty fair athlete, but - when the thermometer registers 97° is not, perhaps, the most favourable - time for violent exercise. Still, he reached the roof with his hands and - threw one leg up; in another moment he was sitting on the highest part of - the roof, and was inviting Koomadhi to join him, declaring that only a - fool would remain indoors on such a day. - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi smiled and shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You must have some refreshment after your exertions,” said he. “What - would you like—a brandy-and-soda, with a lump of ice clinking the - sides of the tumbler?” - </p> - <p> - “That sounds inviting,” said Major Minton, scratching his chest with a - forefinger—it had apparently been chafed in his ascent of the roof. - “Yes; but if you chance to have a banana and a few nuts—by Jingo I - should like a nut or two. Has no dietist written a paper on the dietetic - value of the common or garden nut, Koomadhi?” - </p> - <p> - “Come down and I’ll give you as many nuts as you can eat,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’ll come down this way,” said the Major. He swung himself by one - arm from the side of the roof to the bough of a tree. There he hung - suspended by the other arm, and swinging slowly backward and forward. Even - then he scraped the breast of his shirt, uttering a number of sounds that - might have meant laughter. Then he caught a lower branch with his loose - arm and dropped to the ground. Again he scraped at his chest and laughed. - </p> - <p> - “How about those nuts?” he said. “I think I’ve earned them. How the - mischief is it that I neglected my gymnastics all these months? What a - fool I was! Walking along in the open day by day, when I might have been - enjoying the free life of the jungle!” - </p> - <p> - “Come inside and try a bit of cocoanut,” said Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “I’m your man,” said the Major. - </p> - <p> - “My man—man?” laughed the Doctor. “Oh yes, you’ve earned the - cocoanut.” - </p> - <p> - The soft flesh of a green cocoanut lay on the table of the sitting-room, - and Major Minton caught it up and swallowed it without ceremony. The - Doctor watched him with a curious expression on his face. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the most refreshing tiffin I’ve had for a long time,” said the - Major. “Now, I’ll have to get back to the Residency. Will you drop in for - a game of billiards?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I may,” said the Doctor. “Take that sound-stone again, and try if - you really cannot hear anything when you put it to your ear.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear fellow, I’m not the sort of a chap to become the victim of a - delusion,” said the Major, picking up the stone and holding it to his ear. - “Not a sound do I hear. Hang it all, man, I’d get more sound out of a - common shell. <i>Au revoir</i>.” - </p> - <p> - He had his eyes fixed upon the ink-bottle that stood on the desk beside a - blotter and a sheet of writing-paper. Dr Koomadhi noticed the expression - in his eyes, and turned to open the door. The very instant that his back - was turned, Major Minton ran to the ink-bottle, upset it upon the blotter, - and then rushed off by the open window, laughing heartily. - </p> - <p> - And yet there was no human being who so detested the playing of practical - jokes as Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi put away the stones, and called his servant to wipe up the - ink, which was dripping down to the floor. - </p> - <p> - “Lorramussy!” cried the old woman. “How eber did yo’ make dat muss?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t know that it was on the blotter until too late,” said he. And - yet Dr Koomadhi was a most truthful man—for a doctor. - </p> - <h3> - VII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ullo!” said Letts, - “what have you been doing to yourself?” - </p> - <p> - Major Minton had thrown himself into the Secretary’s cosiest chair on his - return from visiting Dr Koomadhi, and was wiping his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been doing more to myself than I should have done,” replied Minton. - “For heaven’s sake, ring for a brandy-and-soda!” - </p> - <p> - “A brandy-and-soda? That’s an extreme measure,” said Letts. “But you look - as if you needed one.” He went to his own cupboard and produced the - brandy, and then rang the bell for the soda-water, which was of course - kept in the refrigerator. Then he looked curiously at the man in the - chair. “By the Lord Harry! you’ve been in a fight,” he cried, when his - examination had concluded. “You’re an ass to come between any belligerents - in this neighbourhood: you forget that Picotee Street is not Regent - Street. You got your collar torn off your coat for your pains; and, O - Lord, your trousers!” - </p> - <p> - “I did not notice how much out of line I had fallen until now,” said - Minton, with a laugh. “By George, Letts, that tear in my knee does suggest - a free-and-easy tussle.” - </p> - <p> - “But how on earth did it come about?” asked Letts. “Surely you should know - better than to go for a nigger as you would for a Christian! Why the - mischief didn’t you kick him on the shins, and then put your knee into his - face?” - </p> - <p> - “Give me the tumbler.” - </p> - <p> - The Secretary handed him the tumbler, containing a stiff “peg,” and he - drained it without giving any evidence of dissatisfaction. - </p> - <p> - “Now, how did it come about?” inquired Letts. “I hope you haven’t dragged - us into the business. If you have, there’ll be a question asked about it - in the House of Commons by one of those busybodies who have no other way - of proving to their constituents that they’re in attendance. ‘Mr Jones - asked the Secretary of State for the Colonies if he had any information to - give to the House regarding an alleged outrage by a white man, closely - associated with the family of her Majesty’s Commissioner at Picotee, upon - a native or natives of that colony.’ That’s how it will read. Then - there’ll be puppy leaders in those papers that deal with ‘justices’ - justice’: the boy who gets a month’s imprisonment for stealing a turnip—you - know that sort of thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Keep your hair on,” said Minton; “there’ll be no show in the House about - this. There has been no row. I went round to Koomadhi’s, and when we were - talking together I suddenly fancied that the day was just one for a - gymnastic display. I don’t know whether it was that polite manner of - Koomadhi’s or something else set me off, but I felt an irresistible - impulse to bounce. Without waiting to take off my coat I went out on the - verandah and hauled myself up to the roof: I don’t know how I did it. I - might have managed it ten years ago, when I was in condition; but, - considering how far off colour I am just now, by George! I don’t know how - I managed it. Anyhow, I did manage it.” - </p> - <p> - “At some trifling cost,” said Letts. “And what did you do on the roof when - you got there?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I swung myself down again. But I seemed to have a notion in the - meantime that that nice, well-groomed nigger would try to climb up beside - me, and I know that I had an impulse to catch him by the tail—the - tail of his coat, of course—and swing him through the shutters.” - </p> - <p> - “But he didn’t make such an ass of himself as to go through some - gymnastics, and the thermometer standing a degree or two under a hundred. - Well, you’ve got off well this time, Minton; but don’t do it again, that’s - all.” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you it was an impulse—a curious——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, impulses like that don’t come to chaps who have their wits about - them.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it was a bit of bounding, after all. But, somehow—well, - you wouldn’t just call me a bounder, would you, Letts?” - </p> - <p> - “Why shouldn’t I call you a bounder, I’d like to know? A bounder is one - who bounds, isn’t he?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I suppose—but I give you my word, I felt at that moment that - it was the most natural thing I could have done—climbing up to the - roof of the verandah, and then——” - </p> - <p> - “And then?” - </p> - <p> - “Swinging down again, I suppose.” - </p> - <p> - He was afraid to tell Letts of that practical joke which he had played off - on Koomadhi, when he found that the Doctor did not lend himself to that - subtle piece of jocularity which Minton said he had conceived when sitting - on the roof of the verandah. Letts had been pretty hard on him for having - gone so far as to climb up to the roof; but what would he have said if he - had been told about that ink-bottle incident? - </p> - <p> - Minton thought it would, on the whole, be doing himself more ample justice - if he were to withhold from Letts all information regarding that - ink-bottle business. He said nothing about it, and when Letts mumbled - something when in the act of lighting a cigar—something about - fellows, who behave like idiots, going home and giving the whole West - Coast a bad name, whereas, properly treated, the climate was one of the - most salubrious, he remarked confidentially— - </p> - <p> - “I say, old chap, you needn’t mind jawing to the missus or the Governor - about this business; it’s not worth talking about, you know; but they’re - both given to exaggerate the importance of such things—Gertrude - especially. I’m a bit afraid of her still, I admit: we’ve only been - married about three months, you’ll remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Duke! here’s a chap who fancies that as time goes on he’ll get less - afraid of his wife,” cried Letts. “Well, well, some chaps do get - hallucinations early in life.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say a word about it, Letts. Where’s the good of making a poor girl - uneasy?” - </p> - <p> - “Where, indeed? But why ‘poor girl’?” - </p> - <p> - “Because she’s liable to be made uneasy at trifles. You’re not—only - riled. But I don’t blame you: you’ve been on this infernal coast for three - years.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s nothing the matter with the coast: it’s only the idiots——” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so: I seem somehow to feel that I’ve heard all that sort of thing - before. I’m one of the idiots.” - </p> - <p> - “Far be it from me to contradict so able a diagnosis of——” - </p> - <p> - He caught the cushion which Minton hurled at him, and laughed. Then he - became curiously thoughtful. - </p> - <p> - “By the way,” he said, “wasn’t it a bit rum that Koomadhi didn’t try to - prevent your swinging out to that roof? He’s a medico, and so should know - how such unnatural exertion is apt to play the mischief with a chap in - such a temperature as this. Didn’t he abuse you in his polite way?” - </p> - <p> - “Not he,” said Minton; “on the contrary, I believe I had an idea that I - heard him suggest... no, no; that’s a mistake, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s a mistake?” - </p> - <p> - “That idea of mine—I don’t know how I came to have it.” - </p> - <p> - “You were under the impression, somehow, that he suggested your climbing - to the roof? That was a rummy notion, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “A bit too rummy for general use. Oh no: he only said—now, what the - mischief did he say? Oh, no matter.” - </p> - <p> - “If he said ‘no matter’ when he saw that you were bent on gymnastics in - the middle of a day with the temperature hovering about a hundred, he - should be ashamed of himself.” - </p> - <p> - “He didn’t say ‘no matter.’ I’ve just said it. Let me say it again. You - should be a cross-examiner at the Bailey and Middlesex Session, Letts. - Now, mind, not a word to the missus. Don’t let her cross-examine you: - evade her as I’m evading you. I’ll see you after dinner: maybe we’ll have - a billiard together—I’m too tired now.” - </p> - <p> - He went off, leaving Letts trying to find out the place where he had left - off in a novel of George Eliot’s. George Eliot is still read on the West - Coast of Africa. - </p> - <p> - But when Minton had left the room Letts did not trouble himself further - with the novel. He tossed it away and lay back in his Madeira chair with a - frown, suggesting perplexity, on his face. - </p> - <p> - Some five minutes had passed, and yet the frown, so far from departing, - had but increased in intensity. - </p> - <p> - “I should like very much to know what his game is,” he muttered. “It - wouldn’t at all be a bad idea to induce sunstroke by over-exertion on a - day like this. But why can’t he remember if the nigger tried on that game - with him? P’chut! what’s the good of bothering about it when the game - didn’t come off, whatever it was?” - </p> - <p> - But in spite of his attempted dismissal of the whole matter from his mind, - he utterly failed to give to the confession of the youth in ‘Middlemarch’ - (it was to the effect that his father had been a pawnbroker, and it was - very properly made to the young woman to the accompaniment of the peals of - a terrific thunderstorm) the attention which so striking an incident - demanded. - </p> - <h3> - VIII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f it’s a command, - sir, I’ll obey; if not, well——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nonsense, Letts!” said the Commissioner. “There’s no command to a - dinner with my daughter, her husband, and another man.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that other man,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - “Now, I hope I’ll hear nothing more about your absurd objection to that - other man,” said the Commissioner. “I tell you that it’s not only - ridiculous, that old-fashioned prejudice of yours, it’s prejudicial to the - Service—it is, upon my soul, Letts. You know as well as I do that - the great thing is to get in touch with the natives, to show them that, as - common subjects of the Sovereign, enjoying equal rights wherever that flag - waves, we are, we are—well, we must show them that we’ve no - prejudices. You’ll admit that we must do that, Letts.” - </p> - <p> - (As Letts had not written out this particular speech for him, the - Commissioner was a trifle shaky, and found it to his advantage to abandon - the oratorical in favour of the colloquial style.) - </p> - <p> - “I don’t feel called on to show that I’m not prejudiced against the whole - race, sir—the whole race as a race, and Dr Koomadhi as an - individual,” said Letts. “Therefore I hope that you and Mrs Minton will - excuse me from your dinner.” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my soul, I’m surprised at you, Letts,” said Commander Hope. “I - didn’t expect to find in these days of enlightenment such old-fashioned - prejudices as regards race. Great heavens! sir, is the accident of a man’s - being a negro to be looked on as debarring him from—from—well, - from all that you would make out—the friendship of the superior - race, the——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, there you are, sir; the superior race. In matters of equality there’s - no superior.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course I don’t mean to suggest that there isn’t some difference - between the two races. Don’t they say it was the effects of the curse, - Letts—the curse of Ham? If a race was subject to the disabilities of - an early curse duly recorded, you can’t quite expect them to recover - themselves all in a moment: it wouldn’t be reasonable—it wouldn’t be - Scriptural either. But I think that common charity should make us—well, - should make us do our best to mitigate their unfortunate position. That - appeal of yours to Scripture, Letts, was used as an argument in favour of - slavery. It’s unworthy of you.” - </p> - <p> - “I agree with you, sir; and I do so the more readily as I don’t recollect - ever having made use of such an authority as Scripture to bear out my - contention that the polish of a nigger is no deeper than the polish on a - mahogany table,—a thin and transparent film of lacquer. You see I’ve - had the advantage of living in Ashantee for six months, and when there I - got pretty well grounded on the negro as a man and a brother. A man—well, - perhaps; a brother, yes, own brother to the devil himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense, Letts! Can’t you keep Scripture out of the argument?” - </p> - <p> - “I tell you, sir, I saw things in the Ashantee country that made me feel - certain that the archfiend made that region his headquarters many years - ago, and that he has devoted himself ever since to the training of the - inhabitants. They are his chosen people. If you had seen the unspeakable - things that I saw during my six months in Ashantee, you would hold to my - belief that the people have been taught by Satan himself, and that they - have gone one better than their instructor. No, sir, I’ll not dine with - Koomadhi.” - </p> - <p> - Commander Hope shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You’re very pig-headed, Letts,” he remarked; “but we won’t quarrel. I’ll - see if I can make Gertrude understand how it is you refuse her - invitation.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope to heaven that she’ll never get a glimpse of the real negro, sir—the - negro with his lacquer scratched off.” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner laughed. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not tell her that, Letts,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Letts did not laugh. - </p> - <p> - It was really Gertrude who had suggested inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner at - the Residency. He had frequently partaken of the refreshment of tea in her - drawing-room, but she knew that tea counts for nothing in the social scale - even at Picotee: it conferred no more distinction upon one than a - presentation at the White House does upon a citizen of the United States, - or a citizen’s wife or sister. He had never been asked to dine at the - Commissioner’s table, and that she knew to be a distinction, and one which - he would be certain to value. - </p> - <p> - But when she suggested to her father that there would be a certain - gracefulness in the act of inviting Dr Koomadhi to dinner, she found her - suggestion treated with that form of contumely known as the snub. Her - father had looked at her sternly and walked away, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Impossible! What! a nig———Oh, my dear, you don’t - understand these things. Impossible—impossible!” - </p> - <p> - Gertrude Minton, being a woman, may not have understood some things, but - she thoroughly understood how her father (and all other men) should be - treated upon occasions. She took her snubbing meekly, as every clever - woman takes a snubbing, when administered by a father, or a husband, or a - brother; and of course, later on, she carried her point—as any - clever woman will; for a properly sustained scheme of meekness, if - persisted in, will accomplish anything, by making the man who snubs - thoroughly ashamed of himself, and the man who is thoroughly ashamed of - himself will be glad to come to terms, no matter how disadvantageous to - himself, in order to avert a continuance of that reproachful meekness. - </p> - <p> - It was the Commissioner himself who, a few days later, went to his - daughter and told her that if she had her heart set upon inviting Dr - Koomadhi to dinner he would not interfere. It had at first seemed to him a - monstrous proposal, he admitted; but on thinking over it calmly, and with - the recollection of the circumstances (1) that the present day was one of - innovations; (2) that the negroes were treated on terms of the most - perfect equality by the people of the United States of America,—he - had come to the conclusion that it was necessary even for a British naval - officer to march with the times; consequently he was prepared to do - anything that his daughter suggested. He added, however, that up to the - date at which he was speaking he had got on very well without once asking - a nig——that is, a negro gentleman, to dine at his table. - </p> - <p> - “I knew you would consent, papa,” said Gertrude, throwing off her mask of - meekness in a moment, much to the satisfaction of her father. “I knew you - would consent: it would be quite unlike you not to consent. You are so - broad-minded—so generous—so reasonable in your views on all - native questions. I feel that I—that we—owe some amends—that - is, we should do our best to give him to understand that we do not regard - a mere accident of colour as disqualifying him from—from——” - </p> - <p> - “Quite so,” said her father. “We’ll ask Letts: he won’t come, though.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should he not come?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Letts is full of prejudice, my dear. He has more than once made - disparaging remarks regarding Koomadhi. You see, he lived for some months - in the Ashantee country, and saw the human sacrifices and other - barbarities.” - </p> - <p> - “If you speak to him with due authority, he will be compelled to come,” - said Gertrude warmly. “You are the head here, are you not?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her and assented, though he knew perfectly well that it was - not he who was the head of the Residency. Would he ask a nigger to dine at - his table if he was at the head of it? he asked himself. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, just tell Letts that you expect him to dine here on Wednesday - next, and he is bound to come. He is only secretary here.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Gertrude, you know as well as I do what it is to be secretary - here,” said the Commissioner. “Letts can do what he pleases. I shall - certainly not coerce him in any way: I know it would be no use trying.” - </p> - <p> - “But you must try,” cried Gertrude. She had, undoubtedly, quite got rid of - her meekness. “You must try; and you must succeed too.” - </p> - <p> - Well, the Commissioner had tried, and the result of his attempt has just - been recorded. - </p> - <p> - He told his daughter of the firm attitude that Letts had assumed—it - was just the attitude which he himself would like to assume if he had the - courage; but of course he did not suggest so much to Gertrude. - </p> - <p> - “The foolish fellow! I shall have to go to him myself,” said she. - </p> - <p> - And she went to him. - </p> - <h3> - IX. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>he had at one time - fancied that Letts was fond of her, and she had thought that her liking - for him was no mere fancy. A young woman with good looks and a pleasant - manner and a young man with a career before him are very apt to have - fancies in respect to each other on the West Coast of Africa, where good - looks and pleasant manners are not to be met with daily. Of course when - Gertrude had gone home for some months, and had met Major Minton, she - became aware of the fact that her liking for Letts was the merest fancy; - and perhaps when she returned with the story of her having promised (under - certain conditions) to marry Major Minton, Letts had also come to the - conclusion that his feeling towards Miss Hope was also a fancy. This is, - however, not quite so certain. At any rate, Letts and she had always been - very good friends. - </p> - <p> - For half-an-hour she talked to him quite pleasantly at first, then quite - earnestly—didactically and sarcastically—on the subject of his - foolish prejudice. She called it foolish when she was pleasant, and she - called it contemptible when she ceased to be pleasant, on a matter which - she, for her part, thought had been long ago passed out of the region of - controversy. Surely a man of Mr Letts’ intelligence and observation could - not be serious in objecting to dine with Dr Koomadhi simply because he - chanced to be a negro. - </p> - <p> - But Mr Letts assured her that he was quite serious in the matter. He - didn’t pretend, he said, to be superior in point of intelligence or power - of observation to men who made no objection to meet on terms of perfect - equality the whole Ethiopian race; but he had had certain experiences, he - said, and so long as he retained a recollection of these experiences he - would decline to sit at the same table with Dr Koomadhi or any of his - race. Then it was that Mrs Minton ceased to be altogether pleasant as to - the phrases which she employed in order to induce Mr Letts to change his - mind. - </p> - <p> - “You are not the only one with experiences,” she said. “I have had - experience not merely of negroes generally, but of Dr Koomadhi in - particular, and, as I told you some time ago, I have reason to believe him - to be a generous, Christian gentleman. That is why I wish to do all that - is in my power to make him understand that I regard his possession of the - characteristics of a gentleman and a Christian as more than placing him on - a level with us. I feel that I am inferior to Dr Koomadhi in those - qualities which our religion teaches us to regard as noblest.” - </p> - <p> - “And I hope with all my soul that you will never have a different - experience of him,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - “I know that I shall have no different experience of him,” said she, with - confidence in her pose and in her tone. - </p> - <p> - He made no reply to this. And then she went on to ask him some interesting - questions regarding the general design of the Maker of the Universe, and - His intention in respect of the negro; and though Letts answered all to - the best of his ability, he was not persuaded to accept Mrs Minton’s - invitation to dinner. - </p> - <p> - She was naturally very angry, and even went so far as to assure Mr Letts - that his refusal to accept the invitation which she offered him might be - prejudicial to his being offered any future invitations to dine at her - table—an assurance which he received without emotion. - </p> - <p> - She told her father of her failure, and though he shook his head with due - seriousness, yet he refrained from saying “I told you so.” But when her - husband heard that Letts would not be persuaded, he treated the incident - with a really remarkable degree of levity, declaring that if he himself - were independent, he would see Koomadhi and all the nigger race sent to a - region of congenial blackness before he would sit down to dinner with the - best of them. He thought Letts, however, something of an ass for not - swallowing his prejudices in a neighbourhood where there were so few - decent billiard-players. For himself, he said he would have no objection - to dine with bandits and cut-throats if they consented to join in a good - pool afterwards. - </p> - <p> - When Dr Koomadhi received his invitation to dine at the Residency—it - was in the handwriting of Mrs Minton—he smiled. His smiles worked at - low pressure in the daytime; he felt that he could not be too careful in - this respect; he might, if taken suddenly, be led on to smile naturally in - the presence of a man with a kodak, and where would he be then? - </p> - <p> - He smiled. He went to the drawer where he kept the curious stones, and - looked at them for some time, but without touching them. Then he went to - the drawer in which he kept the verses that he had written expressive of - the effect of Miss Hope’s eyes upon his soul. By a poetic licence he - assumed that he had a soul, and he liked to write about it: it gave him an - opportunity of making it the last word in a line following one that ended - with the word “control.” He read some of the pages, and honestly believed - that they were covered with poetry of the highest character. He felt - convinced that there was not another man in the whole Ashantee country who - could write as good poetry; and perhaps he was not wrong in his estimate - of his own powers, and the powers of his Ashantee brethren. - </p> - <p> - As he closed the door with a bang his face would have seemed to any one - who might have chanced to see it one mass of ivory. This effect, startling - though it was, was due merely to an incidental change of expression. He - had ceased to smile; his teeth were tightly closed, and his lips had - receded from them as a tidal wave recedes from the strand of a coral - island, disclosing an unsuspected reef. His lips hid in their billowy - depths the remainder of his face, and only that fearful double ridge of - locked teeth would have been visible to any one, had any one been present. - </p> - <p> - The words that Dr Koomadhi managed to utter without unlocking his teeth - were undoubtedly suggestive of very strong feeling; but no literary - interest attaches to their repetition. - </p> - <p> - He seated himself at his desk—after an interval—and wrote a - letter which was rather over than under the demands made by politeness - upon a man who has been asked to dinner in a rather formal way. He said it - would give him the greatest pleasure to accept the most kind invitation - with which he had been honoured by the Commissioner and Mrs Minton; and - then he added a word or two, which an ordinary gentleman would possibly - have thought superfluous, regarding the pride which he felt at being the - recipient of such a distinction. - </p> - <p> - It could not be said, however, that there was anything in his mode of - conducting himself at the dinner-table that suggested any want of - familiarity on his part with the habits of good society. He did not eat - with his knife, though he might have done so without imperilling in any - degree the safety of his mouth, nor did he make any mistake regarding his - ice-pudding or his jelly. He also drank his champagne out of the right - glass, and he did not take it for granted that the water in his - finger-bowl was for any but external use. - </p> - <p> - As he lay back in his chair, with his serviette across his knees and a - cigarette between his fingers, discussing with the Commissioner, with that - mild forbearance which one assumes towards one’s host, the political - situation of the hour, when Mrs Minton had left the room, he looked the - picture of a model English gentleman—a silhouette picture. He hoped - that the Conservatives would not go to the country without a programme. - What were the leaders thinking of that they hadn’t familiarised the - country with the policy they meant to pursue should they be returned to - power? Home Rule for Ireland! Was there ever so ridiculous a demand - seriously made to the country? Why, the Irish were, he assured his host, - very little better than savages: he should know—he had been in - Ireland for close upon a fortnight. He had some amusing Irish stories. He - imitated the brogue of the peasantry. He didn’t say it was unmusical; but - Home Rule!... the idea was too ridiculous to be entertained by any one who - knew the people. - </p> - <p> - His political views were sound beyond a doubt. They were precisely the - views of the Commissioner and his son-in-law, and the green chartreuse was - velvety as it should be. - </p> - <p> - For this evening only Major Minton sang to his wife’s accompaniment a - sentimental song which dwelt upon the misery of meeting daily with smiles - a certain person, while his, the singer’s, heart was breaking. He sang it - with well-simulated feeling. One would never have thought that there was a - banjo in the house. - </p> - <p> - Then Mrs Minton sang a lovely Scotch song about a burn; but it turned out - that the burn was water and not fire, and the Commissioner dozed in a - corner. - </p> - <p> - At last Major Minton suggested a game of billiards, and the suggestion was - acted on without delay. - </p> - <p> - After playing a game with Dr Koomadhi, while her husband looked on and - criticised the strokes from the standpoint of a lenient if discriminating - observer, Mrs Minton said “goodnight”; she was tired, she said, and she - knew that her husband and Dr Koomadhi meant to play all night, so she - thought she might as well go soon as late. - </p> - <p> - Of course Dr Koomadhi entreated her not to leave them. They would, he - assured her, do anything to retain her; they would even play a four game—abhorred - of billiard-players—if she would stay. Her husband did not join in - the entreaties of their guest. He played tricky cannons until she had left - the room. - </p> - <h3> - X. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>hall I break?” - Minton asked. “I’ll play with spot for a change.” - </p> - <p> - Before he had completed his second break of twenty-eight the Commissioner - had fallen asleep with his cigar between his fingers. When they had - commenced he had been critical. But he broke down under the monotony of - the second moderate break. - </p> - <p> - For about a quarter of an hour the game went on, and all the variations - from “Hard lines!” to “Dammitall!” were indulged in by the players. Minton - had scored eighty against Koomadhi’s seventy-one, and was about to play a - hazard requiring great judgment, when his opponent came behind him, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see how it can be done: a cannon is the easier game.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’ll try the hazard anyway, and try to leave the red over the - pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll need to do it very gently,” said his opponent, almost leaning over - him as he took his aim at the red ball. - </p> - <p> - For quite half a minute Minton hung over his cue, and in that space of - time Koomadhi had taken out of his pocket the curious stone shaped like a - broad ear, and had put it to his own mouth for a second or two while he - stood behind the player, returning it quickly to his pocket before the cue - had struck the ball. - </p> - <p> - “What a stroke!” cried Minton. “It would disgrace our friend Jacco.” - </p> - <p> - “I said the cannon was the easier game,” remarked Koomadhi, chalking his - cue. “Hallo! what are you going to do?” - </p> - <p> - “Who the mischief could play billiards a night like this in such a suit of - armour as this?” laughed Minton. He was in the act of pulling his shirt - over his head, and he spoke from within its folds. In another second he - was stripped to the waist. “Now, my friend,” he chuckled, “we’ll see - who’ll win this game. This is the proper rig for any one who means to play - billiards as billiards should be played.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” said Koomadhi. “Come; you had - much better put on your shirt. The Commissioner may object.” - </p> - <p> - “Let him object,” laughed the half-naked man; “he’s an old fogey anyway. - Like most naval men, he has no heart in anything beyond the shape of a - button and the exact spot where it should be worn. How was it we had no - nuts for dinner, I should like to know?” - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi had made a cannon. He walked half-way round the table to get the - chalk, and in a second Major Minton had picked up the red ball and slipped - it into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - When Koomadhi turned to play the screw back, which he meant to do - carefully, only the white balls were on the table, and Minton denied all - knowledge of the whereabouts of the red. - </p> - <p> - Koomadhi laughed, and put his cue into the stand. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I say, a joke’s a joke!” chuckled Minton, producing the ball from, - his pocket. “You won’t play any more? Oh, yes; we’ll have another game, - only for a change we’ll play it with our feet. Now, why the mischief - people don’t play it with their feet I can’t understand. It stands to - reason that the stroke must be far surer. I’ll show you what I mean. Oh, - confound those things!—I’ll have them off in a moment.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said the Doctor firmly, as Major Minton - kicked off his shoes and hastened to get rid of the only garments that he - was wearing. “For God’s sake, don’t make such a fool of yourself!” - </p> - <p> - He had caught his hands, preventing his carrying out his singular design - of illustrating the prehensile character of the muscles of the human foot. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then, put on your shirt and finish your soda-water. I must be off.” - </p> - <p> - Major Minton grinned, and, turning suddenly, caught Dr Koomadhi by the - tail of his dress-coat—he had just put it on—and with a quick - jerk upset him on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “God bless my soul!” cried the Commissioner, waking up. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi was brushing the dust off his waistcoat; Major Minton was - swinging halfway up one of the ropes that controlled the ventilator of the - roof. - </p> - <p> - “What in the name of all that’s ridiculous is this?” said the - Commissioner. “By the Lord! I seem to be still dreaming—a nightmare, - by George, sir!” - </p> - <p> - “I really must ask your pardon, sir,” said Koomadhi; “I had no idea that - the thing would go on so far as it has. Major Minton and I were having a - rather funny trial of strength. He was on one rope, I was on the other. I - let go my hold. Come down, man—come down—the game is over.” - </p> - <p> - “And a most peculiar game it seems to have been,” said the Commissioner. - “Great heavens! it can’t be possible that he took off his shirt!” - </p> - <p> - “It was very foolish, sir,” said Koomadhi. “I think I’ll say good-night.” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner paid no attention to him; all his attention was given to - his son-in-law, who was swinging negligently with one hand on the - ventilator rope. When he at last dropped to the floor, Minton rubbed his - eyes and looked around him in a dazed way. - </p> - <p> - “My God!” he muttered. “How do I come to be like this—this? Where’s - my shirt?” - </p> - <p> - “You should be ashamed of yourself, sir,” said the Commissioner sternly. - “What have you been drinking in your soda-water?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing,” said Minton, putting on his shirt. “I drank nothing but - soda-water. What possessed me to make such an ass of myself I can’t tell. - I beg your pardon, Koomadhi. I assure you I didn’t mean to—why, it - all appears like a dream to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, a dream! Good night, Dr Koomadhi,” said the Commissioner. “I’m sorry - that anything should happen——” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say another word, sir, I entreat of you,” cried Koomadhi. “I fear - that I was, after all, the most to blame. I should have known where this - sort of horse-play was likely to land us. Good night, sir; I really feel - that an apology should come from me. Good night, Minton. No, no; don’t say - a word. I feel that I have disgraced myself for ever.” - </p> - <p> - Minton, now clothed and in his right mind, saw him off, and then returned - to the presence of his father-in-law. He knew that the Commissioner was - desirous of having a word or two with him, and he was not the man to run - away from such an interview. In fact, he himself was anxious to have the - first word; and he had it. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, sir,” he said; “I want to say that I know I made an infernal - fool of myself. Why I did it I can’t tell; I touched nothing but - soda-water all night.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there is the less excuse for your behaviour,” said the Commissioner - drily. “I don’t want to say anything more about this unhappy business. - Only, I will point out to you that Koomadhi could easily make things very - disagreeable for us if he were so minded. You threw him on the floor. - Heavens above!” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose I did throw him; but why?—why?—why?—that’s - what I want to know.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps an explanation may come to you in the course of a day or two. You - had better go to bed now.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I’ll go to bed. Only—of course there’s no reason why you - should let the matter go farther.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly, for my own sake and yours, will keep it as secret as - possible. I only hope that Koomadhi——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Koomadhi is all right. But I don’t see that Gertrude or Letts should - hear anything of it.” - </p> - <p> - “They don’t hear anything of it from me, I promise you. Will you ring for - the lamps to be turned out?” - </p> - <p> - Dick Minton pulled the bell. His father-inlaw went to his bed without a - word. - </p> - <p> - But an hour had passed before Dick went to his room. He lit a cigar and - strolled away from the Residency to the brink of the sea; and there, on - the low scrub, looking out to the enormous rollers that broke on the - shallow beach two miles from where he stood, spreading their white foam - all around, he tried to think how it was he had been led to behave more - foolishly than he had ever behaved since the days of his youth. - </p> - <p> - He was not successful in his attempts in this direction. - </p> - <p> - And Dr Koomadhi also remained thinking his thoughts for fully half an hour - after reaching that pleasant verandah of his, which got every breath that - came inland from the sea. - </p> - <p> - “I can do it easily enough—yes, in his presence; but what good is - that to me?” he muttered. “No good whatever—just the opposite. I - must have the Khabela—ah, the Khabela! That works miles apart.” - </p> - <p> - Two days later he paid his visit to the Residency and drank tea with Mrs - Minton. He told her that he found it necessary to go up country for ten - days or so. He knew of a nice miasma tract, and he hoped to gain in a few - days as much information regarding its operations on the human frame as he - could obtain in as many years in the comparative salubriousness of the - coast. - </p> - <p> - Her husband did not put in an appearance while Koomadhi was in the - drawing-room. His wife reproached him for that. - </p> - <p> - He took her reproach meekly. - </p> - <h3> - XI. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>oonlight was - flooding the forest beyond the native village of Moumbossa on the Upper - Gambia, but where Dr Koomadhi was walking no moonbeam penetrated. The - branches formed an arch above him as dense with interwoven boughs and - thick leaves as though the arch was a railway tunnel. Only in the far - distance a gleam of light could be seen. - </p> - <p> - At times the deep silence of the night was broken by the many sounds of - the tropical jungle. Every sound was familiar to Dr Koomadhi, and he - laughed joyously as one laughs on recognising the voice of a friend. The - wild shriek of a monkey pounced upon by some other creature, the horrible - laugh of a hyena, the yell of a lory, and then a deep silence. He felt at - home in the midst of that forest, though when he spoke of home within the - hearing of civilised people, he meant it to be understood that he referred - to England. - </p> - <p> - When he emerged from the brake he found himself gazing at a solitary - beehive hut in the centre of a great cleared space, A quarter of a mile - away the moonlight showed him the village of Moumbossa, with its lines of - palms and plantains. - </p> - <p> - He walked up to the hut without removing his rifle from his shoulder, and - stood for some moments at the entrance. Then he heard a voice saying to - him in the tongue of the Ashantees— - </p> - <p> - “Enter, my son, and let thy mother see if thy face is changed.” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot enter, mother,” he replied in the same language. “But I have - come far and in peril to talk with you. We must talk together in the - moonlight.” - </p> - <p> - He retained among his other memories a vivid recollection of the interior - of a native hut. He could not bring himself to face the ordeal of entering - the one before him. - </p> - <p> - “I will soon be beside you,” came the voice; and in a few moments there - crawled out from the entering-place a half-naked old negress, of great - stature, and with only the smallest perceptible stoop. She walked round Dr - Koomadhi, and then looked into his face with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, “it is indeed you, my son, and I see that you need my - services.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right, mother,” said he. “I wondered if you still retained your - old powers. That is why I stood for some minutes outside the hut. I said, - ‘If my mother has still her messengers in the air, and in the earth, they - will tell her that her son has come to her once more. - </p> - <p> - “You should not have doubted,” she said. “Do you fancy that such powers as - have come to me by the possession of the Sacred Khabela can decay by - reason of age or the weight of days?” - </p> - <p> - “If that had been my belief, should I have come to you this night?” he - asked. “I have need of all your powers. I have need of all the powers of - the Khabela.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall have all that I can command: are you not my son?” said the old - woman. “But have you found the Sacred Ear to fail you?” - </p> - <p> - “Never, mother,” said Dr Koomadhi. “You told me what it could do, and it - has never failed me within its limits. But I must have the more powerful - charm of the Sacred Mouth. My need is extreme.” - </p> - <p> - “It must be extreme, and I will not deny it to you,” said his mother. “You - know what it can do. No man or woman can withstand it. If any offspring of - woman should hold that Sacred Mouth to his ear, or her ear, as the case - may be, the words which you whisper into the Sacred Ear will seem the - truth, whatever those words may be. You know that. But the magic of the - Khabela is far greater. It will work at a distance. But if it is lost you - know what the consequences will be. You know the decree of the great - Fanshatee, the monkey-god?” - </p> - <p> - “I know it. The stone Khabela shall not be lost. I accept the - responsibility. I must have command over it until the return of the moon.” - </p> - <p> - “And thou shalt have control of it, whether for good or evil. It told me - that thou wert nigh to-night, so that thou must have the Ear charm in thy - possession even now.” - </p> - <p> - “It is here, mother, in this pocket. I have shown it to no mortal whose - colour is not as our colour, whose hair is not as our hair.” - </p> - <p> - “The white men laugh at all magic such as ours, I have heard.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they laugh at it. But some of them practise a form of it themselves. - I have seen one practise it in a great room in England. Without the aid of - a mystic stone he told sober men that they were drunk, and they acted as - drunk men; he told rough fellows that they were priests, and they preached - sermons as long and as stupid as any that we have heard missionaries - preach.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet they say that our magic is a thing accursed.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; that is the way with the white men. When they have said their word - ‘damn’ on any matter, they believe that the last word has been said upon - it, and all that other men may say they laugh at.” - </p> - <p> - “They are fools, my son; and thou art a fool to dwell among them.” - </p> - <p> - “They are wise men up to a certain point. They are only fools on the - subject of names. They say that magic is accursed; but they say that - hypnotism is science, and science is the only thing in which they - believe.” He had some trouble translating the word hypnotism into the - native speech. “Enough about them. Let me have the mystery, and then let - me have a cake that has been baked in the earth with the leaves of the - betel.” - </p> - <p> - “Thou shalt have both, ray son, before the morning light. Enter my hut, - and I will dream that thou art a child again.” - </p> - <p> - But that was just where Dr Koomadhi drew the line. He would not crawl into - the hut even to make his venerable mother fancy that his youth was renewed - like the eagles. - </p> - <p> - He returned to Picotee the next day, and as he walked through the forest - each side of the bush track was lined with monkeys. They came from far and - near and put their faces down to the ground, their fore-hands at the back - of their heads. - </p> - <p> - He talked to them in simian. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. “Ye know that I am the holder of the Khabela, intrusted to - me by my brother Fanshatee; but if I lose it your attitude will not be the - same.” - </p> - <h3> - XII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo days had - passed, after his return to Picotee, before Dr Koomadhi found time to call - at the Residency. He found Major Minton lying on the cane settee in a - condition of perspiration and exhaustion. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure Dr Koomadhi will bear me out in what I say,” said Mrs Minton, as - the Doctor entered the room. “I’ve been lecturing my husband upon the - danger of taking such violent exercise as he has been indulging in,” she - continued. “Just look at the state that he is in, Doctor. The idea of any - sane man on a day like this entering into a climbing contest with a - monkey!” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! Is that what he has been about—and the thermometer - nearer a hundred than ninety?” cried the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - “I admit that I was an ass,” muttered the Major. “But somehow I felt that - I should show Jacco that I could lick him on his own ground,—not - exactly his ground—we were never on the ground.” - </p> - <p> - “And when I went out I found them swinging on the topmost bough of one of - the trees,” said Mrs Minton. “Upon my word, my father will feel - scandalised. Such a thing never occurred at the Residency before.” - </p> - <p> - “Apart from the social aspect of the incident, I am bound to say that it - was most indiscreet,” said Dr Koomadhi. “Nothing precipitates sunstroke - like over-exertion in a high temperature. Major, this must not occur - again.” - </p> - <p> - “All right: don’t make a fuss, or you’ll soon be as hot as I am,” said the - Major, rising with difficulty and crossing the room—he was bent - almost double—to his wife’s tea-table. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo,” said the Doctor, “what have you been doing to yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “It is not what I have been doing but what I’ve left undone that you - notice,” laughed the Major. “The fact is that I couldn’t be bothered - shaving for the last few mornings. That’s what you notice.” - </p> - <p> - That was precisely what the Doctor did notice. He noticed the tossed hair - of the Major’s head and such bristles of a beard and whiskers as had - completely altered the appearance of his face. He also noticed that when - Mrs Minton turned away for a moment her husband deftly abstracted two - lumps of sugar from the bowl and began eating them surreptitiously. - </p> - <p> - “No nuts,” he heard him mutter contemptuously some time afterwards. - </p> - <p> - “Nuts?” said Mrs Minton. “You’ll ruin your digestion if you eat any more - nuts, Dick. Dr Koomadhi, will you join your voice with mine in protest - against this foolish boy’s fancy for nuts? You speak with the recognised - authority of a medical man. I can only speak as a wife, and I am not so - foolish as to fancy that that constitutes any claim to attention. If you - continue rubbing your chest in that absurd way, Dick, you’ll certainly - make a raw.” - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi did not fail to observe that the Major was rubbing his chest - with his bent-up fingers. - </p> - <p> - “I’m quite surprised at your imprudence,” said he, shaking his head. “You - told me some time ago that though you had been for seven years in India, - you never had a touch of fever, and you attributed this to the attention - you paid to your diet. Now you know as well as I do that if a man requires - to be careful in India, there is double reason for him to be careful on - the West Coast of Africa. How can you so disregard the most elementary - laws of health?” - </p> - <p> - Major Minton laughed. - </p> - <p> - “There’s nothing like exercise,” he said, “and the best of all exercise is - climbing. Why, my dear Koomadhi, haven’t the greatest intellects of the - age taken to climbing? Wasn’t Tyndall a splendid mountaineer? I don’t - profess to be superior to Tyndall. Now, as I can’t get mountains to climb - in this neighbourhood I take naturally to the trees. I think sometimes I - could pass the rest of my life pleasantly enough here. Man wants but - little here below. Give me a branch to swing on, a green cocoa-nut, and a - friend who won’t resent a practical joke—I want nothing more. By the - way, it’s odd that I never saw until lately—in fact, until two days - ago—what good fun there is in a practical joke.” - </p> - <p> - “His perception of what he calls good fun deprived me of my brushes and - comb this morning,” said Mrs Minton. “I must confess I fail to see the - humour in hiding one’s brushes and comb.” - </p> - <p> - “It was the most innocent lark in the world, and you had no reason to be - so put out about it,” said her husband, leaning over the back of her - chair. Dr Koomadhi saw that he was tying the sash of her loose gown to the - wickerwork of the table at which she was sitting, so that she could not - rise without overturning the tray with the cups. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Major,” said the Doctor, “a jest is a jest, but your wife’s china——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you have given me away; but I’ll be equal to you, never fear,” said - the Major, shambling off as his wife prepared to loose the knot of her - sash from the table. - </p> - <p> - She did not speak a word, but her face was flushed, and it was plain that - she was greatly annoyed. The flush upon her face deepened when her husband - went out to the verandah and uttered a curious guttural cry. - </p> - <p> - “How has he learned that?” asked Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “Learned what?” asked Mrs Minton. - </p> - <p> - “That cry.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s some of his foolishness.” - </p> - <p> - “I daresay; but——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I thought I could bring you here, my friend,” cried the Major, as - Jacco the baboon swung off his usual place over the porch into his arms. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi watched the creature run its fingers through the Major’s - disordered hair. He heard the guttural sound made by the baboon, and he - heard it responded to by the Major. - </p> - <p> - He found that Major Minton was on a level with himself in his acquaintance - with the simian language. - </p> - <p> - He rose and took leave of Mrs Minton, and then, with a word of warning in - regard to his imprudent exercises, of the Major, left the Residency. - </p> - <p> - It was not until he had reached his own house that he discovered that upon - the back of his spotless linen coat there had been executed in ink the - grinning face of a clown. He recollected that he had seen Major Minton - toying with a quill pen behind him as he sat drinking tea. - </p> - <h3> - XIII. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> few days later Dr - Koomadhi was visited—unofficially—by Commander Hope. The poor - Commissioner was as grave as if an impetuous French naval officer had just - been reported to have insulted the British flag on some part of the coast - protected (nominally) by that variegated bunting. He was anxious to - consult the Doctor regarding the condition of Major Minton. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed?” said the Doctor. “What do you suppose is the matter with him, - sir?” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner tapped his forehead significantly. - </p> - <p> - “A slight touch of sunstroke, I fancy,” he replied. “He has been behaving - strangely—giving us a great deal of uneasiness, Koomadhi. Oh yes, - it’s clearly a touch of sunstroke.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s bad—but not sufficiently bad to be very grave about, sir,” - said the Doctor. “You know how these attacks pass away, leaving scarcely a - trace behind, if properly treated. You have, of course, applied the ice?” - </p> - <p> - “We’ve applied nothing,” said the Commissioner. “He’s beyond our control, - Koomadhi. He left the Residency last evening and has not turned up since.” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens!” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a fact. Oh, he must be stark, staring mad”—the Commissioner - was walking up and down the Doctor’s room in a state of most unofficial - perturbation. “I found it necessary to speak to him pretty plainly a - couple’ of days ago. It was bad enough for him to climb up the mast and - nail the flag to the pole so that it could not be hauled down at sunset, - but when it conies to dropping the keys of the despatch-boxes into the - water-tank, the thing ceases to be a joke. I gave him a good slating, and - he sulked. He had an idea, his wife told me, that he understood the simian - language, and he was for ever practising his knowledge upon our tame - baboon. What on earth does that mean, if not sunstroke—tell me that, - Koomadhi?” - </p> - <p> - “It looks very like sunstroke, indeed,” said the Doctor. “But where can he - have disappeared to?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s the question that makes me feel uneasy,” said the Commissioner. “I - don’t like to make a fuss just yet, but—I’ll tell you what it is, - Koomadhi,”—he lowered his voice to a whisper,—“the man has a - delusion that he is an ape—it’s impossible to keep it a secret any - longer. God help us all! God help my poor girl—my poor girl!” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner broke down completely, and wept with his face bowed down - to his hands. He was very unofficial—tears are not official. - </p> - <p> - “Come, sir, you must not give way like this,” said the Doctor. “This coast - is the very devil for men like Minton, who will not take reasonable - precautions. But there’s no reason to be alarmed just yet. The <i>Penguin</i> - will be here in a few days, and the instant the steamer drops her anchor - we’ll ship him aboard. He’ll be all right, take my word for it, when he - sails a few degrees northward.” - </p> - <p> - “But where is he now?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s probably loafing around the outskirts of the jungle; but he’ll be - safe enough, and he’ll return, most likely, within the next few hours.” - </p> - <p> - “You are of that opinion?” - </p> - <p> - “Assuredly. Above all things, there must be no talk about this business,—it - might ruin him socially; and your daughter——” - </p> - <p> - “Poor girl! poor girl! I agree with you, Koomadhi,—it must be kept a - secret; no human being must know about this shocking business.” - </p> - <p> - “If he does not return before to-night, send a message to me, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not fail. Poor girl! Oh, Koomadhi, her heart will be broken—her - heart will be broken!” - </p> - <p> - The Commissioner went away, looking at least ten years older than when he - had last been seen by Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - The Doctor watched him stumbling down the pathway: then he laughed and - opened a bottle of champagne, which he drank at a gulp—it was only - when he was alone that he allowed himself the luxury of drinking champagne - in gulps. - </p> - <p> - Shortly before midnight he paid a visit to the barracks of the Houssas, - and found that the officer who was on the sick list was very much better. - Returning by the side of the jungle, he heard the sound of steps and a - laugh behind him. It might have been the laugh of a man, but the steps - were not those of a man. - </p> - <p> - He looked round. - </p> - <p> - A shambling creature was following him—a creature with a hairy face - and matted locks—a creature whose eyes gleamed wildly in the - moonlight. - </p> - <p> - “How the mischief can you walk so fast along a path like this?” came the - voice of Major Minton from the hairy jaws of the Thing. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not walking so fast, after all,” said the Doctor. He had not given - the least start on coming face to face with the Thing. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care much about walking on roads; but I’ll back myself to cross a - forest without leaving the trees,” said the Thing. “That would beat you, - Koomadhi. Oh, by the way——” Here he emitted some guttural - sounds. - </p> - <p> - The simian language was recognised by the Doctor, and replied to with a - smile, and for some time the two exchanged remarks. The Doctor was the - first to break down. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t understand that expression,” said he, when the other had repeated - some sounds. - </p> - <p> - “Why, you fool, that means, ‘Is there anything to drink handy?’” said the - voice of Major Minton. “Why, I know more of the language than you. We’ve - been talking nothing else for the past day or two.” - </p> - <p> - “Where have you been?” - </p> - <p> - “In the jungle. Where else would you have me be?” - </p> - <p> - “Where, indeed? You’d better stay with me to-night. I’ll give you - something to drink.” - </p> - <p> - “That will suit me nicely. I’m a bit thirsty, and——” Here he - lapsed into the simian jabber. - </p> - <p> - He curled himself up in a corner of the sofa, and took the tumbler that Dr - Koomadhi offered to him, drinking off the contents pretty much after the - style of the Doctor when alone. He then began talking about the sense of - freedom incidental to a life spent in the jungle, and every now and again - his words became what was long ago known as gibberish; but nearly every - utterance was intelligible to the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - After some time had passed, the Doctor took the carved stones out of the - desk drawer, and, handing one to his companion, said— - </p> - <p> - “By the way, I wonder if you are still deaf to the sound of this thing. - Try it again.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the good? I’m not such a fool as to fancy that any sound can come - from a stone.” - </p> - <p> - “Doesn’t Shakespeare say something about ‘sermons in stones’?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Shakespeare? He could hear things and see things that no one else - could. Well, give me the stone.” - </p> - <p> - He put the roughly carved lips to his ear, while the Doctor raised the - other to his own mouth. - </p> - <p> - “You can hear no murmur?” said the Doctor. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing whatever. I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll go asleep.” - </p> - <p> - “I can give you a bed.” - </p> - <p> - “A bed? What rot! No, thank you, I’ll be comfortable enough here.” - </p> - <p> - He curled himself up and went asleep before the Doctor’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - When the Doctor entered his sitting-room the next morning the apartment - was empty. - </p> - <h3> - XIV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> was a fool for - not detaining him by force,” said Dr Koomadhi, in telling the - Commissioner, a few hours later, that his son-in-law had paid a visit to - his (the Doctor’s) house. “But there really is nothing to be alarmed - about. He has a whim, but he’ll soon tire of it.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope to heavens he’ll return by to-morrow evening,” said the Commander. - “The <i>Penguin</i> will be here in the morning, and we must get him - aboard by some means. What a pity you didn’t lock him in.” - </p> - <p> - “To tell you the truth, I was afraid to do so—if he had made a row - in the morning on feeling himself a prisoner the thing would be over the - town before noon. Oh, you may be certain that he’ll turn up again either - to-day or tomorrow.” - </p> - <p> - That night one of the officers of the Houssas gave Dr Koomadhi a - circumstantial account of a strange chimpanzee which one of the men had - seen on the outskirts of the jungle at daybreak. If the thing wasn’t a - chimpanzee it certainly was a gorilla, the officer said, and he meant to - have a shot at it. Would the Doctor join him in the hunt? he inquired. - </p> - <p> - The Doctor said he would be delighted to do so, but not before the next - evening, he had so much on hand. - </p> - <p> - The <i>Penguin’s</i> gun was heard early in the morning, and Dr Koomadhi - had the privilege of reading his ‘Saturday Review’ at breakfast. - </p> - <p> - He went to the Residency before noon. The Commissioner was not there. He - had gone aboard the <i>Penguin</i>, Mr Letts, the Secretary, said, without - looking up from his paper. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you know anything about Minton, Mr Letts,” whispered - Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you know anything about him, Dr Koomadhi,” said Mr Letts. - </p> - <p> - “He has not been near me since the night before last,” said the Doctor. - “Has he been here?” - </p> - <p> - Before the Secretary could reply a servant knocked at the office door - conveying Mrs Minton’s compliments to Dr Koomadhi, and to inquire if he - would be good enough to step into the breakfast-room until the - Commissioner returned from the mail steamer. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi said he would be pleased to do so, and he left the office and - followed the servant into the breakfast-room—an apartment which - occupied one end of the Residency, and had windows opening upon the - verandah, and affording a view of that portion of the jungle which was - nearest Picotee. - </p> - <p> - He scarcely recognised Gertrude Minton. The deadly pale, worn woman who - greeted him silently, had nothing in common with the brilliant daughter of - the Commissioner who, a few months before, had been as exquisite as a lily - in the midst of a jungle. - </p> - <p> - “What are we to do—what are we to do?” she whispered. “You have seen - him since we saw him. What did he say? Will he return in time to be put - aboard the steamer? Oh, for God’s sake, give me a word of hope—one - word to keep me from going mad too!” - </p> - <p> - “Mrs Minton,” said Dr Koomadhi, “you have asked me a great many questions. - May I remind you that I never asked but one question of you?” - </p> - <p> - “One question? What do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I asked you if you thought you could marry me. What was your answer?” - </p> - <p> - “Why do you come here to remind me of that? If you are thinking of that - fault of mine—it was cruel, I know, but I did not mean it—if - you are thinking of that rather than of the best way to help us, you had - much better have stayed away.” - </p> - <p> - “You said you would as soon marry a baboon as marry me.” - </p> - <p> - “I checked myself.” - </p> - <p> - “When you had practically said it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what then?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing; you did not marry me, and the alternative was your own choice.” - </p> - <p> - “The alternative?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; you married a baboon. You know it. Is there any doubt on your mind? - Come to this window.” - </p> - <p> - He had suddenly crossed the room to a window facing the jungle. She - staggered to his side. He threw open the shutter and pointed out. - </p> - <p> - What Mrs Minton saw was a huge ape running on all fours across the cleared - space just outside the jungle. The creature ran on for some distance, then - stopped and turned round gibbering. Then from the jungle there came - another ape, only in a more upright posture. With a yell he caught the - hand of the first, and the creature stood upright. Then, hand in hand, in - a horribly grotesque dance, they advanced together until they were within - a hundred yards of the Residency. - </p> - <p> - “You see—you see,” laughed Dr Koomadhi. “You may still be able to - recognise some of his features in spite of the transformation. You have - had your choice. A baboon is your husband, and your child——” - </p> - <p> - The shriek that the woman gave before falling to the floor frightened even - Dr Koomadhi. - </p> - <p> - In a second the room door was opened. Mr Letts appeared. He rushed at Dr - Koomadhi, and had his hands on his throat before the Doctor could raise - Mrs Minton. He forced the negro backward into the porch, and flung him out - almost upon the Commissioner and Mr Ross, the surgeon of the <i>Penguin</i>, - who were in the act of entering. - </p> - <p> - “For heaven’s sake, Letts!” cried the Commissioner. - </p> - <p> - “You infernal nigger!” shouted Letts, as Dr Koomadhi picked himself up. - “You infernal nigger! if ever you show your face here again, I’ll break - every bone in your body!” - </p> - <p> - “What the blazes is the matter?” asked. Ross. - </p> - <p> - “I believe that that devil has killed Mrs Minton,” said the Secretary. “If - he has, by God! I’ll kill him.” - </p> - <h3> - XV. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>r Koomadhi went to - his house in dignified silence. He put a couple of glasses of brandy into - a bottle of champagne and gulped down the whole. Then he wrote a short - note to the officer of the Houssas, mentioning that he would be happy to - help him to shoot the great ape at daybreak. - </p> - <p> - He sent off the letter, and before he closed his desk he thought he would - restore the carved stones to their receptacle. He had put them into his - pocket before starting for the Residency; but now when he felt for them in - his pocket he failed to find them. He was overcome with the fear that he - had lost them. It suddenly occurred to him that they had been thrown out - of his pocket by the violence of the man who had flung him into the road. - If so, they would be lying on the pathway, and they would be safe enough - there until dark, when he could go and search for them. - </p> - <p> - At moonrise he went out and walked down the road to the “Residency, but - when just at the porch he was confronted by Ross, who was leaving the - house. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo!” cried the surgeon. “I was just about to stroll up to you.” - </p> - <p> - “And I was determined not to miss you,” said Koomadhi. “How is Mrs Minton? - It will be brain fever, I’m afraid.” - </p> - <p> - “It looks very like it,” said Ross. “She is delirious. How did the attack - come? That fool of a Secretary will give no explanation of his conduct to - you. The Commissioner says he will either apologise or leave the station.” - </p> - <p> - “The Secretary is a fool,” said Koomadhi. “Great heavens! to think that - there are still some men like that—steeped to the lips in prejudice - against the race to which I am proud to belong! We’ll not talk of him; but - I’ll certainly demand an apology. The poor woman—she is little more - than a girl, Ross! The breaking strain was reached when she was in the act - of telling me about her husband.” - </p> - <p> - “Sunstroke, I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Undoubtedly. He has been behaving queerly for some time. Walk back with - me and have something to drink.” - </p> - <p> - “I can only stay for an hour,” said Ross. “Mrs Bryson, the wife of the - telegraphist, is nursing Mrs Minton; but it won’t do for me to be absent - for long.” - </p> - <p> - He remained chatting with Koomadhi for about an hour, and then left for - the Residency alone. - </p> - <p> - Dr Koomadhi determined to wait until midnight, when he might be pretty - certain that his search for the stones would not be interrupted. - </p> - <p> - The door of the Residency was opened for Mr Ross by Letts. - </p> - <p> - “Step this way, Ross,” said he, in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - Ross went into the Secretary’s room. Sitting on a cane chair with a cigar - in his mouth and a tall glass at his elbow was a man from whom came a - strong perfume of shaving-soap. The man had plainly been recently shaved. - His face was very smooth. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo, Ross, old chap!” said this man. - </p> - <p> - “My God, it’s Minton!” cried the surgeon. - </p> - <p> - “No one else,” said Minton. “What is all this about my poor wife? Don’t - tell me that it’s serious.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s serious enough,” said Ross. “But, unless a change for the worse - comes before morning, there is no reason for alarm.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God!” said Minton. “What a fool I was to set about investigating - that monkey language! I fancied that I had mastered a word or two, and I - ventured into the jungle and got lost. I returned here an hour ago in a - woful state of dilapidation. I’m getting better every minute. For God’s - sake let me know how my poor wife is now!” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll get your report, Ross, to save your leaving the room,” said Letts. - </p> - <p> - The Secretary took the surgeon into an empty apartment. - </p> - <p> - “He returned three-quarters of an hour ago,” he said, in a low voice. “I - never got such a shock as when I saw him—luckily I was at the door. - He was practically naked; and with his hair tangled over his head, and his - face one mass of bristles, he was to all intents and purposes a baboon. - That nigger is at the bottom of it all. I followed him when he visited Mrs - Minton this morning, and I even brought myself to listen outside the door - of the breakfast-room, where they had an interview. I overheard enough to - convince me that the ruffian had made Minton the victim of some of his - hellish magic. I’ve been long enough on the West Coast to know what some - of the niggers can do in this way. I have questioned Minton adroitly, and - he admitted to me that Koomadhi had put a certain stone carved like a - human ear into his hand, and had induced him to place it at his own ear. - That was the famous Sacred Ear stone that the Ashantees speak of in - whispers.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ll talk more of this to-morrow,” said Ross. “I don’t believe much in - negro magic; but—my God! what is the meaning of that?” - </p> - <p> - A window was open in the room, and through it there came the sound of a - shot, followed by appalling yells: then came another shot, and such a wild - chorus of shrieking as far surpassed in volume the first series. - </p> - <h3> - XVI. - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>etts ran to a - cupboard and whipped out a revolver. He rushed outside without a word. - Ross followed him: he felt that wherever a revolver was going he should go - also. - </p> - <p> - The two men ran in the moonlight toward Koomadhi’s house, for the yells - were still coming from that direction. When they got within sight of the - house Letts cried out in amazement. By the light of the full moon the - strangest sight that he had ever seen was before his eyes. Koomadhi’s - house was invisible; but where it should have been there was an enormous - pyramid of jabbering apes. They were so thick upon the roof and the - verandah as to conceal every portion of the building, and hundreds were on - the pathway around the place. The noise they made was appalling. - </p> - <p> - Letts and the surgeon crouched behind a cane-brake and watched that - strange scene; but they had not been long in concealment before the - creatures began trooping off to the jungle. Baboons, chimpanzees, and - gorillas, more horrible than had ever been depicted, were rushing from the - house yelling and gibbering with grotesque gestures beneath the light of - the moon. - </p> - <p> - Before the last of the monstrous procession had disappeared—while - the shrieks of the wild parrots were still filling the air—the two - men left their place of concealment and hurried toward the house. They had - to struggle through an odour of monkeys that would have overpowered most - men. A glance was sufficient to show them that the shutters of the room in - which Koomadhi slept had been torn away. Letts sprang through the open - window, and Boss heard his cry of horror before he followed him—before - he saw the ghastly sight that the moonlight revealed. The body of Dr - Koomadhi lay torn and mangled upon the floor, his empty revolver still - warm in his hand. Around him lay the carcases of four enormous apes, with - bullet-holes in their breasts. - </p> - <p> - “Ross,” said Letts after a long pause, “there is a stronger power still - than the devil even on the West Coast of Africa.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - “Women, I have often heard, have strange notions at times,” said Major - Minton, leaning over the deck-chair under the awning of the <i>Penguin</i>, - where his wife was sitting, “but that fancy which you say you had before - your attack beats the record. Still, I was greatly to blame. I’ll never - forgive myself. I had no business interesting myself in that simian - jabber. If at any time I feel a craving in such a direction I’ll get an - order for the Strangers’ Gallery of the House of Commons when a debate on - an Irish question is going on. Poor Koomadhi! Letts declared that, as he - lay among the dead apes, it was difficult to say whether he was an ape or - a man.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE GHOST OF BARMOUTH MANOR. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> wouldn’t make a - fuss about it if I were you,” said Charlie Craven, pursuing that search - from pocket to pocket which men, having no particular reputation for - tidiness to maintain, are accustomed to institute when they have filled a - pipe and are anxious to light it. - </p> - <p> - “A fuss about it?” cried his sister Madge. “A fuss—good gracious! - What is there to make a fuss about in all that I have told you? A dream—I - ask you candidly if you think that I am the sort of girl to make a fuss - over a dream?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t know,” said Charlie. He had succeeded in finding in one of - his pockets a match-box—an empty match-box. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you should know,” said Madge severely. - </p> - <p> - “There now, you are; making a fuss over something a deal flimsier than - your dream,” laughed her brother. “I wonder if that palace of your dream - was no better supplied than this house with matches: if it wasn’t, I - shouldn’t care to live in it for any length of time.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s so like a man to keep on bothering himself and every one about him - for a match, while all the time a fire is roaring on the hearth behind - him, and his pockets are full of bills—the usual Christmas bills, - the least of which would light all the pipes he smokes in a day, and - that’s saying a good deal.” - </p> - <p> - “How clever you are! I never thought of the fire. Well, as I was - remarking, I wouldn’t bother telling my dreams to any one if I were you. - Dreams—well, dreams are all rot, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not quite so sure of that as you seem to be, O wisest of brothers. - The wisest of people in the world—next to you, of course—have - thought that there was something in dreams, haven’t they?” - </p> - <p> - “They were wrong. My aunt! the rot that I have dreamt from time to time!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that settles the question.” - </p> - <p> - “It does, so far as I am concerned. Look here, Madge; don’t come to me - again with the story of your dreams, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. - Dreams, I say, are all——Of course, you saw that particular - house and that particular staircase in some picture, and they stuck - somewhere at the back of your brain. It’s a rummy thing the brain, you - know—a jolly rum thing!” - </p> - <p> - “It is. I am becoming more impressed every minute with the truth of that - discovery of yours.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if you are becoming sarcastic, I have nothing more to say. But please - to remember that sarcasm is no argument. I tell you, my dear girl, you - have seen a picture of that house at some period of your life—I - don’t say recently, mind you—and my theory is that the brain is like - a sensitized plate: it records an impression once and for all, and stores - it away, and you never know exactly when it means to bring it out again - before your eyes. Oh, believe me, it plays a lot of tricks upon even the - most commonplace people.” - </p> - <p> - “Among whom I suppose I must count myself? Well, I daresay you are right.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that I am right. Dreams! Did you ever hear the story of the old - woman who won a big prize in a lottery, the ticket being No. 26? Had she - chosen that number on chance or in accordance with some system? she was - asked, and she replied that she had dreamt it all out. Dreamt it all out? - What did she mean by that? they inquired. ‘Well, a week ago I dreamt that - I won the prize, and that the ticket I took was No. 9,’ said she. ‘The - next night I dreamt exactly the same, and the ticket was No. 9. The third - night the same thing happened, so, of course, I chose No. 26.’ ‘No. 26? - Why not No. 9 as you dreamt it?’ the people asked. ‘Oh, you fools!’ said - she; ‘didn’t I tell you that I dreamt it three times? the number was 9, - and doesn’t every one know that three times 9 are 26?’ Now that’s the - stuff that dreams are made of, as Shakespeare remarks, so don’t you bother - about this particular vision of yours; and if you take my advice you’ll - say nothing to Uncle Philip or the lot of them about it. They would only - laugh at you.” - </p> - <p> - “Why on earth should I go about proclaiming my dream to all our - relations?” cried the girl. “Dear Charlie, I’m not suffering just yet from - softening of the brain. Besides, I can recall many instances of disaster - following people who bored others with the story of their dreams. There - was the notable case of Joseph and his brethren, and later in history - there was the case of the Duke of Clarence. You remember how swiftly - retribution followed his story of his dream? Now, of course, my dream was - only a little insignificant thing compared to Joseph’s and Clarence’s, - still something might happen if I bored people with it—something - proportionate—the plum-pudding might come to the table in a state of - squash, or the custards might be smoked. Oh no, I’ll be forewarned, and - talk only of facts. I suppose a dream cannot, by even the most indulgent - of people, be called a fact.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m off to the stables,” said her brother, after a little pause. - </p> - <p> - Then he went off to the stables. He was an excellent fellow and the best - of brothers, although he was more at home in the stables than when engaged - in a discussion on a subject involving some exercise of the imagination. - There is not much room in a stable for a play of the imagination, - especially where the corn accounts are kept on a system. - </p> - <p> - When he had left the breakfast-room on this bright Christmas morning his - sister paused for a few moments in her morning duty of collecting a - breakfast for the birds which were loitering about the Italian balustrade - in front of the window, reminding her, in their own way, that they - expected an exceptionally liberal repast on this Christmas morning: she - paused and began to think once more upon this strange dream of hers, which - she had been rehearsing to her brother. - </p> - <p> - After all, it was not so strange a dream, she reflected. The only queer - thing about it was that it had come to her on every Christmas Eve for five - consecutive years—since she was seventeen—and that its details - did not differ in the least from one year to another. Perhaps it was also - different from the majority of dreams in its vividness, and in the fact - that, on awaking from it, she felt as exhausted as if she had just - returned from a long journey. Even now it required almost an effort on her - part to walk round the old oak table sweeping the crumbs on to a plate to - throw to the birds; and when she had discharged this duty she seated - herself with a sigh of relief in one of the arm-chairs that stood by the - side of the great wood fire. - </p> - <p> - She closed her eyes and once again recalled her dream. She had no - difficulty in doing so. She had fancied herself in the act of driving up - to a fine old house, standing in the middle of a well-timbered park of oak - and chestnut. The lawn extended across the full front of the mansion, and - in the centre she noticed a beautiful old fountain, composed of a great - marble basin with a splendid group of figures in the centre—Neptune - with his dolphins and a Naiad or two. She passed into the house through a - great hall hung with trophies of war and of the chase. In front of her was - the enormous head of a moose, and at one side there was a great grey skull - of some animal such as she had never seen before,—a fearful thing - with huge tusks—quite the monster of a dream. - </p> - <p> - Then she seemed to go from room to room, as if she had been a member of - the family living in the place, but—and this she felt to be a true - dream-touch—the moment she entered a room every one who was there - fled from her; but apparently this did not cause her any surprise, any - more than did the strange costume of the figures who fled at her approach—costumes - of the sixteenth century, mingled with those of the seventeenth and - eighteenth. Thinking of the figures hurrying from every room suggested to - her the family portraits of three centuries in motion. After visiting - several fine rooms she found herself walking up a broad oaken staircase of - shallow steps, until she came to a large lobby, where the staircase - divided to right and left. There she found a curious settee of some dark - wood, the long centre panel of which was carved with many figures. She saw - all this by the aid of the moonlight which flowed in through the panes of - coloured glass in a high window, painted with many coats of arms. - </p> - <p> - She remembered having rested in this seat for some time, feeling very - lonely, and then some one had come to her, sitting by her side and taking - her hand, saying— - </p> - <p> - “I have been waiting for you all these years. I am so glad that you are - here at last.” - </p> - <p> - She remembered that the sound of the voice and the touch of the hand had - banished her loneliness, and made her feel happier than she had ever felt - in all her life before. Even now she felt supremely happy, recalling this - incident of her dream, though she recollected that she had not yet seen - the face of the man who had come to her to banish her loneliness. She - wished that her dream had been less whimsical in this one particular. She - felt that she could have spared some of the other details that came before - her so vividly—the skull of that strange animal that hung in the - hall, for instance—if in their place she had been allowed to see - what manner of man it was who had sat with her. - </p> - <p> - Still, the recollection of him gave her pleasure even when the dream had - first come to her and he had come in the dream, and this pleasure had been - increasing year by year, until she knew that she had actually gone asleep - on the previous night, full of joy in the hope of hearing the sound of - that voice and feeling the touch of that hand as she had done in the past. - </p> - <p> - And that was the end of her dream, unless the feeling of happiness—happiness - mingled with a certain sadness—of which she was conscious while she - recalled its details should be accounted part of the dream. Her pleasure - was the same as one experiences in recalling the incidents of a visit to a - dear friend; her sadness was the same as one experiences on thinking that - a long time must elapse before one can see that friend again. - </p> - <p> - Madge actually found herself reflecting that a year must pass before she - could once more find herself wandering through the strange mansion of her - dream—find herself once more seated on that carved seat in the lobby - beneath the painted window. - </p> - <p> - She kept on thinking, and wondering as she thought, over the strange - features of this experience of hers. She knew that she was what people - would call a commonplace, practical girl—a girl without fads or - fancies of any sort. Since her mother’s death, three years before, she had - managed all the household affairs of Craven Court for her brother, who had - inherited the property before she had left the schoolroom. Every one was - bound to acknowledge that her management of the household had been - admirable, though only her brother knew exactly how admirable it was. - </p> - <p> - “There are no frills about Madge; she is the best woman of business in the - county, and we have none of the bothers of other people with our - servants,” he had frequently said. - </p> - <p> - And yet here was this embodiment of all that is practical in life, - dreaming upon a dream upon this bright and frosty Christmas morning, and - actually feeling sad at the thought that a whole year must elapse before - the same vision should return to her. - </p> - <p> - The chiming of the church bells startled her out of her reverie. - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw!” she cried, jumping up from her chair; “I am quite as great a - goose as Charlie believes me to be—quite! or I should not have told - him that that dream had come to me again. I should have had the sense to - know that he would have the sense to know that dreams are, one and all, - the utterest folly!” - </p> - <p> - She knew that she was trying to convince herself that there was nothing - more in this particular dream than in the many casual dreams that came to - her as well as to other people; but before she had reached the door of the - dining-room she knew that she had failed in her attempt. The curious - fatigue of which she was conscious, quickly told her that this - oft-recurring vision was not as others were. - </p> - <p> - She went to church with her brother, and in the afternoon their uncle, - Colonel Craven, and his wife duly arrived at the Court to spend their - annual week at the family mansion, and Madge took her brother’s advice and - refrained from saying a word to either of them on the subject of her - dream. Indeed, she had so much to think of and so much to do during the - week, she had no time to give to anything so immaterial as a dream, - however interesting it might be to herself. - </p> - <p> - On the last morning of the stay of Colonel and Mrs Craven at Craven Court, - the former received a letter which he tossed across the breakfast-table to - Charlie. - </p> - <p> - “Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “We were talking about wild-duck-shooting no - later than last night, and here’s a letter from Jack Tremaine telling me - that he is taking over his cousin’s place for six months and promising me - some good sport if I go to him for a week in January. You will see that he - suggests that you should be of the party: he asks if you are here. See - what he says about the ducks.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is his cousin?” inquired Charlie, “and where is his place?” - </p> - <p> - “His cousin is a chap named Clifford, and his place is in Dorsetshire—on - the coast—Barmouth Manor it is called, and I know that it’s famous - for its duck-shooting. Tremaine will no doubt write to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Where has the cousin gone, that the place is available for Jack - Tremaine?” asked Charlie. - </p> - <p> - “Turn over the page and you’ll see what he says about the Cliffords,” - replied Colonel Craven. - </p> - <p> - Charlie found on the last leaf half a dozen lines on the point in - question. Jack Tremaine said that Mrs Clifford was not satisfied as to the - health of her son, and was going abroad with him during the first week in - January. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to have a go at the ducks,” said Charlie Craven, handing - back the letter. “I suppose there is a duck-punt or two at the place?” - </p> - <p> - “You may be sure of that,” said his uncle. “Young Clifford is a good - sportsman, I believe, but I have never met him. I’ll write to Tremaine - to-day telling him that you are at home. I’m sure he means to invite you.” - </p> - <p> - All doubt on this point was removed by the arrival two days later of an - invitation from Mr Tremaine to Charlie Craven for a fortnight’s - duck-shooting at Barmouth Manor, and he enclosed a letter from his wife to - Madge expressing the hope that she would be able to accompany her brother. - </p> - <p> - Madge was delighted at the prospect of the visit, for she and Mrs Tremaine - were close friends. - </p> - <p> - The frost which had set in a few days before Christmas had not gone when - she and her brother were due at Barmouth Manor, so that there was a - likelihood of her having some skating on the lake. Mrs Tremaine had, in - her invitation, laid some stress upon the possibility of a week’s skating - on the lake which, she said, was within the Manor Park. - </p> - <p> - A carriage met them at Barmouth Station, for the Manor was quite five - miles from the picturesque little town; and it was late in the afternoon - before they passed through the spacious entrance gates to the Manor Park. - There was, however, quite enough light to enable Madge to see every detail - of the place, and it was observing some of the details that caused her to - make a rather startling exclamation of surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo!” said her brother, “what has startled you?” - </p> - <p> - There was a little pause before she had recovered herself sufficiently to - be able to make an excuse that would sound plausible. She pointed to a - group of deer looking over the barrier of their enclosure. - </p> - <p> - “One of the stags,” she said; “it seemed for a moment as if it were about - to jump the rail.” - </p> - <p> - “What matter if it did? They are as tame as cats at this time of the - year,” said Charlie. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I should have remembered,” she said. “I wonder in what - direction is the pond. Does the sunset look promising?” - </p> - <p> - “There may be no thaw before the end of the month,” said he. - </p> - <p> - That was the end of their conversation, and she flattered herself that he - had no notion how excited she was as the carriage reached that part of the - drive which was beside the lawn, and the red level rays of the sun - streaming through the naked trees stained the marble basin of an Italian - fountain, the central group of which was in every detail the same as the - figures in the fountain of her dream. In another minute the front of the - house was disclosed, and she saw that it was the house of her dream. She - would have been greatly disappointed had it been otherwise. - </p> - <p> - She entered the great hall, and could scarcely reply to the cordial - greeting of her aunt and Mrs Tremaine, for she found herself stared at by - the sleepy eyes that looked out from the head of a moose just as they had - stared at her in her sleep. She turned to the wall on her right. Yes, - there was the curious skull with the mighty tusks. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, we had a delightful journey,” she managed to say in reply to Mrs - Tremaine’s inquiry. “Thank you; I should like a cup of tea immensely. Do - you have it in the hall or in the tapestry room beyond?” - </p> - <p> - “What; you have been here before? I had no idea of that,” said Mrs - Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - For more than a moment Madge was confused. - </p> - <p> - Luckily for her, however, the lamps had not been lighted in the hall, and - the sudden flush that came over her face was unobserved by her friends. - </p> - <p> - She gave a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “What a good shot I made!” she cried. “Isn’t this just the sort of house - to have an old-panelled dining-room and a tapestry chamber beside it? I - think we should have tea here. What sort of prehistoric creature is that - on the wall?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe it is a skull that was found when they were digging the - foundations of one of the lodges,” said Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “I seem to have read some description of this very place,” said Charlie, - standing in front of the great skull. - </p> - <p> - Madge wondered if he would remember enough of her account of the house of - her dreams to enable him to recognise the details before him. - </p> - <p> - “It is fully described in Hall’s History, and in every guide-book of the - district. The animal that that skull belonged to lived some thousands of - years before the Flood, I understand.” - </p> - <p> - “What is the exact date b.c. carved on it?” laughed Charlie. “Yes, I - daresay I came upon a paragraph or an illustration of the place. No house - is safe from the depredations of the magazines nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - Tea was served in the hall to give Madge’s maid time to unpack; and then - the girl was shown to her room. She ran up the broad, shallow staircase to - the lobby; she had made up her mind to sit, if only for a moment, on the - carved settee; but a surprise awaited her,—no carved settee was - there. The painted window was there, but no settee was beneath it. - </p> - <p> - She was so surprised that she stood for some moments gazing at the vacant - place. - </p> - <p> - “That lobby looks quite bare without the settee, Miss Craven,” said the - housekeeper, who was beside her. “It’s a fine bit of carving—all - ebony.” - </p> - <p> - “Was there a settee here?” asked Madge innocently. - </p> - <p> - “It was only taken away to-day to be in a better light for Mrs Tremaine to - photograph it,” said the housekeeper. “Mrs Tremaine has done most of the - rare pieces in the house. This is your room, Miss Craven. It’s called the - Dauphin’s chamber, for it was here he slept fifty years ago when he was in - Dorsetshire.” - </p> - <p> - Madge entered the room, remarking that it was beautifully furnished and - that it seemed extremely comfortable. When the door was closed she threw - herself into a chair and had a good think. - </p> - <p> - What could it all mean? she asked herself. Why should this house become so - associated with her life? Was she going to die here? Was something going - to happen to her? Was she to meet here the man who had upon five different - occasions come to her side, telling her that he had been waiting for her? - </p> - <p> - For ten days she remained in the house, looking forward day by day to some - occurrence that would cause her to realise what her dream meant; but she - returned with her brother to Craven Court in disappointment. Nothing - particular happened all the time, and she came to the conclusion that her - dream was as meaningless as her brother had said it was. - </p> - <p> - Madge Craven and her brother were staying with the Tremaines at their own - place during the pheasant shooting the following October, and one morning - their hostess mentioned that her husband’s cousin, Mrs Clifford, had - returned to England from South America and was expected to join their - party that day. - </p> - <p> - She arrived before the shooters had come back from their day’s sport, and - she and Mrs Tremaine had a long chat in front of the fire before tea. Mrs - Clifford was a handsome old lady of the <i>grande dame</i> type; and being - a close observer and an admirable describer of all that she observed, she - was able to entertain Mrs Tremaine with an account of the adventures of - her son and herself in South America. - </p> - <p> - “I hope Rawdon’s health is more satisfactory now than it was,” said Mrs - Tremaine when her guest had declared that there was no more to be told. - </p> - <p> - “I can only hope for the best,” said Mrs Clifford, becoming grave. “Rawdon - is gone across the mountains to Chili, and will not be at home until the - middle of January.” - </p> - <p> - “He must be pretty robust to be able to undertake such a journey,” said - Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “He is not wanting in strength,” said Mrs Clifford. “Only—poor boy!” - </p> - <p> - “‘Poor boy!’ ‘Why poor boy’?” asked the other. - </p> - <p> - There was a pause before the elder lady said— - </p> - <p> - “It is rather difficult to explain. By the way, did any of your party at - the Manor House see the ghost?” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens! I did not know that your family was blessed with a ghost,” - laughed Mrs Tremaine. “No, I can assure you, we were not so lucky. What - sort of a ghost is it? A ghastly figure with rattling chains? Have you - seen it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I have seen it,” said Mrs Clifford in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - “How interesting! Do tell me what it is like!” cried the other. - </p> - <p> - “Like? What is it like?” Mrs Clifford rose slowly from her chair, and - walked to another chair. She only remained seated for a moment, however: - with a sigh she began pacing the room slowly. - </p> - <p> - “I fear I have touched upon a forbidden topic,” said Mrs Tremaine. “I had - no idea that you were serious.” - </p> - <p> - “Serious—serious,” said Mrs Clifford. She was still pacing the room, - and had just reached the window when she spoke. The next moment she had - uttered a cry. Mrs Tremaine saw that she was staring out of the window, - her hands grasping the back of a chair. - </p> - <p> - She was by her side in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Pray, what is the matter?” she said. - </p> - <p> - “You are weak—overcome by———-Let me ring for - brandy.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Clifford clutched her suddenly by the arm. - </p> - <p> - “Who is that—that—on the terrace?” she said in a fearful - whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Who? Why, that is our cousin, Madge Craven,” replied Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - Madge was standing on the terrace bareheaded, tossing grain to the - peacocks. - </p> - <p> - “She was with you when you were at the Manor House,” said Mrs Clifford. - “She was there, and yet you did not see the ‘ghost’?” - </p> - <p> - “What on earth do you mean?” said Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “I mean this: that girl out there is the ghost that appears at the Manor - House every Christmas Eve, and it is because my poor boy, as well as I - myself, saw it, that his mind has become unhinged.” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens! You mean to say——” - </p> - <p> - “The poor boy has fallen, in love with a shadow—a phantom! It comes - every Christmas Eve and walks from room to room. It comes up the stairs—I - tell you that I have seen it—and sits on the old carved settee, and - then suddenly vanishes into the air whence it came.... And that ghost is - as surely that girl as I am I.” - </p> - <p> - “This is terrible—quite uncanny! Are you quite sure?” - </p> - <p> - “Sure—sure!” - </p> - <p> - “It is awful to think upon. But—but—listen to me—I have - an idea. If Madge is the ghost, why not ask her down again to your place, - and give Rawdon a thing of flesh and blood to transfer his affections to?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you say?” - </p> - <p> - “Madge is the best girl in the world. Every eligible man in her county, - and quite as many ineligible, have wanted to marry her. You will find out - how nice she is.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs Clifford sank into the chair. - </p> - <p> - “Oh that it were possible!” she whispered. “He is everything to me, my - dearest boy, and until this fancy————Oh, if it - were only possible!” - </p> - <p> - And at this point Madge entered the room, and was duly presented to Mrs - Clifford. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - If Madge was at first under the impression that the manner of Mrs Clifford - in regard to her was somewhat formal and constrained, before a week had - passed she had good reason to change her opinion on this point. The fact - was that Mrs Clifford had formed an attachment for her which she could - sincerely return; and that was why the girl was delighted to accept her - invitation to spend Christmas in Dorsetshire. It suited her brother’s - arrangements for her to do so, for he was anxious to join a big-game - expedition which was starting for India early in December. - </p> - <p> - Mrs Clifford said she was delighted to be able to have Madge all to - herself for at least a fortnight. - </p> - <p> - “My son cannot possibly be home until the middle of January,” said she, - “and then we shall probably have a large party at the Manor. But meantime - you and I shall be together.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not think that we shall quarrel,” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “Alas! alas!” said Mrs Clifford to Mrs Tremaine, after one of the many - whispered colloquies which they had together during the week. “Alas! - Rawdon cannot be home for Christmas. It was I who took the greatest pains - to arrange matters to prevent his spending another Christmas Eve at home - until he should have completely recovered from the effects of his strange - attachment, and yet now I would give worlds to be able to have him with us - on Christmas Eve.” - </p> - <p> - “Could you not send a cable?” suggested Mrs Tremaine. - </p> - <p> - “I might send a dozen without being able to find him. Besides, it would be - impossible for me to tell him what has occurred.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose you could hardly cable him ‘Come home at once. Ghost found,” - laughed Mrs Tremaine. “Never mind. He should be all the better pleased - when the Ghost of Christmas Eve becomes a creature of flesh and blood by - the middle of January.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was Christmas Eve at the Manor House. Madge’s maid had just left her - for the night, but the girl showed no inclination to go to bed. She - remained sitting by her fire thinking how strange it was that she should - be on this Christmas Eve in the flesh at the house which she had visited - in her dreams. And while she sat thinking over this, she found herself - overcome by that strange longing which she had had just a year ago, to be - again by the side of the man who had come to her side in her dream. - </p> - <p> - She clasped her hands, saying in a whisper—“Come to me. Come to me - again and tell me that you have been waiting for me.” - </p> - <p> - She began to undress with feverish haste, when suddenly her hands dropped - by her sides, for the terrible thought occurred to her— - </p> - <p> - “What if my dream will not come to me this year because I happen to be in - the midst of the real scene where it took place?” - </p> - <p> - The thought that it might be as capricious as other dreams oppressed her. - She now felt sorry that she had agreed to visit the place. She should have - remained at Craven Court, where her dream had always been faithful to her. - </p> - <p> - A sudden idea occurred to her: she would leave her room and sit in reality - on the carved settee under the painted window, and then, going to bed - immediately after, she might sink unconsciously into the kind embrace of - her dream. - </p> - <p> - She opened her door very gently and went along the silent corridor until - she reached the head of the staircase, and saw the moonlight streaming - through the coloured glass to the lobby beneath. She stole down, and in - another instant she was in the seat, the moonlight streaming over her and - throwing the coloured pattern of the glass upon her white dress. She - closed her eyes, feeling that perhaps she might fall asleep and find - herself in the midst of her dream. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she opened her eyes. She fancied that she heard the sound of a - footstep in the hall below. Yes, there could be no doubt about it. Some - one was in the hall—some one was coming up the stairs. She sprang to - her feet, and was about to rush up to her room, when she heard a voice—the - voice that she had heard so often in that dream of hers, saying— - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not go now. You cannot go now that I have come to you—now - that I have been waiting for you for five years.” - </p> - <p> - She could not move from where she was standing. She saw a tall man with a - bronzed face coming up the stairs. She somehow had never seen his face in - her dream, but she recognised it from the photograph which his mother had - shown her: she knew that the man was Rawdon Clifford. - </p> - <p> - He stood before her on the lobby. - </p> - <p> - “They thought to separate us,” he said. “They thought that my love for you - was a form of madness. But I tell you, as I told them, I would rather - stand by your side for a few minutes once a-year than be for ever by the - side of another—a more real creature. That is why I have come over - land and sea to be here in time for your visit this Christmas Eve. I - promised my mother to stay away; but I could not—I could not keep my - promise, and I came to England a fortnight sooner than I expected, and - entered the house only this moment—like a burglar. But I am - rewarded.” - </p> - <p> - “I do not understand. I am Mrs Clifford’s guest. Madge Craven is my name,” - said Madge. - </p> - <p> - The man sprang back and raised his hands in surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! She is flesh and blood—at last—at last!” he - cried. - </p> - <p> - He put out his hand slowly—doubtfully. Madge put out hers to it. A - cry of delight came from him as he felt her warm hand, and he made it - still warmer by his kisses. She could not stop him. She made no attempt to - do so. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me that I was not mad—that I am not mad now,” he said in a - loving whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Oh no—only—is it not strange?—For five years I have - this dream—this very dream—and yet I never was in this house - until last January,” said Madge. - </p> - <p> - “You have been with me every Christmas Eve for five years, and you will - remain here for ever,” said he. “Do not tell me that we have not met - before—do not tell me that you have not loved me as I have loved you - all these years. What did that dream of yours mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I think I know now—now,” whispered the girl. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Mrs Tremaine considers, herself the only survivor of the people who - professed to exorcise the ghosts in whom our grandfathers were foolish - enough to believe. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BLOOD ORANGES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>h, my friend,” - said the Marchesa, “you Englishmen are like to our mountain which we see - smoking over there.” She threw herself into the attitude of the ‘<i>prima - donna assoluta</i> in an impassioned moment preceding the singing of the - romanza, as she pointed across the blue Bay of Naples to where Vesuvius - was sending forth a delicate hazy fume. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know anything about Englishmen,” said Sir Percival morosely; “but - I know that when you are near me my heart is a volcano—my soul——” - </p> - <p> - The lady’s laugh interrupted him—one cannot make use of similes with - a poetical flavour about them when a violet-eyed lady is leaning back her - head in laughter, even though the action displays a beautiful throat and - the curves of a superb neck. The Marchesa del Grippo displayed a - marvellous throat and neck, and was fully aware of this fact. Her laugh - rang out like a soprano dwelling with delight on a high note and producing - it <i>tremolo</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she cried, “you are at pains to prove to me that I am right in the - way I judge you Englishmen: to-day you are volcanic, to-morrow we find not - the blaze and the thunder but only—<i>ecco!</i> a puff of smoke.” - </p> - <p> - Once again she pointed—but this time carelessly—in the - direction of the mountain. - </p> - <p> - The man frowned. - </p> - <p> - “For heaven’s sake do not say ‘You Englishmen’ when I am by!” he cried. “I - have nothing in common with Englishmen.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never met an Englishman who did not try to impress upon me that he - was not as other Englishmen,” said the Marchesa. “The last one to say so - to me was your wicked young Lord Byron. The Guicciola presented him to me - at Genoa. Heavens! the old Count is more like an Englishman than Lord - Byron! He can keep his eyes fast shut when it suits him. Enough; I said - ‘You Englishmen,’ and he became red with anger. Droll! I had to ask - forgiveness for having accused his lordship of being English. Oh, you are - a nation of patriots.” - </p> - <p> - “You do not mean to keep up the acquaintance of Lord Byron, I would fain - hope,” said Sir Percival with another frown. - </p> - <p> - Again the lady laughed. - </p> - <p> - “After that do not tell me that you are not an Englishman,” she said. “It - is so very English to frown when the name of Lord Byron is mentioned—to - give a young woman with a husband a solemn warning to beware of that - wicked young noble, while all the time the one that utters the warning is - doing his best to earn the reputation of the disreputable Byron. The - English detest Byron; but if you want to flatter an Englishman to the - farthest point, all you have to do is to tell him that you believe him to - be a second Lord Byron. Never mind: I like the Lord Byron, and I like—yes, - a little—another of his countrymen, though he is, I fear, very - wicked.” - </p> - <p> - “Wicked?—wicked?” cried Sir Percival—he was plainly flattered. - “What is it to be wicked?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, do not ask me to give it a definition: I might say that it was to be - you—you yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “If it is wicked to love—madly—blindly—then indeed I - admit that——” - </p> - <p> - “That you are <i>aut Diabolus, aut Byron?</i> I know not which of the two - the English regard as the worse. Well, suppose I do not admit your right - to tell me of your love: I suppose I dare not dispute your right to love, - but I can dispute your right to tell me of it—that is, if it - exists.” - </p> - <p> - “If it exists? Heavens! my beloved creature, would I have followed you - here from England if I did not love you to distraction?” - </p> - <p> - “It needs such extraordinary self-sacrifice on the part of an Englishman - to leave England for Italy! I think you were glad to make some excuse—even - so feeble a one as that of being in love with an Italian woman—to - make a journey to Naples. But I forgot; you were in Italy once before, - were you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; I was in some parts,—the north—Tuscany—Florence—never - here—no, never here.” - </p> - <p> - “Never here? ah, yes; now I remember well. You said you had never been to - Sorrento. I wonder did I hold out any inducement to you to come to - Sorrento?—you must have been studying a map of our bay, for you knew - by name every landmark, every island, when I tried to be your cicerone - just now.” - </p> - <p> - The glance that he cast at her after giving a little start had something - of suspicion in it. - </p> - <p> - “Everyone knows the landmarks of the lovely Bay of Naples,” said he; “but - I—ah, my beloved, did you not tell me all its beauties when we first - met in London six months ago? Had you no idea that every word which fell - from your lips—even the words in which you described the scenery - around your home—should be burnt into my memory for evermore? Ah, - sweet one, will you never listen to me? Does my devotion count for nothing - with you?” - </p> - <p> - “My husband,” she whispered with a tremulous downward glance—the - glance of love’s surrender—he knew it well: he was a man of - considerable experience of woman in all her phases. He knew that he had - not been fooled by the Marchesa. - </p> - <p> - “Did not you tell me that you detested him?” he cried. “If a husband - treats a wife cruelly, as he has treated you, he has wilfully forfeited - all claim to her devotion. There are some acts so atrocious that it is - impossible to find an adequate punishment for them.” - </p> - <p> - “You think that even if the punishment were a crime in the eyes of the - world it would be sanctified by heaven if it were meted out to a monster - of cruelty?” The Marchesa was looking at him through half-closed eyes. He - saw that her hands were clenched tightly, and he did not fail to notice - how tumultuously her bosom was heaving. He was exultant. He had conquered. - That opportune word which he had thrown in regarding her husband’s cruelty - had overcome her last scruple. - </p> - <p> - She was his. - </p> - <p> - “My beloved—my beloved,” he whispered, “cruelty to such a woman as - you makes sacred the mission of avenging it. You will leave him—with - me you will never know aught save happiness.” - </p> - <p> - She gave a little laugh, and then put her hand in his, not doubtfully, but - with an expression of the amplest trustfulness. - </p> - <p> - “My last scruple is gone,” said she in the same low tone that he had - employed. “What you have said has made my mind easy.” - </p> - <p> - “You will come to me?” - </p> - <p> - “Till one of us dies.” - </p> - <p> - She spoke the words with the fire flashing from her eyes as she gazed into - his face. The force of that gaze of hers gave him a little shock. It was - only a momentary sensation, however; in a second he recollected that he - was talking to an Italian, not an Englishwoman. - </p> - <p> - “Till one of us dies—till one of us dies,” he whispered, poorly - imitating her intensity. “Ah, I knew that it would come, my darling. Would - I have travelled from England if I had not been certain of you—certain - of my own love for you, I mean? And you will come with me—you will - leave him? It is his punishment—his righteous punishment.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall leave him with you, I swear to you,” cried the Marchesa. - </p> - <p> - For a moment he failed to catch her exact meaning. He did not want the - Marchese to be left with him; but of course he perceived the next instant - that she meant to say that she would leave her husband and go with him, - her lover; and there was no tremor in his voice as he said— - </p> - <p> - “You will never repent it! Ah, what happiness will be ours, my soul! Shall - it be tomorrow? I can hire a vessel to take us to Malta,—there we - shall be safe.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay, it is too sudden,” said she. “My husband could not fail to have his - suspicions aroused. Nay, we shall have to await our opportunity. If he - asks you to pay us a visit you must come. He will be going to Rome in a - day or two, and I shall contrive to be left behind.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that will be our chance,” he cried. “Fate is on our side, my dear - one.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Fate is on our side,” she said in a low tone that could not possibly - reach the ear of the tall and straight man who approached them as they - stood at the balustrade of the Villa Galeotto overlooking the lovely Bay - of Naples. - </p> - <p> - “It is such a great pleasure to me to meet you once again, Sir Percival - Cleave,” said the Marchese, with a smile. “I hope that the Marchesa has - offered you the hospitality of our humble home?” - </p> - <p> - “The Marchesa has been so very kind as suggest that I should visit your - castle for an hour or two before I leave this lovely neighbourhood,” said - Sir Percival. - </p> - <p> - “Nay, surely she made you name the day,” said the Marchese, turning to his - wife. “Is it possible, my dear, that you failed to be more specific?” he - asked with great gravity. - </p> - <p> - The lady gave a shrug in response, and her husband became still more - grave. - </p> - <p> - “The hospitality which I received in England can never be forgotten by me, - though my mission was an unpleasant one,” said he. “The King of Naples—but - we will avoid politics, as people must if they mean to remain good - friends. Enough; you will honour us by paying us a visit—but when? - What day will suit your convenience?” - </p> - <p> - “I am only remaining in this neighbourhood for a day or two,” said Sir - Percival. “I have, alas! some important business that will take me - northward; but—well, I have no engagement to-morrow, if that day - would suit your Excellency.” - </p> - <p> - “It will suit me better than any other day,” replied the Marchese. “I have - myself to go to Rome almost at once. I shall never cease to be thankful to - Fate for having so delayed my departure as to enable me to have the - pleasure of meeting Sir Percival Cleave. You will come in the afternoon - and eat a simple dinner at our table. You are already acquainted with the - road to the Castle?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes—that is, no; I do not know the road, but I do not suppose I - shall have any difficulty in finding it out.” - </p> - <p> - “What!” the Marchese had turned once more to his wife and had assumed the - tone of a reproof. “What! you did not make Sir Percival aware of the - direction to the Castle?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir Percival has been studying a map of the Bay,” said she. “Though he - has never before been here he shows a remarkable acquaintance with the - neighbourhood.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not right to take so much for granted,” said the Marchese. “Allow - me to repair the negligence of the Marchesa, Sir Percival.” - </p> - <p> - He then pointed out to the Englishman the direction to take in order to - reach the road leading to the cliffs a mile beyond Sorrento, where the - Castello del Grippo stood in the centre of its olive-groves. Sir Percival - thanked him, and said that having received such plain directions he would - not now carry out his intention of driving to the castle; he would ride - there instead. - </p> - <p> - Before the Marchese and his wife took their departure, the latter had - managed to whisper in the ear of Sir Percival as she returned the pressure - of his hand— - </p> - <p> - “Without fail.” - </p> - <p> - “Till one of us dies,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - How strange it all was! he thought that night as he stood at the door of - the inn where he was staying at Sorrento, and listened to the singing of - the fishermen putting out to sea. How strange it all was! The seven years - that had passed since he had last heard the hymn of the fishermen in that - Bay seemed no more than so many days. He had had his adventures since he - had been so foolish as to fancy himself in love with Paolina—poor - Paolina! A good many faces had interposed between the face of the Italian - girl of 1815 and the face of the Italian Marchesa in 1822. But what a - whimsical fate it was that had made him fall in love with the Marchesa del - Grippo more deeply than he had ever permitted himself to fall in regard to - other women! He had never known what it was to love before, though she was - the woman whom he should have avoided, even if there were no other woman - to love in the wide world. - </p> - <p> - Ah, it was fate—the Marchesa had said so that afternoon at the Villa - Galeotto. She had loved him from the first—he was ready to swear to - that. He remembered now certain indications of her passion which he had - noticed the first evening they had met, but which had escaped his memory. - It was at Lady Blessington’s in Kensington, and the Marchesa had expressed - the pleasure it gave her to meet with an Englishman who spoke such - excellent Italian. He had been very cautious at that time in replying to - her questions as to the length of time he had been in Italy and the places - that he had visited. It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that, - after the lapse of seven years, any one might recognise him as the lover - of Paolina, so it was just as well, he thought, to be careful. He had not - mentioned a word about Sorrento, and not until the Marchesa had stood by - his side in the garden of the Villa Galeotto had he lapsed in his feigning - a complete ignorance of the locality. It was the force of his passion for - that lovely woman which had overwhelmed him, causing him to forget himself - and to refer by name to various landmarks. - </p> - <p> - But what did it matter now? The woman had responded to him, and in a day - or two would be by his side for—well, for as long as he pleased. A - short distance away Lord Byron was affording the Italians a new reading of - the cold-blooded Englishman; but Sir Percival Cleave would take very good - care that he was not made such a fool of by the Marchesa as Lord Byron was - by the Contessa Guicciola. Byron was practically a pauper, whereas he, Sir - Percival Cleave, was rich. He could therefore (the logic was his) prevent - himself from ever being made a fool of by any woman, Marchesa or Contessa - though she might be. - </p> - <p> - But he loved her—of that he was certain. He had asked her if he - would have faced the discomforts of a journey from England to Italy had he - not been in love with her; and now as he stood listening to the - fishermen’s hymns sung in the boats that were drifting out of the Bay, he - asked himself the same question. Oh yes, he loved her! and her husband was - cruel to her—she had told him so in England, and she had been - greatly comforted by his assurance—given in answer to her inquiry—that - the crime of being cruel to her was so great as to condone any act of hers—say, - running away with another man. - </p> - <p> - She was superstitious; she had some scruples. The priests, no doubt, were - in the pay of her husband, and they had probably exaggerated the crime of - a wife’s leaving a husband,—it would be so like a greasy Italian - priest to lay emphasis upon this one particular act; but he, an English - gentleman to the core, and properly sensible of the blessings of a - Protestant king and constitution, had succeeded in counteracting the - insidious teaching of the priests. She had listened to him. She had - readily accepted that great truth: a woman’s retaliation to her husband’s - cruelty is sanctified in the eyes of heaven. That was his point: the eyes - of heaven. It was immaterial in what light such an act of retaliation as - he suggested to her would appear in the eyes of the people of the world. - </p> - <p> - Before he slept he had brought himself to believe that he was actually the - lady’s honourable champion, boldly coming forward to rescue her from an - intolerable oppressor. - </p> - <p> - The Castello del Grippo was built on the summit of the headland that - sloped away from the sea at one side, but was very precipitous on the - other. For three hundred years the family of Del Grippo had been - accustomed to display a light in the tower nightly for the guidance of the - fishing-boats, for the Castle could be seen from the north as well as the - south. For more than a mile on the shoreward side of the Castle the - olive-trees grew mixed with lemons and oranges; and as Sir Percival rode - along the somewhat rough avenue on his way to accept the hospitality of - the man whose wife he had the previous day been instructing on some - interesting points in regard to her duty, he was entranced with the - perfumes of the fruits and flowers. The air was heavy with odours of the - citrons, and the gold of the luscious fruit gleamed among the glossy - leaves. Though he had never been on the avenue before, the gleam of the - fruit and the exquisite scents brought back to him the sweet memory of - Paolina. It was not at this side of the great garden that he had been - accustomed to meet her, but on the other side—that nearest the - cliff, a mile away. - </p> - <p> - It was a sweet sad memory, and it was so poignant that it even caused him - to sigh and murmur— - </p> - <p> - “Ah, la povera Paolina! la povera Paolina!” - </p> - <p> - And having thereby satisfied himself that his heart was as soft as the - heart of a little child, he urged his horse forward. - </p> - <p> - He soon reached the Castle, and it seemed gloomy enough, outlined against - the wonderful blue sky. He had seen numbers of the peasants working among - the olives, but close to the Castle none were in sight. It was not until - he had dismounted and pulled the handle of the old iron bell that a - servant appeared. In a few moments the Marchese himself came out of a room - at one side of the hall and welcomed his guest, giving instructions to - another servant to stable the horse. - </p> - <p> - “You have not met the Marchesa?” he inquired of Sir Percival. “She left - the Castle half-an-hour ago, trusting to meet you. Pray enter and we shall - have some refreshment.” - </p> - <p> - But Sir Percival declined to enter in the absence of the Marchesa. He felt - that to do so would be very gross—to say the least of it. The idea - of sitting down with the Marchese while the lady—his lady—was - wandering disconsolately around the grounds in search of him was very - repugnant to him. - </p> - <p> - “As you will,” said the Marchese with a shrug when he remarked that he - would like to go in search of the Marchesa. “As you will. She is not - likely to get lost. Oh yes; we shall go in search of her, and that will - serve me as an excuse for showing you some of the spots to which interest - attaches within our grounds.” - </p> - <p> - He picked up a hat and stick and left the Castle with his visitor. - </p> - <p> - “We shall first go to the grove where the historic duel was fought between - my ancestor and the two nephews of Pope Adrian,” said the Marchese. “You - have heard of that affair, no doubt.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall we be likely to find the Marchesa there?” asked Sir Percival. - </p> - <p> - “As likely as not we shall meet her as we go there,” replied the Marchese. - </p> - <p> - He led the way through an avenue of ilex, and they soon came upon a - cleared space at the foot of a terrace of rocks. The Marchese explained - the position occupied by the combatants in the famous duel that had so - consolidated the position of the family of Del Grippo. But all the time - the details of the incident were being explained to him Sir Percival was - casting his eyes around for the appearance of the lady. What did he care - about Pope Adrian or his nephews so long as his lady—he had come to - think of her as his lady—was roaming the grounds in search of him? - </p> - <p> - Then his host brought him to where the body of his grandfather had been - found by the side of the three men whom he had killed before receiving the - fatal blow from behind, dealt by that poltroon, Prince Roberto, who had - hired four of his bravos to attack the old man. At another part of the - grounds were the ruins of the ancient summer-house, where a certain member - of this distinguished family had strangled his wife, whom he had suspected - of infidelity, though, as the Marchese explained, the lady had saved him - more than once from assassination and was perfectly guiltless. - </p> - <p> - An hour had been passed viewing these very interesting localities, about - which the air of the middle ages still lingered, and still the Marchesa - was absent. - </p> - <p> - “Should we not return to the Castle? the Marchesa may be waiting for us,” - suggested Sir Percival. - </p> - <p> - “A thousand pardons,” cried the Marchese. “I fear I have fatigued you. You - are thirsty.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes; I am somewhat thirsty,” laughed the visitor. - </p> - <p> - “How discourteous I have been! We shall have the refreshment of an orange - before returning. There is a famous grove a short way toward the cliff.” - </p> - <p> - He strode onward, and then, suddenly turning down a narrow path made among - the olives, Sir Percival gave a start, for he found himself by the side of - the Marchese, at the one part of those grounds with which he was well - acquainted. They stood among the orange-trees at the summit of the cliff - which he had nightly climbed to meet Paolina. - </p> - <p> - “Here are our choicest fruits,” said the Marchese, plucking an orange and - handing it to his visitor. “Break it open and you will see how exquisite - the fruit is.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Percival broke the orange, but the moment he did so it fell from his - fingers and he gave a cry of horror, for out of the fruit had come a red - stream staining his hands. - </p> - <p> - The Marchese laughed loud and long. - </p> - <p> - “Your hands are embrued with blood,” he said. “Oh, a stranger might fancy - for a moment that Sir Percival Cleave was a murderer. Ah! pray pardon my - folly. That is only the refreshing juice of the orange. And yet you - fancied that it was blood! Come, my friend, take courage; here is another. - Eat it; you will find it delicious. I have heard that there are in the - world such strange monsters as are refreshed by drinking blood—we - have ourselves vampires in this neighbourhood. But you and I, sir, we - prefer only the heart’s blood of a simple orange. You will eat one.” - </p> - <p> - “I could not touch one,” said Sir Percival. “Nay; to do me the favour? - What! an Englishman and superstitious?” - </p> - <p> - Sir Percival took another orange and made a pretence of eating it. His - hands trembled so, however, they were soon dripping with the crimson - juice. - </p> - <p> - “You are caught red-handed in the act,” said the Marchese, “red-handed— - but the man who came here long ago was not so captured.” - </p> - <p> - “Another medieval story?” said Sir Percival. “Had your Excellency not - better reserve it for the evening?” - </p> - <p> - “This story is not a medieval one; and it can only be told on the spot,” - said the Marchese. “You have never been here before or you would not need - to be told that this orange-grove was until seven years ago an ordinary - one. It was not until blood was spilt here seven years ago that the fruit - became crimson when bruised, and blood—your hands are dyed with it——flowed - from it as you have seen—it is on your lips—you have drunk of - her blood—Paolina’s.” - </p> - <p> - “For Gods sake let us leave this place!” said Sir Percival hoarsely. “I - have heard enough stories of bloodshed.” - </p> - <p> - “Nay; this one is so piteous, you shall hear it and weep, sir—ah! - tears of blood might be drawn from the most hard-hearted at the story of - Paolina. She was a sweet girl. She lived with her sister, who is now the - Marchesa——” - </p> - <p> - “Good God!” - </p> - <p> - “What amazes you, sir? Is it remarkable that my wife should have had a - sister?’ - </p> - <p> - “No, no; of course not; I was only surprised to find those horrid marks - still on my hands. Pray let us return to the Castle and permit me to - remove the stains.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor Paolina!—she lived at the Castle with our aunt seven years - ago. She was a flower of girlhood. I thought myself in love with her; but - when my brother Ugo—he was the elder—confided in me that he - loved her, I left the Castle. He loved her, and it seemed that she - returned his affection. They were betrothed, and one could not doubt that - their happiness was assured. But one evil day she met a man—a - scoundrel; I regret to say that he was an Englishman—do not move, - sir, you shall hear me out. This villain spoke to her of love. He tempted - her. She was accustomed to meet him every evening on this very spot—we - learned that he sailed from Sorrento and climbed the cliff. My brother - began to suspect. He followed her here one evening, and she confessed - everything to him. He was a passionate man, and he strangled her here—here—and - then flung himself headlong from the cliff.” - </p> - <p> - “A gruesome story, Marchese. Now, shall we return?” - </p> - <p> - “Villain!—assassin!—look at your hands—they are wet with - her blood—your lips—they have drunk her blood, but ‘tis their - last draught—for——” - </p> - <p> - Sir Percival sprang at the man and caught him by the throat, but in an - instant his hands relaxed. He had only strength to glance round. He saw - the woman who had stabbed him, before he fell forward. - </p> - <p> - “That one was for her—for her—my beloved sister. This one is - for our dear brother—the man whom you wronged. This——” - </p> - <p> - She stabbed him again. His blood mixed with the crimson stains on the - earth. - </p> - <p> - “Look at it—bear witness that I have kept my oath,” cried the - Marchesa. “Did not I swear that his blood should be drunk by the same - earth that drank hers?” - </p> - <p> - “Beloved one, you are an angel—an avenging angel!” cried the - Marchese, embracing his wife. - </p> - <p> - The next day Sir Percival Cleave’s horse was found dead at the foot of one - of the cliffs; but the body of the “unfortunate baronet”—so he was - termed by the newspapers (English)—was never recovered. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE STRANGE STORY OF NORTHAVON PRIORY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Arthur Jephson - wrote to me to join his Christmas party at Northavon Priory, I was set - wondering where I had heard the name of this particular establishment. I - felt certain that I had heard the name before, but I could not recollect - for the moment whether I had come upon it in a newspaper report of a - breach of promise of marriage or in a Blue-Book bearing upon Inland - Fisheries: I rather inclined to the belief that it was in a Blue-Book of - some sort. I had been devoting myself some years previously to an - exhaustive study of this form of literature; for being very young, I had - had a notion that a Blue-Book education was essential to any one with - parliamentary aspirations. Yes, I had, I repeat, been very young at that - time, and I had not found out that a Blue-Book is the <i>oubliette</i> of - inconvenient facts. - </p> - <p> - It was not until I had promised Arthur to be with him on Christmas Eve - that I recollected where I had read something about Northavon Priory, and - in a moment I understood how it was I had acquired the notion that the - name had appeared in an official document. I had read a good deal about - this Priory in a curious manuscript which I had unearthed at Sir Dennis le - Warden’s place in Norfolk, known as Marsh Towers. The document, which, - with many others, I found stowed away in a wall-cupboard in the great - library, purported to be a draft of the evidence taken before one of the - Commissions appointed by King Henry VIII. to inquire into the abuses - alleged to be associated with certain religious houses throughout England. - An ancestor of Sir Dennis’s had, it appeared, been a member of one of - these Commissions, and he had taken a note of the evidence which he had in - the course of his duties handed to the King. - </p> - <p> - The parchments had, I learned, been preserved in an iron coffer with - double padlocks, but the keys had been lost at some remote period, and - then the coffer had been covered over with lumber in a room in the east - tower overlooking the moat, until an outbreak of fire had resulted in an - overturning of the rubbish and a discovery of the coffer. A blacksmith had - been employed to pick the locks, which he did with a sledge-hammer; but it - was generally admitted that his energy had been wasted when the contents - of the box were made known. Sir Dennis cared about nothing except the - improvement of the breed of horses through the agency of race meetings, so - the manuscripts of his painstaking ancestor were bundled into one of the - presses in the library, some, however, being reserved by the intelligent - housekeeper in the still-room to make jam-pot covers—a purpose for - which, as she explained to me at considerable length, they were extremely - well adapted. - </p> - <p> - I had no great difficulty in deciphering those that came under my hand, - for I had had considerable experience of the tricks of early English - writers; and as I read I became greatly interested in all the original - “trustie and well-beelou’d Sir Denice le Warden” had written. The - frankness of the evidence which he had collected on certain points took - away my breath, although I had been long accustomed to the directness with - which some of the fifteenth-century people expressed themselves. - </p> - <p> - Northavon Priory was among the religious houses whose practices had formed - the subject of the inquiry, and it was the summary of Sir Denice’s notes - regarding the Black Masses alleged to have been celebrated within its - walls that proved so absorbing to me. The bald account of the nature of - these orgies would of itself have been sufficient, if substantiated, to - bring about the dissolution of all the order in England. The Black Mass - was a pagan revel, the details of which were unspeakable, though their - nature was more than hinted at by the King’s Commissioner. Anything so - monstrously blasphemous could not be imagined by the mind of man, for with - the pagan orgie there was mixed up the most solemn rite of the Mass. It - was celebrated on the night of Christmas Eve, and at the hour of midnight - the celebration culminated in an invocation to the devil, written so as to - parody an office of the Church, and, according to the accounts of some - witnesses, in a human sacrifice. Upon this latter point, however, Sir - Denice admitted there was a diversity of opinion. - </p> - <p> - One of the witnesses examined was a man who had entered the Priory grounds - from the river during a fearful tempest, on one Christmas Eve, and had, he - said, witnessed the revel through a window to which he had climbed. He - declared that at the hour of midnight the candles had been extinguished, - but that a moment afterwards an awful red light had floated through the - room, followed by the shrieks of a human being at the point of - strangulation, and then by horrible yells of laughter. Another man who was - examined had been a wood-cutter in the service of the Priory, and he had - upon one occasion witnessed the celebration of a Black Mass; but he - averred that no life was sacrificed, though he admitted that in the - strange red light, which had flashed through the room, he had seen what - appeared to be two men struggling on the floor. In the general particulars - of the orgie there was, however, no diversity of opinion, and had the old - Sir Denice le Warden been anything of a comparative mythologist, he could - scarcely fail to have been greatly interested in being brought face to - face with so striking an example of the survival of an ancient - superstition within the walls of a holy building. - </p> - <p> - During a rainy week I amused myself among the parchments dealing with - Northavon Priory, and although what I read impressed me greatly at the - time, yet three years of pretty hard work in various parts of the world - had so dulled my memory of any incident so unimportant as the deciphering - of a mouldy document that, as I have already stated, it was not until I - had posted my letter to Arthur Jephson agreeing to spend a day or two with - his party, that I succeeded in recalling something of what I had read - regarding Northavon Priory. - </p> - <p> - I had taken it for granted that the Priory had been demolished when Henry - had superintended the dissolution of the religious establishments - throughout the country: I did not think it likely that one with such a - record as was embodied in the notes would be allowed to remain with a - single stone on another. A moment’s additional reflection admitted of my - perceiving how extremely unlikely it was that, even if Northavon Priory - had been spared by the King, it would still be available for visitors - during the latter years of the nineteenth century. I had seen many - red-brick “abbeys” and “priories” in various parts of the country, not - more than ten years old, inhabited mostly by gentlemen who had made - fortunes in iron, or perhaps lard, which constitutes, I understand, an - excellent foundation for a fortune. There might be, for all I knew, a - score of Northavon Priories in England. Arthur Jephson’s father had made - his money by the judicious advertising of a certain oriental rug - manufactured in the Midlands, and I thought it very likely that he had - built a mansion for himself which he had called Northavon Priory. - </p> - <p> - A letter which I received from Arthur set my mind at rest. He explained to - me very fully that Northavon Priory was a hotel built within the walls of - an ancient religious house. - </p> - <p> - He had spent a delightful month fishing in the river during the summer,—I - had been fishing in the Amazon at that time,—and had sojourned at - the hotel, which he had found to be a marvel of comfort in spite of its - picturesqueness. This was why, he said, he had thought how jolly it would - be to entertain a party of his friends at the place during the Christmas - week. - </p> - <p> - That explanation was quite good enough for me. I had a week or two to - myself in England before going to India, and so soon as I recalled what I - had read regarding North-avon Priory, I felt glad that my liking for - Jephson had induced me to accept his invitation. - </p> - <p> - It was not until we were travelling together to the station nearest to the - Priory that he mentioned to me, quite incidentally, that during the summer - he had been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a young woman who - resided in a spacious mansion within easy distance of the Priory Hotel, - and who was, so far as he was capable of judging,—and he considered - that in such matters his judgment was worth something,—the most - charming girl in England. - </p> - <p> - “I see,” I remarked before his preliminary panegyric had quite come to a - legitimate conclusion—“I see all now: you haven’t the courage—to - be more exact, the impudence—to come down alone to the hotel—she - has probably a brother who is a bit of an athlete—but you think that - Tom Singleton and I will form a good enough excuse for an act on your part - which parents and guardians can construe in one way only.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, perhaps——Hang it all, man, you needn’t attribute to me - any motives but those of the purest hospitality,” laughed my companion. - “Isn’t the prospect of a genuine old English Christmas—the Yule log, - and that sort of thing—good enough for you without going any - further?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s quite good enough for me,” I replied. “I only regret that it is not - good enough for you. You expect to see her every day?” - </p> - <p> - “Every day? Don’t be a fool, Jim. If I see her more than four times in the - course of the week—I think I should manage to see her four times—I - will consider myself exceptionally lucky.” - </p> - <p> - “And if you see her less than four times you will reckon yourself - uncommonly unlucky?” - </p> - <p> - “O, I think I have arranged for four times all right: I’ll have to trust - to luck for the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “What! you mean to say that the business has gone as far as that?” - </p> - <p> - “As what?” - </p> - <p> - “As making arrangements for meetings with her?” - </p> - <p> - My friend laughed complacently. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see, old chap, I couldn’t very well give you this treat without - letting her know that I should be in the neighbourhood,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, indeed. I don’t see, however, what the——” - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! You mean to say that you don’t see——Oh, you - will have your joke.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope I will have one eventually; I can’t say that I perceive much - chance of one at present, however. You’ll not give us much of your - interesting society during the week of our treat, as you call it.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll give you as much of it as I can spare—more than you’ll be - likely to relish, perhaps. A week’s a long time, Jim.” - </p> - <p> - “‘Time travels at divers paces with divers persons,’ my friend. I suppose - she’s as lovely as any of the others of past years?” - </p> - <p> - “As lovely! Jim, she’s just the——” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t trouble yourself over the description. I have a vivid recollection - of the phrases you employed in regard to the others. There was Lily, and - Gwen, and Bee, and—yes, by George! there was a fourth; her name was - Nelly, or——” - </p> - <p> - “All flashes in the pan, my friend. I didn’t know my own mind in those old - days; but now, thank heaven!—Oh, you’ll agree with me when you see - her. This is the real thing and no mistake.” - </p> - <p> - He was good enough to give me a genuine lover’s description of the young - woman, whose name was, he said, Sylvia St Leger; but it did not differ - materially from the descriptions which had come from him in past days, of - certainly four other girls for whom he had, he imagined, entertained a - devotion strong as death itself. Alas! his devotion had not survived a - single year in any case. - </p> - <p> - When we arrived at the hotel, after a drive of eight miles from the - railway station, we found Tom Singleton waiting for us rather impatiently, - and in a quarter of an hour we were facing an excellent dinner. We were - the only guests at the hotel, for though it was picturesquely situated on - the high bank of the river, and was doubtless a delightful place for a - sojourn in summer, yet in winter it possessed few attractions to casual - visitors. - </p> - <p> - After dinner I strolled over the house, and found, to my surprise, that - the old walls of the Priory were practically intact. The kitchen was also - unchanged, but the great refectory was now divided into four rooms. The - apartments upstairs had plainly been divided in the same way by brick - partitions; but the outer walls, pierced with narrow windows, were those - of the original Priory. - </p> - <p> - In the morning I made further explorations, only outside the building, and - came upon the ruins of the old Priory tower; and then I perceived that - only a small portion of the original building had been utilised for the - hotel. The landlord, who accompanied me, was certainly no antiquarian. He - told me that he had been “let in” so far as the hotel was concerned. He - had been given to understand that the receipts for the summer months were - sufficiently great to compensate for the absence of visitors during the - winter; but his experience of one year had not confirmed this statement, - made by the people from whom he had bought the place, and he had come to - the conclusion that, as he had been taken in in the transaction, it was - his duty to try to take in some one else in the same way. - </p> - <p> - “I only hope that I may succeed, sir,” he said, “but I’m doubtful about - it. People are getting more suspicious every day.” - </p> - <p> - “You weren’t suspicious, at any rate,” said I. - </p> - <p> - “That I weren’t—more’s the pity, sir,” said he. “But it’ll take me - all my time to get the place off my hands, I know. Ah, yes; it’s hard to - get people to take your word for anything nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - For the next two days Tom Singleton and I were left a good deal together, - the fact being that our friend Arthur parted from us after lunch and only - returned in time for dinner, declaring upon each occasion that he had just - passed the pleasantest day of his life. On Christmas Eve he came to us in - high spirits, bearing with him an invitation from a lady who had attained - distinction through being the mother of Miss St Leger, for us to spend - Christmas Day at her house—it had already been pointed out to us by - Arthur: it was a fine Georgian country house, named The Grange. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve accepted for you both,” said Arthur. “Mrs St Leger is a most - charming woman, and her daughter—I don’t know if I mentioned that - she had a daughter—well, if I omitted, I am now in a position to - assure you that her daughter—her name is Sylvia—is possibly - the most beautiful——But there’s no use trying to describe her; - you’ll see her for yourselves to-morrow, and judge if I’ve exaggerated in - the least when I say that the world does not contain a more exquisite - creature.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, one hour with her will be quite sufficient to enable us to pronounce - an opinion on that point,” laughed Tom. - </p> - <p> - We remained smoking in front of the log fire that blazed in the great - hearth, until about eleven o’clock, and then went to our rooms upstairs, - after some horse-play in the hall. - </p> - <p> - My room was a small one at the beginning of the corridor, Arthur Jephson’s - was alongside it, and at the very end of the corridor was Tom Singleton’s. - All had at one time been one apartment. - </p> - <p> - Having walked a good deal during the day, I was very tired, and had - scarcely got into bed before I fell asleep. - </p> - <p> - When I awoke it was with a start and a consciousness that something was - burning. A curious red light streamed into the room from outside. I sprang - from my bed in a moment and ran to the window. But before I had reached it - the room was in darkness once more, and there came a yell of laughter, - apparently from the next room. - </p> - <p> - For a moment I was paralysed. But the next instant I had recovered my - presence of mind. I believed that Arthur and Tom had been playing some of - their tricks upon me. They had burnt a red light outside my window, and - were roaring with laughter as they heard me spring out of bed. - </p> - <p> - That was the explanation of what I had seen and heard which first - suggested itself to me; and I was about to return to bed when my door was - knocked at and then opened. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth have you been up to?” came the voice of Arthur Jephson. - “Have you set the bed-curtains on fire? If you have, that’s nothing to - laugh at.” - </p> - <p> - “Get out of this room with your larking,” said I. “It’s a very poor joke - that of yours, Arthur. Go back to your bed.” - </p> - <p> - He struck a light—he had a match-box in his hand—and went to - my candle without a word. In a moment the room was faintly illuminated. - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to say that you hadn’t a light here just now—a red - light?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I had no light: a red light floated through the room, but it seemed to - come from outside,” said I. - </p> - <p> - “And who was it laughed in that wild way?” - </p> - <p> - “I took it for granted that it was you and Tom who were about your usual - larks.” - </p> - <p> - “Larks! No, I was about no larks, I can promise you. Good Lord! man, that - laugh was something beyond a lark.” He seated himself on my bed. “Do you - fancy it may have been some of the servants going about the stables with a - carriage-lamp?” he continued. “There may have been a late arrival at the - hotel, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s not at all unlikely,” said I. “Yes, it may have been that, and the - laughter may have been between the grooms.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t hear any sound of bustle through the house or outside,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “The stables are not at this angle of the building,” said I. “We must - merely have seen the light and heard that laughter as the carriage passed - our angle. Anyhow, we’ll only catch cold if we lounge about in our pyjamas - like this. You’d best get back to bed and let me do the same.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t feel much inclined to sleep, but I’ll not prevent your having - your night’s rest,” said he, rising. “I wonder is it near morning?” - </p> - <p> - I held the candle before the dial of my watch that hung above my bed. - </p> - <p> - “It’s exactly five minutes past twelve,” said I. “We’ve slept barely an - hour.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the sooner I clear out the better it will be for both of us,” said - he. - </p> - <p> - He went away slowly, and I heard him strike a match in his own room. He - evidently meant to light his candle. - </p> - <p> - Some hours had passed before I fell into an uneasy sleep, and once more I - was awakened by Arthur Jephson, who stood by my bedside. The morning light - was in the room. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, come into Tom’s room!” he whispered. “He’s dead!—Tom - is dead!” - </p> - <p> - I tried to realise his words. Some moments had elapsed before I succeeded - in doing so. I sprang from my bed and ran down the corridor to the room - occupied by Tom Singleton. The landlord and a couple of servants were - already there. They had burst in the door. - </p> - <p> - It was but too true: our poor friend lay on his bed with his body bent and - his arms twisted as though he had been struggling desperately with some - one at his last moment. His face, too, was horribly contorted, and his - eyes were wide open. - </p> - <p> - “A doctor,” I managed to say. - </p> - <p> - “He’s already sent for, sir,” said the landlord. - </p> - <p> - In a few moments the doctor arrived. - </p> - <p> - “Cardiac attack,” said he. “Was he alone in the room? No, he can’t have - been alone.” - </p> - <p> - “He was quite alone,” said Arthur. “I knocked at the door a quarter of an - hour ago, but getting no answer, I tried to force the lock. It was too - strong for me; but the landlord and the man-servant who was bringing us - our hot water burst in the door at my request.” - </p> - <p> - “And the window—was it fastened?” asked the doctor. - </p> - <p> - “It was secure, sir,” said the landlord. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, a sudden cardiac attack,” said the doctor. - </p> - <p> - There was, of course, an inquest, but as no evidence of foul play was - forthcoming, the doctor’s phrase “cardiac attack” satisfied the jury, and - a verdict of “Death from natural causes” was returned. - </p> - <p> - Before I went back to town I examined the room in which our poor friend - had died. On the side of one of the window-shutters there were four - curious burnt marks. They gave one the impression that the shutter had at - one time been grasped by a man wearing a red-hot gauntlet. - </p> - <p> - I started for India before the end of the year and remained there for - eight months. Then I thought I would pay a visit to a sister of mine in - Queensland. On my return at the end of the year I meant to stop at Cairo - for a few weeks. On entering Shepheard’s Hotel I found myself face to face - with Arthur Jephson and his wife—he called her Sylvia. They had been - married in August, but their honeymoon seemed still to be in its first - quarter. It was after Mrs Jephson had retired, and when Arthur was sitting - with me enjoying the cool of the night by the aid of a pretty strong cigar - or two, that we ventured to allude to the tragic occurrence which marked - our last time of meeting. - </p> - <p> - “I wish to beg of you not to make any allusion to that awful business in - the hearing of my wife,” said Arthur. “In fact I must ask you not to - allude to that fearful room in the Priory in any way.” - </p> - <p> - “I will be careful not to do so,” said I. “You have your own reasons, I - suppose, for giving me this warning.” - </p> - <p> - “I have the best of reasons, Jim. She too had her experience of that room, - and it was as terrible as ours.” - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens! I heard nothing of that. She did not sleep in that room?” - </p> - <p> - “Thank God, she didn’t. I arrived in time to save her.” - </p> - <p> - I need scarcely say that my interest was now fully aroused. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what happened—if you dare tell it,” I said. - </p> - <p> - “You were abroad, and so you wouldn’t be likely to hear of the fire at The - Grange,” said my friend, after a pause. - </p> - <p> - “I heard nothing of it.” - </p> - <p> - “It took place only two days before last Christmas. I had been in the - south of France, where I had spent a month or two with my mother,—she - cannot stand a winter at home,—and I had promised Sylvia to return - to The Grange for Christmas. When I got to Northavon I found her and her - mother and their servants at the Priory Hotel. The fire had taken place - the previous night, and they found the hotel very handy when they hadn’t a - roof of their own over their heads. Well, we dined together, and were as - jolly as was possible under the circumstances until bedtime. I had - actually said ‘Good night’ to Sylvia before I recollected what had taken - place the previous Christmas Eve in the same house. I rushed upstairs, and - found Sylvia in the act of entering the room—that fatal room. When I - implored of her to choose some other apartment, she only laughed at first, - and assured me that she wasn’t superstitious; but when she saw that I was - serious—I was deadly serious, as you can believe, Jim——” - </p> - <p> - “I can—I can.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, she agreed to sleep in her mother’s room, and I went away relieved. - So soon as I returned to the fire in the dining-room I began to think of - poor Tom Singleton. I felt curiously excited, and I knew that it would be - useless for me to go to bed,—in fact, I made up my mind not to leave - the dining-room for some hours, at any rate, and when the landlord came to - turn out the lights I told him he might trust me to do that duty for him. - He left me alone in the room about half-past eleven o’clock. When the - sound of his feet upon the oaken stairs died away I felt as fearful as a - child in the dark. I lit another cigar and walked about the room for some - time. I went to the window that opened upon the old Priory ground, and, - seeing that the night was a fine one, I opened the door and strolled out, - hoping that the cool air would do me good. I had not gone many yards - across the little patch of green before I turned and looked up at the - house—at the last window, the window of that room. A fire had been - lighted in the room early in the evening, and its glow shone through the - white blind. Suddenly that faint glow increased to a terrific glare,—a - red glare, Jim,—and then there came before my eyes for a moment the - shadow of two figures upon the blind,—one the figure of a woman, the - other—God knows what it was. I rushed back to the room, but before I - had reached the door I heard the horrible laughter once again. It seemed - to come from that room and to pass on through the air into the distance - across the river. I ran upstairs with a light, and found Sylvia and her - mother standing together with wraps around them at the door of the room. - ‘Thank God, you are safe!’ I managed to cry. ‘I feared that you had - returned to the room.’ ‘You heard it—that awful laughter?’ she - whispered. ‘You heard it, and you saw something—what was it?’ I - gently forced her and her mother back to their room, for the servants and - the landlord’s family were now crowding into the corridor. They, too, had - heard enough to alarm them.” - </p> - <p> - “You went to the room?” - </p> - <p> - “The scene of that dreadful morning was repeated. The door was locked on - the inside. We broke it in and found a girl lying dead on the floor, her - face contorted just as poor Singleton’s was. She was Sylvia’s maid, and it - was thought that, on hearing that her mistress was not going to occupy the - room, she had gone into it herself on account of the fire which had been - lighted there.” - </p> - <p> - “And the doctor said——?” - </p> - <p> - “Cardiac attack—the same as before—singular coincidence! I - need scarcely say that we never slept again under that accursed roof. Poor - Sylvia! She was overwhelmed at the thought of how narrow her escape had - been.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you notice anything remarkable about the room—about the - shutters of the window?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - He looked at me curiously for a moment. Then he bent forward and said— - </p> - <p> - “On the edge of the shutter there were some curious marks where the wood - had been charred.” - </p> - <p> - “As if a hand with a red-hot gauntlet had been laid upon it?” - </p> - <p> - “There were the marks of two such hands,” said my friend slowly. - </p> - <p> - We remained for an hour in the garden; then we threw away the ends of our - cigars and went into the hotel without another word. - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg’s The Other World, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OTHER WORLD *** - -***** This file should be named 51963-h.htm or 51963-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/6/51963/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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