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diff --git a/5869-h/5869-h.htm b/5869-h/5869-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fbbaa1e --- /dev/null +++ b/5869-h/5869-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4661 @@ +<?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"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Michael's Crag, by Grant Allen + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + 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%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .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 xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Michael’s Crag, by Grant Allen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Michael’s Crag + +Author: Grant Allen + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5869] +First Posted: September 15, 2002 +Last Updated: September 10, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MICHAEL’S CRAG *** + + + + +Etext produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + MICHAEL’S CRAG + </h1> + <h2> + By Grant Allen + </h2> + <h3> + 1893 + </h3> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_TOC"> CONTENTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — A CORNISH LANDLORD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — TREVENNACK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — FACE TO FACE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — TYRREL’S REMORSE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. — A STRANGE DELUSION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. — PURE ACCIDENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. — PERIL BY LAND. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. — SAFE AT LAST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. — MEDICAL OPINION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. — A BOLD ATTEMPT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. — BUSINESS IS BUSINESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. — A HARD BARGAIN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. — ANGEL AND DEVIL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. — AT ARM’S LENGTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. — ST. MICHAEL DOES BATTLE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — A CORNISH LANDLORD. + </h2> + <p> + “Then you don’t care for the place yourself, Tyrrel?” + Eustace Le Neve said, musingly, as he gazed in front of him with a + comprehensive glance at the long gray moor and the wide expanse of black + and stormy water. + </p> + <p> + “It’s bleak, of course; bleak and cold, I grant you; all this + upland plateau about the Lizard promontory seems bleak and cold + everywhere; but to my mind it has a certain wild and weird picturesqueness + of its own for all that. It aims at gloominess. I confess in its own way I + don’t dislike it.” + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” Tyrrel answered, clinching his hand hard as he + spoke, and knitting his brow despondently, “I simply hate it. If I + wasn’t the landlord here, to be perfectly frank with you, I’d + never come near Penmorgan. I do it for conscience’ sake, to be among + my own people. That’s my only reason. I disapprove of absenteeism; + and now the land’s mine, why, I must put up with it, I suppose, and + live upon it in spite of myself. But I do it against the grain. The whole + place, if I tell you the truth, is simply detestable to me.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned on his stick as he spoke, and looked down gloomily at the + heather. A handsome young man, Walter Tyrrel, of the true Cornish type—tall, + dark, poetical-looking, with pensive eyes and a thick black mustache, + which gave dignity and character to his otherwise almost too delicately + feminine features. And he stood on the open moor just a hundred yards + outside his own front door at Penmorgan, on the Lizard peninsula, looking + westward down a great wedge-shaped gap in the solid serpentine rock to a + broad belt of sea beyond without a ship or a sail on it. The view was + indeed, as Eustace Le Neve admitted, a somewhat bleak and dreary one. For + miles, as far as the eye could reach, on either side, nothing was to be + seen but one vast heather-clad upland, just varied at the dip by bare + ledges of dark rock and a single gray glimpse of tossing sea between them. + A little farther on, to be sure, winding round the cliff path, one could + open up a glorious prospect on either hand over the rocky islets of + Kynance and Mullion Cove, with Mounts Bay and Penzance and the Land’s + End in the distance. That was a magnificent site—if only his + ancestors had had the sense to see it. But Penmorgan House, like most + other Cornish landlords’ houses, had been carefully placed—for + shelter’s sake, no doubt—in a seaward hollow where the view + was most restricted; and the outlook one got from it, over black moor and + blacker rocks, was certainly by no means of a cheerful character. Eustace + Le Neve himself, most cheery and sanguine of men, just home from his South + American railway-laying, and with the luxuriant vegetation of the + Argentine still fresh in his mind, was forced to admit, as he looked about + him, that the position of his friend’s house on that rolling brown + moor was far from a smiling one. + </p> + <p> + “You used to come here when you were a boy, though,” he + objected, after a pause, with a glance at the great breakers that curled + in upon the cove; “and you must surely have found it pleasant enough + then, what with the bathing and the fishing and the shooting and the + boating, and all the delights of the sea and the country.” + </p> + <p> + Walter Tyrrel nodded his head. It was clear the subject was extremely + distasteful to him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—till I was twelve or thirteen,” he said, slowly, as + one who grudges assent, “in my uncle’s time, I liked it well + enough, no doubt. Boys don’t realize the full terror of sea or + cliff, you know, and are perfectly happy swimming and climbing. I used to + be amphibious in those days, like a seal or an otter—in the water + half my time; and I scrambled over the rocks—great heavens, it makes + me giddy now just to THINK where I scrambled. But when I was about + thirteen years old”—his face grew graver still—“a + change seemed to come over me, and I began ... well, I began to hate + Penmorgan. I’ve hated it ever since. I shall always hate it. I + learned what it all meant, I suppose—rocks, wrecks, and accidents. I + saw how dull and gloomy it was, and I couldn’t bear coming down + here. I came as seldom as I dared, till my uncle died last year and left + it to me. And then there was no help for it. I HAD to come down. It’s + a landlord’s business, I consider, to live among his tenants and + look after the welfare of the soil, committed to his charge by his queen + and country. He holds it in trust, strictly speaking, for the nation. So I + felt I must come and live here. But I hate it, all the same. I hate it! I + hate it!” + </p> + <p> + He said it so energetically, and with such strange earnestness in his + voice, that Eustace Le Neve, scanning his face as he spoke, felt sure + there must be some good reason for his friend’s dislike of his + ancestral home, and forebore (like a man) to question him further. + Perhaps, he thought, it was connected in Tyrrel’s mind with some + painful memory, some episode in his history he would gladly forget; + though, to be sure, when one comes to think of it, at thirteen such + episodes are rare and improbable. A man doesn’t, as a rule, get + crossed in love at that early age; nor does he generally form lasting and + abiding antipathies. And indeed, for the matter of that, Penmorgan was + quite gloomy enough in itself, in all conscience, to account for his + dislike—a lonely and gaunt-looking granite-built house, standing + bare and square on the edge of a black moor, under shelter of a rocky dip, + in a treeless country. It must have been a terrible change for a bachelor + about town, like Walter Tyrrel, to come down at twenty-eight from his + luxurious club and his snug chambers in St. James’ to the isolation + and desolation of that wild Cornish manor-house. But the Tyrrels, he knew, + were all built like that; Le Neve had been with three of the family at + Rugby; and conscience was their stumbling-block. When once a Tyrrel was + convinced his duty lay anywhere, no consideration on earth would keep him + from doing it. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s take a stroll down by the shore,” Le Neve + suggested, carelessly, after a short pause, slipping his arm through his + friend’s. + </p> + <p> + “Your cliffs, at least, must be fine; they look grand and massive; + and after three years of broiling on a South American line, this fresh sou’wester’s + just the thing, to my mind, to blow the cobwebs out of one.” + </p> + <p> + He was a breezy-looking young man, this new-comer from beyond the sea—a + son of the Vikings, Tyrrel’s contemporary in age, but very unlike + him in form and features; for Eustace Le Neve was fair and big-built, a + florid young giant, with tawny beard, mustache, and whiskers, which he cut + in a becoming Vandyke point of artistic carelessness. There was more of + the artist than of the engineer, indeed, about his frank and engaging + English face—a face which made one like him as soon as one looked at + him. It was impossible to do otherwise. Exuberant vitality was the keynote + of the man’s being. And he was candidly open, too. He impressed one + at first sight, by some nameless instinct, with a certain well-founded + friendly confidence. A lovable soul, if ever there was one, equally liked + at once by men and women. + </p> + <p> + “Our cliffs are fine,” Walter Tyrrel answered, grudgingly, in + the tone of one who, against his will, admits an adverse point he sees no + chance of gainsaying. “They’re black, and repellant, and + iron-bound, and dangerous, but they’re certainly magnificent. I don’t + deny it. Come and see them, by all means. They’re the only lions we + have to show a stranger in this part of Cornwall, so you’d better + make the most of them.” + </p> + <p> + And he took, as if mechanically, the winding path that led down the gap + toward the frowning cove in the wall of cliff before them. + </p> + <p> + Eustace Le Neve was a little surprised at this unexpected course, for he + himself would naturally have made rather for the top of the promontory, + whence they were certain to obtain a much finer and more extensive view; + but he had only arrived at Penmorgan the evening before, so he bowed at + once to his companion’s more mature experience of Cornish scenery. + They threaded their way through the gully, for it was little more—a + great water-worn rent in the dark serpentine rocks, with the sea at its + lower end—picking their path as they went along huge granite + boulders or across fallen stones, till they reached a small beach of firm + white sand, on whose even floor the waves were rolling in and curling over + magnificently. It was a curious place, Eustace thought, rather dreary than + beautiful. On either side rose black cliffs, towering sheer into the air, + and shutting out overhead all but a narrow cleft of murky sky. Around, the + sea dashed itself in angry white foam against broken stacks and tiny + weed-clad skerries. At the end of the first point a solitary islet, just + separated from the mainland by a channel of seething water, jutted above + into the waves, with hanging tresses of blue and yellow seaweed. Tyrrel + pointed to it with one hand. “That’s Michael’s Crag,” + he said, laconically. “You’ve seen it before, no doubt, in + half a dozen pictures. It’s shaped exactly like St. Michael’s + Mount in miniature. A marine painter fellow down here’s forever + taking its portrait.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve gazed around him with a certain slight shudder of unspoken + disapprobation. This place didn’t suit his sunny nature. It was even + blacker and more dismal than the brown moorland above it. Tyrrel caught + the dissatisfaction in his companion’s eye before Le Neve had time + to frame it in words. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don’t think much of it?” he said, + inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say I do,” Le Neve answered, with apologetic + frankness. “I suppose South America has spoilt me for this sort of + thing. But it’s not to my taste. I call it gloomy, without being + even impressive.” + </p> + <p> + “Gloomy,” Tyrrel answered; “oh, yes, gloomy, certainly. + But impressive; well, yes. For myself, I think so. To me, it’s all + terribly, unspeakably, ineffably impressive. I come here every day, and + sit close on the sands, and look out upon the sea by the edge of the + breakers. It’s the only place on this awful coast one feels + perfectly safe in. You can’t tumble over here, or...roll anything + down to do harm to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + A steep cliff path led up the sheer face of the rock to southward. It was + a difficult path, a mere foothold on the ledges; but its difficulty at + once attracted the engineer’s attention. “Let’s go up + that way!” he said, waving his hand toward it carelessly. “The + view from on top there must be infinitely finer.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it is,” Tyrrel replied, in an unconcerned voice, + like one who retails vague hearsay evidence. “I haven’t seen + it myself since I was a boy of thirteen. I never go along the top of the + cliffs on any account.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve gazed down on him, astonished. “You BELIEVE it is!” he + exclaimed, unable to conceal his surprise and wonder. “You never go + up there! Why, Walter, how odd of you! I was reading up the Guidebook this + morning before breakfast, and it says the walk from this point on the + Penmorgan estate to Kynance Cove is the most magnificent bit of wild cliff + scenery anywhere in Cornwall.” + </p> + <p> + “So I’m told,” Tyrrel answered, unmoved. “And I + remember, as a boy, I thought it very fine. But that was long since. I + never go by it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Le Neve cried. + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel shrugged his shoulders and shook himself impatiently. “I don’t + know.” he answered, in a testy sort of voice. “I don’t + like the cliff top... It’s so dangerous, don’t you know? So + unsafe. So unstable. The rocks go off so sheer, and stones topple over so + easily.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve laughed a little laugh of half-disguised contempt. He was moving + over toward the path up the cliff side as they spoke. “Why, you used + to be a first-class climber at school,” he said, attempting it, + “especially when you were a little chap. I remember you could + scramble up trees like a monkey. What fun we had once in the doctor’s + orchard! And as to the cliffs, you needn’t go so near you have to + tumble over them. It seems ridiculous for a landowner not to know a bit of + scenery on his own estate that’s celebrated and talked about all + over England.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not afraid of tumbling over, for myself,” Tyrrel + answered, a little nettled by his friend’s frank tone of amusement. + “I don’t feel myself so useful to my queen and country that I + rate my own life at too high a figure. It’s the people below I’m + chiefly concerned about. There’s always someone wandering and + scrambling about these cliffs, don’t you see?—fishermen, + tourists, geologists. If you let a loose stone go, it may fall upon them + and crush them.” + </p> + <p> + The engineer looked back upon him with a somewhat puzzled expression. + “Well, that’s carrying conscience a point too far,” he + said, with one strong hand on the rock and one sure foot in the first + convenient cranny. “If we’re not to climb cliffs for fear of + showering down stones on those who stand below, we won’t dare to + walk or ride or drive or put to sea for fear of running over or colliding + against somebody. We shall have to stop all our trains and keep all our + steamers in harbor. There’s nothing in this world quite free from + risk. We’ve got to take it and lump it. You know the old joke about + those dangerous beds—so many people die in them. Won’t you + break your rule just for once, and come up on top here to see the view + with me?” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel shook his head firmly. “Not to-day,” he answered, with + a quiet smile. “Not by that path, at any rate. It’s too risky + for my taste. The stones are so loose. And it overhangs the road the + quarrymen go to the cave by.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve had now made good his foothold up the first four or five steps. + “Well, you’ve no objection to my going, at any rate?” he + said, with a wave of one hand, in his cheerful good-humor. “You don’t + put a veto on your friends here, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not the least objection,” Tyrrel answered, hurriedly, + watching him climb, none the less, with nervous interest. “It’s...it’s + a purely personal and individual feeling. Besides,” he added, after + a pause, “I can stop below here, if need be, and warn the quarrymen.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Le Neve shouted from the + cliff. + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t hurry,” his host shouted back. “Take + your own time, it’s safest. Once you get to the top you’d + better walk along the whole cliff path to Kynance. They tell me its + splendid; the view’s so wide; and you can easily get back across the + moor by lunch-time. Only, mind about the edge, and whatever you do, let no + stones roll over.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” Le Neve made answer, clinging close to a point of + rock. “I’ll do no damage. It’s opening out beautifully + on every side now. I can see round the corner to St. Michael’s + Mount; and the point at the end there must be Tol-Pedn-Penwith.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — TREVENNACK. + </h2> + <p> + It was a stiff, hot climb to the top of the cliff; but as soon as he + reached it, Eustace Le Neve gazed about him, enchanted at the outlook. He + was not in love with Cornwall, as far as he’d seen it yet; and to + say the truth, except in a few broken seaward glens, that high and barren + inland plateau has little in it to attract or interest anyone, least of + all a traveler fresh from the rich luxuriance of South American + vegetation. But the view that burst suddenly upon Eustace Le Neve’s + eye as he gained the summit of that precipitous serpentine bluff fairly + took his breath away. It was a rich and varied one. To the north and west + loomed headland after headland, walled in by steep crags, and stretching + away in purple perspective toward Marazion, St. Michael’s Mount, and + the Penzance district. To the south and east huge masses of fallen rock + lay tossed in wild confusion over Kynance Cove and the neighboring bays, + with the bare boss of the Rill and the Rearing Horse in the foreground. Le + Neve stood and looked with open eyes of delight. It was the first + beautiful view he had seen since he came to Cornwall; but this at least + was beautiful, almost enough so to compensate for his first acute + disappointment at the barrenness and gloom of the Lizard scenery. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes he could only stand with open eyes and gaze delighted at + the glorious prospect. Cliffs, sea, and rocks all blended with one another + in solemn harmony. Even the blackness of the great crags and the scorched + air of the brown and water-logged moorland in the rear now ceased to + oppress him. They fell into their proper place in one consistent and + well-blended picture. But, after awhile, impelled by a desire to look down + upon the next little bay beyond—for the coast is indented with + endless coves and headlands—the engineer walked on along the top by + a coastguard’s path that threaded its way, marked by whitened + stones, round the points and gullies. As he did so, he happened to notice + on the very crest of the ridge that overlooked the rock they called St. + Michael’s Crag a tall figure of a man silhouetted in dark outline + against the pale gray skyline. From the very first moment Eustace Le Neve + set eyes upon that striking figure this man exerted upon him some nameless + attraction. Even at this distance the engineer could see he had a certain + indefinite air of dignity and distinction; and he poised himself lightly + on the very edge of the cliff in a way that would no doubt have made + Walter Tyrrel shudder with fear and alarm. Yet there was something about + that poise quite unearthly and uncanny; the man stood so airily on his + high rocky perch that he reminded Le Neve at once of nothing so much as of + Giovanni da Bologna’s Mercury in the Bargello at Florence; he seemed + to spurn the earth as if about to spring from it with a bound; his feet + were as if freed from the common bond of gravity. + </p> + <p> + It was a figure that belonged naturally to the Cornish moorland. + </p> + <p> + Le Neve advanced along the path till he nearly reached the summit where + the man was standing. The point itself was a rugged tor, or little group + of bare and weather-worn rocks, overlooking the sea and St. Michael’s + Crag below it. As the engineer drew near he saw the stranger was not + alone. Under shelter of the rocks a girl lay stretched at length on a + loose camel’s-hair rug; her head was hatless; in her hand she held, + half open, a volume of poetry. She looked up as Eustace passed, and he + noted at a glance that she was dark and pretty. The Cornish type once + more; bright black eyes, glossy brown hair, a rich complexion, a soft and + rounded beauty. + </p> + <p> + “Cleer,” the father said, warningly, in a modulated voice, as + the young man approached, “don’t let your hat blow away, dear; + it’s close by the path there.” + </p> + <p> + The girl he called Cleer darted forward and picked it up, with a little + blush of confusion. Eustace Le Neve raised his hat, by way of excuse for + disturbing her, and was about to pass on, but the view down into the bay + below, with the jagged and pointed crag islanded in white foam, held him + spellbound for a moment. He paused and gazed at it. “This is a + lovely lookout, sir,” he said, after a second’s silence, as if + to apologize for his intrusion, turning round to the stranger, who still + stood poised like a statue on the natural pedestal of lichen-covered rock + beside him. “A lovely lookout and a wonderful bit of wild coast + scenery.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the stranger answered, in a voice as full of dignity as + his presence and his mien. “It’s the grandest spot along the + Cornish coast. From here you can see in one view St. Michael’s + Mount, St. Michael’s Crag, St. Michael’s Church, and St. + Michael’s Promontory. The whole of this country, indeed, just teems + with St. Michael.” + </p> + <p> + “Which is St. Michael’s Promontory?” the young man + asked, with a side glance at Cleer, as they called the daughter. He wasn’t + sorry indeed for the chance of having a second look at her. + </p> + <p> + “Why Land’s End, of course,” the dignified stranger + answered at once, descending from his perch as he spoke, with a light + spring more like a boy’s than a mature man’s. “You must + surely know those famous lines in ‘Lycidas’ about + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘The fable of Bellerus old, + Where the Great Vision of the guarded mount + Looks towards Namancos and Bayona’s hold; + Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, I KNOW them, of course,” Eustace answered with ingenuous + shyness; “but as so often happens with poetry, to say the truth, I’m + afraid I attached no very definite idea to them. The music so easily + obscures the sense; though the moment you suggest it, I see they can’t + possibly mean anyone but St. Michael.” + </p> + <p> + “My father’s very much interested in the antiquities of + Cornwall,” the girl Cleer put in, looking up at him somewhat + timidly; “so he naturally knows all these things, and perhaps he + expects others to know them unreasonably.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve every ground for knowing them,” the father went + on, glancing down at her with tender affection. “We’re Cornish + to the backbone—Cornish born and bred, if ever there were + Cornishmen. Every man of my ancestors was a Tre, Pol, or Pen, to the tenth + generation backward; and I’m descended from the Bassets, too—the + Bassets of Tehidy. You must have heard of the Bassets in Cornish history. + They owned St. Michael’s Mount before these new-fangled St. Aubyn + people.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s Lord St. Levan’s now, isn’t it?” Le + Neve put in, anxious to show off his knowledge of the local aristocracy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they’ve made him Lord St. Levan,” the dignified + stranger answered, with an almost imperceptible curl of his delicate lower + lip. “They’ve made him Lord St. Levan. The queen can make one + anything. He was plain Sir John St. Aubyn before that, you know; his + family bought the Mount from my ancestors—the Bassets of Tehidy. + They’re new people at Marazion—new people altogether. They’ve + only been there since 1660.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve smiled a quiet smile. That seemed to him in his innocence a fairly + decent antiquity as things go nowadays. But the dignified stranger + appeared to think so little of it that his new acquaintance abstained from + making note or comment on it. He waited half a moment to see whether Cleer + would speak again; he wanted to hear that pleasant voice once more; but as + she held her peace, he merely raised his hat, and accepting the dismissal, + continued his walk round the cliffs alone. Yet, somehow, the rest of the + way, the figure of that statuesque stranger haunted him. He looked back + once or twice. The descendant of the Bassets of Tehidy had now resumed his + high pedestal upon the airy tor, and was gazing away seaward, like the + mystic Great Vision of his own Miltonic quotation, toward the Spanish + coast, wrapped round in a loose cloak of most poetic dimensions. Le Neve + wondered who he was, and what errand could have brought him there. + </p> + <p> + At the point called the Rill, he diverged from the path a bit, to get that + beautiful glimpse down into the rock-strewn cove and smooth white sands at + Kynance. A coastguard with brush and pail was busy as he passed by + renewing the whitewash on the landmark boulders that point the path on + dark nights to the stumbling wayfarer. Le Neve paused and spoke to him. + “That’s a fine-looking man, my friend, the gentleman on the + tor there,” he said, after a few commonplaces. “Do you happen + to know his name? Is he spending the summer about here?” + </p> + <p> + The man stopped in his work and looked up. His eye lighted with pleasure + on the dignified stranger. “Yes; he’s one of the right sort, + sir,” he answered, with a sort of proprietary pride in the + distinguished figure. “A real old Cornish gentleman of the good old + days, he is, if ever you see one. That’s Trevennack of Trevennack; + and Miss Cleer’s his daughter. Fine old crusted Cornish names, every + one of them; I’m a Cornishman myself, and I know them well, the + whole grand lot of them. The Trevennacks and the Bassets, they was all + one, time gone by; they owned St. Michael’s Mount, and Penzance, and + Marazion, and Mullion here. They owned Penmorgan, too, afore the Tyrrels + bought it up. Michael Basset Trevennack, that’s the gentleman’s + full name; the eldest son of the eldest son is always a Michael, to keep + up the memory of the times gone by, when they was Guardians of the Mount + and St. Michael’s Constables. And the lady’s Miss Cleer, after + St. Cleer of Cornwall—her that gives her name still to St. Cleer by + Liskeard.” + </p> + <p> + “And do they live here?” Le Neve asked, much interested in the + intelligent local tone of the man’s conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless you, no, sir. They don’t live nowhere. They’re + in the service, don’t you see. They lives in Malta or Gibraltar, or + wherever the Admiralty sends him. He’s an Admiralty man, he is, + connected with the Vittling Yard. I was in the navy myself, on the good + old Billy Ruffun, afore I was put in the Coastguards, and I knowed him + well when we was both together on the Mediterranean Station. Always the + same grand old Cornish gentleman, with them gracious manners, so haughty + like, an’ yet so condescending, wherever they put him. A gentleman + born. No gentleman on earth more THE gentleman all round than Trevennack + of Trevennack.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he’s staying down here on a visit?” Le Neve went + on, curiously, peering over the edge of the cliffs, as he spoke, to + observe the cormorants. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you go too nigh, sir,” the coastguard put in, + warningly. “She’s slippery just there. Yes, they’re + staying down in Oliver’s lodgings at Gunwalloe. He’s on leave, + that’s where it is. Every three or four years he gets leave from the + Vittling and comes home to England; and then he always ups and runs down + to the Lizard, and wanders about on the cliffs by himself like this, with + Miss Cleer to keep him company. He’s a chip of the old rock, he is—Cornish + granite to the core, as the saying goes; and he can’t be happy away + from it. You’ll see him any day standing like that on the very edge + of the cliff, looking across over the water, as if he was a coastguard + hisself, and always sort o’ perched on the highest bit of rock he + can come nigh anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “He looks an able man,” Le Neve went on, still regarding the + stranger, poised now as before on the very summit of the tor, with his + cloak wrapped around him. + </p> + <p> + “Able? I believe you! Why, he’s the very heart and soul, the + brains and senses of the Vittling Department. The navy’d starve if + it wasn’t for him. He’s a Companion of St. Michael and St. + George, Mr. Trevennack is. ‘Tain’t every one as is a Companion of + St. Michael and St. George. The queen made him that herself for his + management of the Vittling.” “It’s a strange place for a + man in his position to spend his holiday,” Le Neve went on, + reflectively. “You’d think, coming back so seldom, he’d + want to see something of London, Brighton, Scarborough, Scotland.” + </p> + <p> + The coastguard looked up, and held his brush idle in one hand with a + mysterious air. “Not when you come to know his history,” he + answered, gazing hard at him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s a history to him, is there?” Le Neve + answered, not surprised. “Well, he certainly has the look of it.” + </p> + <p> + The coastguard nodded his head and dropped his voice still lower. “Yes, + there’s a history to him,” he replied. “And that’s + why you’ll always see Trevennack of Trevennack on the top of the + cliff, and never at the bottom.—Thank’ee very kindly, sir; it + ain’t often we gets a chance of a good cigar at Kynance.—Well, + it must be fifteen year now—or maybe sixteen—I don’t + mind the right time—Trevennack came down in old Squire Tyrrel’s + days, him as is buried at Mullion Church town, and stopped at Gunwalloe, + same as he might be stopping there in his lodgings nowadays. He had his + only son with him, too, a fine-looking young gentleman, they say, for his + age, for I wasn’t here then—I was serving my time under + Admiral De Horsey on the good old Billy Ruffun—the very picture of + Miss Cleer, and twelve year old or thereabouts; and they called him Master + Michael, the same as they always call the eldest boy of the Trevennacks of + Trevennack. Aye, and one day they two, father and son, were a-strolling on + the beach under the cliffs by Penmorgan—mind them stones on the + edge, sir; they’re powerful loose—don’t you drop none + over—when, just as you might loosen them pebbles there with your + foot, over came a shower o’ small bits from the cliff on top, and as + sure as you’re livin’, hit the two on ‘em right so, sir. + Mr. Trevennack himself, he wasn’t much hurt—just bruised a bit + on the forehead, for he was wearing a Scotch cap; but Master Michael, + well, it caught him right on the top of the head, and afore they knowed + what it was, it smashed his skull in. Aye, that it did, sir, just so; it + smashed the boy’s skull in. They carried him home, and cut the bone + out, and trepanned him; but bless you, it wa’n’t no good; he + lingered on for a night, and then, afore morning, he died, insensible.” + </p> + <p> + “What a terrible story!” Le Neve exclaimed, with a face of + horror, recoiling instinctively from the edge of the cliff that had + wrought this evil. “Aye, you may well say so. It was rough on him,” + the coastguard went on, with the calm criticism of his kind. “His + only son—and all in a minute like, as you may term it—such a + promising young gentleman! It was rough, terrible rough on him. So from + that day to this, whenever Trevennack has a holiday, down he comes here to + Gunwalloe, and walks about the cliffs, and looks across upon the rocks by + Penmorgan Point, or stands on the top of Michael’s Crag, just over + against the spot where his boy was hurted. An’ he never wants to go + nowhere else in all England, but just to stand like that on the very edge + of the cliff, and look over from atop, and brood, and think about it.” + </p> + <p> + As the man spoke, it flashed across Le Neve’s mind at once that + Trevennack’s voice had quivered with a strange thrill of emotion as + he uttered that line, no doubt pregnant with meaning for him. “Look + homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.” He was thinking of his + own boy, most likely, not of the poet’s feigned Lycidas. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll stand like that for hours,” the coastguard went + on confidentially, “musing like to himself, with Miss Cleer by his + side, reading in her book or doing her knitting or something. But you + couldn’t get him, for love or money, to go BELOW the cliffs, no, not + if you was to kill him. He’s AFRAID of going below—that’s + where it is; he always thinks something’s sure to tumble from the + top on him. Natural enough, too, after all that’s been. He likes to + get as high as ever he can in the air, where he can see all around him, + and be certain there ain’t anyone above to let anything drop as + might hurt him. Michael’s Crag’s where he likes best to stand, + on the top there by the Horse; he always chooses them spots. In Malta it + was San Mickayly; and in Gibraltar it was the summit of Europa Point, by + the edge of the Twelve Apostles’ battery.” + </p> + <p> + “How curious!” Le Neve exclaimed. “It’s just the + other way on now, with my friend Mr. Tyrrel. I’m stopping at + Penmorgan, but Mr. Tyrrel won’t go on TOP of the cliffs for + anything. He says he’s afraid he might let something drop by + accident on the people below him.” + </p> + <p> + The coastguard grew suddenly graver. “Like enough,” he said, + stroking his chin. “Like enough; and right, too, for him, sir. You + see, he’s a Tyrrel, and he’s bound to be cautious.’ + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” Le Neve asked, somewhat puzzled. “Why a Tyrrel + more than the rest of us?” + </p> + <p> + The man hesitated and stared hard at him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s like this, sir,” he answered at last, with + the shamefaced air of the intelligent laboring man who confesses to a + superstition. “We Cornish are old-fashioned, and we has our ideas. + The Tyrrels are new people like, in Cornwall, as we say; they came in only + with Cromwell’s folk, when he fought the Grenvilles; but it’s + well beknown in the county bad luck goes with them. You see, they’re + descended from that Sir Walter Tyrrel you’ll read about in the + history books, him as killed King William Rufious in the New Forest. You’ll + hear all about it at Rufious’ Stone, where the king was killed; Sir + Walter, he drew, and he aimed at a deer, and the king was standing by; and + the bullet, it glanced aside—or maybe it was afore bullets, and then + it’d be an arrow; but anyhow, one or t’other, it hit the king, + and he fell, and died there. The stone’s standing to this day on the + place where he fell, and I’ve seen it, and read of it when I was in + hospital at Netley. But Sir Walter, he got clear away, and ran across to + France; and ever since that time they’ve called the eldest son of + the Tyrrels Walter, same as they’ve called the eldest son of the + Trevennacks Michael. But they say every Walter Tyrrel that’s born + into the world is bound, sooner or later, to kill his man unintentional. + So he do right to avoid going too near the cliffs, I say. We shouldn’t + tempt Providence. And the Tyrrels is all a conscientious people.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — FACE TO FACE. + </h2> + <p> + When Eustace Le Neve returned to lunch at Penmorgan that day he was silent + to his host about Trevennack of Trevennack. To say the truth, he was so + much attracted by Miss Cleer’s appearance that he didn’t feel + inclined to mention having met her. But he wanted to meet her again for + all that, and hoped he would do so. Perhaps Tyrrel might know the family, + and ask them round to dine some night. At any rate, society is rare at the + Lizard. Sooner or later, he felt sure, he’d knock up against the + mysterious stranger somewhere. And that involved the probability of + knocking up against the mysterious stranger’s beautiful daughter. + </p> + <p> + Next morning after breakfast, however, he made a vigorous effort to induce + Walter Tyrrel to mount the cliff and look at the view from Penmorgan Point + toward the Rill and Kynance. It was absurd, he said truly, for the + proprietor of such an estate never to have seen the most beautiful spot in + it. But Tyrrel was obdurate. On the point of actually mounting the cliff + itself he wouldn’t yield one jot or tittle. Only, after much + persuasion, he consented at last to cross the headland by the fields at + the back and come out at the tor above St. Michael’s Crag, provided + always Eustace would promise he’d neither go near the edge himself + nor try to induce his friend to approach it. + </p> + <p> + Satisfied with this lame compromise—for he really wished his host to + enjoy that glorious view—Eustace Le Neve turned up the valley behind + the house, with Walter Tyrrel by his side, and after traversing several + fields, through gaps in the stone walls, led out his companion at last to + the tor on the headland. + </p> + <p> + As they approached it from behind, the engineer observed, not without a + faint thrill of pleasure, that Trevennack’s stately figure stood + upright as before upon the wind-swept pile of fissured rocks, and that + Cleer sat reading under its shelter to leeward. But by her side this + morning sat also an elder lady, whom Eustace instinctively recognized as + her mother—a graceful, dignified lady, with silvery white hair and + black Cornish eyes, and features not untinged by the mellowing, hallowing + air of a great sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Le Neve raised his hat as they drew near, with a pleased smile of welcome, + and Trevennack and his daughter both bowed in return. “A glorious + morning!” the engineer said, drinking in to the full the lovely + golden haze that flooded and half-obscured the Land’s End district; + and Trevennack assented gravely. “The crag stands up well in this + sunshine against the dark water behind,” he said, waving one + gracious hand toward the island at his foot, and poising lighter than + ever. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, take care!” Walter Tyrrel cried, looking up at him, on + tenterhooks. “It’s so dangerous up there! You might tumble any + minute.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> never tumble,” Trevennack made answer with solemn + gravity, spreading one hand on either side as if to balance himself like + an acrobat. But he descended as he spoke and took his place beside them. + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel looked at the view and looked at the pretty girl. It was evident he + was quite as much struck by the one as by the other. Indeed, of the two, + Cleer seemed to attract the larger share of his attention. For some + minutes they stood and talked, all five of them together, without further + introduction than their common admiration for that exquisite bay, in which + Trevennack appeared to take an almost proprietary interest. It gratified + him, obviously, a Cornish man, that these strangers (as he thought them) + should be so favorably impressed by his native county. But Tyrrel all the + while looked ill at ease, though he sidled away as far as possible from + the edge of the cliff, and sat down near Cleer at a safe distance from the + precipice. He was silent and preoccupied. That mattered but little, + however, as the rest did all the talking, especially Trevennack, who + turned out to be indeed a perfect treasure-house of Cornish antiquities + and Cornish folk-lore. + </p> + <p> + “I generally stand below, on top of Michael’s Crag,” he + said to Eustace, pointing it out, “when the tide allows it; but when + it’s high, as it is now, such a roaring and seething scour sets + through the channel between the rock and the mainland that no swimmer + could stem it; and then I come up here, and look down from above upon it. + It’s the finest point on all our Cornish coast, this point we stand + on. It has the widest view, the purest air, the hardest rock, the highest + and most fantastic tor of any of them.” + </p> + <p> + “My husband’s quite an enthusiast for this particular place,” + Mrs. Trevennack interposed, watching his face as she spoke with a certain + anxious and ill-disguised wifely solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “He’s come here for years. It has many associations for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Some painful and some happy,” Cleer added, half aloud; and + Tyrrel, nodding assent, looked at her as if expecting some marked + recognition. + </p> + <p> + “You should see it in the pilchard season,” her father went + on, turning suddenly to Eustace with much animation in his voice. “That’s + the time for Cornwall—a month or so later than now—you should + see it then, for picturesqueness and variety. ‘When the corn is in + the shock,’ says our Cornish rhyme, ‘Then the fish are off the + rock’—and the rock’s St. Michael’s. The HUER, as + we call him, for he gives the hue and cry from the hill-top lookout when + the fish are coming, he stands on Michael’s Crag just below there, + as I stand myself so often, and when he sights the shoals by the ripple on + the water, he motions to the boats which way to go for the pilchards. Then + the rowers in the lurkers, as we call our seine-boats, surround the shoal + with a tuck-net, or drag the seine into Mullion Cove, all alive with a + mass of shimmering silver. The jowsters come down with their carts on to + the beach, and hawk them about round the neighborhood—I’ve + seen them twelve a penny; while in the curing-houses they’re bulking + them and pressing them as if for dear life, to send away to Genoa, + Leghorn, and Naples. That’s where all our fish go—to the + Catholic south. ‘The Pope and the Pilchards,’ says our Cornish + toast; for it’s the Friday fast that makes our only market.” + </p> + <p> + “You can see them on St. George’s Island in Looe Harbor,” + Cleer put in quite innocently. “They’re like a sea of silver + there—on St. George’s Island.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” her father corrected with that grave, old-fashioned + courtesy which the coast-guard had noted and described as at once so + haughty and yet so condescending, “how often I’ve begged of + you NOT to call it St. George’s Island! It’s St. Nicholas’ + and St. Michael’s—one may as well be correct—and till a + very recent date a chapel to St. Michael actually stood there upon the + rocky top; it was only destroyed, you remember, at the time of the + Reformation.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody CALLS it St. George’s now,” Cleer answered, + with girlish persistence. And her father looked round at her sharply, with + an impatient snap of the fingers, while Mrs. Trevennack’s eye was + fixed on him now more carefully and more earnestly, Tyrrel observed, than + ever. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder why it is,” Eustace Le Neve interposed, to spare + Cleer’s feelings, “that so many high places, tops of mountains + and so forth, seem always to be dedicated to St. Michael in particular? He + seems to love such airy sites. There’s St. Michael’s Mount + here, you know, and Mont St. Michel in Normandy; and at Le Puy, in + Auvergne, there’s a St. Michael’s Rock, and at ever so many + other places I can’t remember this minute.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack was in his element. The question just suited him. He smiled a + curious smile of superior knowledge. “You’ve come to the right + place for information,” he said, blandly, turning round to the + engineer. “I’m a Companion of St. Michael and St. George + myself, and my family, as I told you, once owned St. Michael’s + Mount; so, for that and various other reasons, I’ve made a special + study of St. Michael the Archangel, and all that pertains to him.” + And then he went on to give a long and learned disquisition, which Le Neve + and Walter Tyrrel only partially followed, about the connection between + St. Michael and the Celtic race, as well as about the archangel’s + peculiar love for high and airy situations. Most of the time, indeed, Le + Neve was more concerned in watching Cleer Trevennack’s eyes, as her + father spoke, than in listening to the civil servant’s profound + dissertation. He gathered, however, from the part he caught, that St. + Michael the Archangel had been from early days a very important and + powerful Cornish personage, and that he clung to high places on the tors + and rocks because he had to fight and subdue the Prince of the Air, whom + he always destroyed at last on some pointed pinnacle. And now that he came + to think of it, Eustace vaguely recollected he had always seen St. + Michael, in pictures or stained glass windows, delineated just so—with + drawn sword and warrior’s mien—in the act of triumphing over + his dragon-like enemy on the airy summit of some tall jagged crag or + rock-bound precipice. + </p> + <p> + As for Mrs. Trevennack, she watched her husband every moment he spoke with + a close and watchful care, which Le Neve hardly noticed, but which didn’t + for a minute escape Walter Tyrrel’s more piercing and observant + scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + At last, as the amateur lecturer was beginning to grow somewhat prolix, a + cormorant below created a slight diversion for awhile by settling in his + flight on the very highest point of Michael’s Crag, and proceeding + to preen his glittering feathers in the full golden flood of that bright + August sunlight. + </p> + <p> + With irrepressible boyish instinct Le Neve took up a stone, and was just + on the point of aiming it (quite without reason) at the bird on the + pinnacle. + </p> + <p> + But before he could let it go, the two other men, moved as if by a single + impulse, had sprung forward with a bound, and in the self-same tone and in + the self-same words cried out with one accord, in a wildly excited voice, + “For God’s sake, don’t throw! You don’t know how + dangerous it is!” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve let his hand drop flat, and allowed the stone to fall from it. As + he did so the two others stood back a pace, as if guarding him, but kept + their hands still ready to seize the engineer’s arm if he made the + slightest attempt at motion. Eustace felt they were watching him as one + might watch a madman. For a moment they were silent. Trevennack was the + first to speak. His voice had an earnest and solemn ring in it, like a + reproving angel’s. “How can you tell what precious life may be + passing below?” he said, with stern emphasis, fixing Le Neve with + his reproachful eye. “The stone might fall short. It might drop out + of sight. You might kill whomsoever it struck, unseen. And then”—he + drank in a deep breath, gasping—“you would know you were a + murderer.” + </p> + <p> + Walter Tyrrel drew himself up at the words like one stung. “No, no! + not a murderer!” he cried; “not quite as bad as a murderer! It + wouldn’t be murder, surely. It would be accidental homicide—unintentional, + unwilled—a terrible result of most culpable carelessness, of course; + but it wouldn’t be quite murder; don’t call it murder. I can’t + allow that. Not that name by any means.... Though to the end of your life, + Eustace, if you were to kill a man so, you’d never cease to regret + it and mourn over it daily; you’d never cease to repent your guilty + carelessness in sackcloth and ashes.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke so seriously, so earnestly, with such depth of personal feeling, + that Trevennack, starting back, stood and gazed at him slowly with those + terrible eyes, like one who awakens by degrees from a painful dream to + some awful reality. Tyrrel winced before his scrutiny. For a moment the + elder man just looked at him and stared. Then he took one step forward. + “Sir,” he said, in a very low voice, half broken with emotion, + “I had a dear son of my own once; a very dear, dear son. He was + killed by such an ACCIDENT on this very spot. No wonder I remember it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack and Cleer both gave a start of surprise. The man’s + words astonished them; for never before, during fifteen long years, had + that unhappy father alluded in any way in overt words to his son’s + tragic end. He had brooded and mused over it in his crushed and wounded + spirit; he had revisited the scene of his loss whenever opportunity + permitted him; he had made of his sorrow a cherished and petted daily + companion; but he had stored it up deep in his own inmost heart, never + uttering a word of it even to his wife or daughter. The two women knew + Michael Trevennack must be profoundly moved, indeed, so to tear open the + half-healed wound in his tortured bosom before two casual strangers. + </p> + <p> + But Tyrrel, too, gave a start as he spoke, and looked hard at the careworn + face of that unhappy man. “Then you’re Mr. Trevennack!” + he exclaimed, all aghast. “Mr. Trevennack of the Admiralty!” + </p> + <p> + And the dignified stranger answered, bowing his head very low, “Yes, + you’ve guessed me right. I’m Michael Trevennack.” + </p> + <p> + With scarcely a word of reply Walter Tyrrel turned and strode away from + the spot. “I must go now,” he muttered faintly, looking at his + watch with some feigned surprise, as a feeble excuse. “I’ve an + appointment at home.” He hadn’t the courage to stay. His heart + misgave him. Once fairly round the corner he fled like a wounded creature, + too deeply hurt even to cry. Eustace Le Neve, raising his hat, hastened + after him, all mute wonder. For several hundred yards they walked on side + by side across the open heathy moor. Then, as they passed the first wall, + Tyrrel paused for a moment and spoke. “NOT a murderer!” he + cried in his anguish; “oh, no, not quite as bad as a murderer, + surely, Eustace; but still, a culpable homicide. Oh, God, how terrible.” + </p> + <p> + And even as he disappeared across the moor to eastward, Trevennack, far + behind, seized his wife’s arm spasmodically, and clutching it tight + in his iron grip, murmured low in a voice of supreme conviction, “Do + you see what that means, Lucy? I can read it all now. It was HE who rolled + down that cursed stone. It was HE who killed our boy. And I can guess who + he is. He must be Tyrrel of Penmorgan.” + </p> + <p> + Cleer didn’t hear the words. She was below, gazing after them. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — TYRREL’S REMORSE. + </h2> + <p> + The two young men walked back, without interchanging another word, to the + gate of the manor-house. Tyrrel opened it with a swing. Then, once within + his own grounds, and free from prying eyes, he sat down forthwith upon a + little craggy cliff that overhung the carriage-drive, buried his face in + his hands, and, to Le Neve’s intense astonishment, cried long and + silently. He let himself go with a rush; that’s the Cornish nature. + Eustace Le Neve sat by his side, not daring to speak, but in mute sympathy + with his sorrow. For many minutes neither uttered a sound. At last Tyrrel + looked up, and in an agony of remorse, turned round to his companion. + “Of course you understand,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And Eustace answered reverently, “Yes, I think I understand. Having + come so near doing the same thing myself, I sympathize with you.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel paused a moment again. His face was like marble. Then he added, in + a tone of the profoundest anguish, “Till this minute, Eustace, I’ve + never told anybody. And if it hadn’t been forced out of me by that + poor man’s tortured and broken-hearted face, I wouldn’t have + told you now. But could I look at him to-day and not break down before + him?” + </p> + <p> + “How did it all happen?” Le Neve asked, leaning forward and + clasping his friend’s arm with a brotherly gesture. + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel answered with a deep sigh, “Like this. I’ll make a + clean breast of it all at last. I’ve bottled it up too long. I’ll + tell you now, Eustace. + </p> + <p> + “Nearly sixteen years ago I was staying down here at Penmorgan with + my uncle. The Trevennacks, as I learned afterward, were in lodgings at + Gunwalloe. But, so far as I can remember at present, I never even saw + them. To the best of my belief I never set eyes on Michael Trevennack + himself before this very morning. If I’d known who he was, you may + be pretty sure I’d have cut off my right hand before I’d + allowed myself to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day that year I was strolling along the top of the cliff + by Michael’s Crag, with my uncle beside me, who owned Penmorgan. I + was but a boy then, and I walked by the edge more than once, very + carelessly. My uncle knew the cliffs, though, and how dangerous they were; + he knew men might any time be walking below, digging launces in the sand, + or getting lobworms for their lines, or hunting serpentine to polish, or + looking for sea-bird’s eggs among the half-way ledges. Time after + time he called out to me, ‘Walter, my boy, take care; don’t go + so near the edge, you’ll tumble over presently.’ And time + after time I answered him back, like a boy that I was, ‘Oh, I’m + all right, uncle. No fear about me. I can take care of myself. These + cliffs don’t crumble. They’re a deal too solid.’ + </p> + <p> + “At last, when he saw it was no good warning me that way any longer, + he turned round to me rather sharply—he was a Tyrrel, you see, and + conscientious, as we all of us are—it runs in the blood somehow—‘If + you don’t mind for yourself, at least mind for others. Who can say + who may be walking underneath those rocks? If you let a loose stone fall + you may commit manslaughter.’ + </p> + <p> + “I laughed, and thought ill of him. He was such a fidget! I was only + a boy. I considered him absurdly and unnecessarily particular. He had + stalked on a yard or two in front. I loitered behind, and out of pure + boyish deviltry, as I was just above Michael’s Crag, I loosened some + stones with my foot and showered them over deliberately. Oh, heavens, I + feel it yet; how they rattled and rumbled! + </p> + <p> + “My uncle wasn’t looking. He walked on and left me behind. He + didn’t see me push them. He didn’t see them fall. He didn’t + hear them rattle. But as they reached the bottom I heard myself—or + thought I heard—a vague cry below. A cry as of some one wounded. I + was frightened at that; I didn’t dare to look down, but ran on to my + uncle. Not till some hours after did I know the whole truth, for we walked + along the cliffs all the way to Kynance, and then returned inland by the + road to the Lizard. + </p> + <p> + “That afternoon, late, there was commotion at Penmorgan. The + servants brought us word how a bit of the cliff near Michael’s Crag + had foundered unawares, and struck two people who were walking below—a + Mr. Trevennack, in lodgings at Gunwalloe, and his boy Michael. The father + wasn’t much hurt, they said; but the son—oh, Eustace! the son + was dangerously wounded.... I listened in terror.... He lived out the + night, and died next morning.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel leaned back in agony as he spoke, and looked utterly crushed. It + was an awful memory. Le Neve hardly knew what to say, the man’s + remorse was so poignant. After all those years the boy’s thoughtless + act seemed to weigh like a millstone round the grown man’s neck. + Eustace held his peace, and felt for him. By and by Tyrrel went on again, + rocking himself to and fro on his rough seat as he spoke. “For + fifteen years,” he said, piteously, “I’ve borne this + burden in my heart, and never told anybody. I tell it now first of all men + to you. You’re the only soul on earth who shares my secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Then your uncle didn’t suspect it?” Eustace asked, all + breathless. + </p> + <p> + Walter Tyrrel shook his head. “On the contrary,” he answered, + “he said to me next day, ‘How glad I am Walter, my boy, I + called you away from the cliff that moment! It was quite providential. For + if you’d loosened a stone, and then this thing had happened, we’d + both of us have believed it was YOU that did it?’ I was too + frightened and appalled to tell him it WAS I. I thought they’d hang + me. But from that day to this—Eustace, Eustace, believe me—I’ve + never ceased to think of it! I’ve never forgiven myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet it was an accident after all,” Le Neve said, trying to + comfort him. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; not quite. I should have been warned in time. I should have + obeyed my uncle. But what would you have? It’s the luck of the + Tyrrels.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke plaintively. Le Neve pulled a piece of grass and began biting it + to hide his confusion. How near he might have come to doing the same thing + himself. He thanked his stars it wasn’t he. He thanked his stars he + hadn’t let that stone drop from the cliff that morning. + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel was the first to break the solemn silence. “You can + understand now,” he said, with an impatient gesture, “why I + hate Penmorgan. I’ve hated it ever since. I shall always hate it. It + seems like a mute reminder of that awful day. In my uncle’s time I + never came near it. But as soon as it was my own I felt I must live upon + it; and now, this terror of meeting Trevennack some day has made life one + long burden to me. Sooner or later I felt sure I should run against him. + They told me how he came down here from time to time to see where his son + died, and I knew I should meet him. Now you can understand, too, why I + hate the top of the cliffs so much, and WILL walk at the bottom. I had two + good reasons for that. One I’ve told you already; the other was the + fear of coming across Trevennack.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve turned to him compassionately. “My dear fellow,” he + said, “you take it too much to heart. It was so long ago, and you + were only a child. The... the accident might happen to any boy any day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” Tyrrel answered, passionately. “I know all + that. I try, so, to console myself. But then I’ve wrecked that + unhappy man’s life for him.” + </p> + <p> + “He has his daughter still,” Le Neve put in, vaguely. It was + all he could think of to say by way of consolation; and to him, Cleer + Trevennack would have made up for anything. + </p> + <p> + A strange shade passed over Tyrrel’s face. Eustace noted it + instinctively. Something within seemed to move that Cornish heart. “Yes, + he has his daughter still,” the Squire of Penmorgan answered, with a + vacant air. “But for me, that only makes things still worse than + before.... How can she pardon my act? What can she ever think of me?” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve turned sharply round upon him. There was some undercurrent in the + tone in which he spoke that suggested far more than the mere words + themselves might perhaps have conveyed to him. “What do you mean?” + he asked, all eager, in a quick, low voice. “You’ve met Miss + Trevennack before? You’ve seen her? You’ve spoken to her?” + </p> + <p> + For a second Tyrrel hesitated; then, with a burst, he spoke out. “I + may as well tell you all,” he cried, “now I’ve told you + so much. Yes, I’ve met her before, I’ve seen her, I’ve + spoken to her.” + </p> + <p> + “But she didn’t seem to recognize you,” Le Neve + objected, taken aback. + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel shook his head despondently. “That’s the worst of it + all,” he answered, with a very sad sigh. “She didn’t + even remember me.... She was so much to me; and to her—why, to HER, + Eustace—I was less than nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And you knew who she was when you saw her just now?” Le Neve + asked, greatly puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes and no. Not exactly. I knew she was the person I’d seen + and talked with, but I’d never heard her name, nor connected her in + any way with Michael Trevennack. If I had, things would be different. It’s + a terrible Nemesis. I’ll tell you how it happened. I may as well + tell all. But the worst point of the whole to me in this crushing blow is + to learn that that girl is Michael Trevennack’s daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Where and when did you meet her then?” Le Neve asked, growing + curious. + </p> + <p> + “Quite casually, once only, some time since, in a railway carnage. + It must be two years ago now, and I was going from Bath to Bournemouth. + She traveled with me in the same compartment as far as Temple Combe, and I + talked all the way with her; I can remember every word of it.... Eustace, + it’s foolish of me to acknowledge it, perhaps, but in those two + short hours I fell madly in love with her. Her face has lived with me ever + since; I’ve longed to meet her, But I was stupidly afraid to ask her + name before she got out of the train; and I had no clue at all to her home + or her relations. Yet, a thousand times since I’ve said to myself, + ‘If ever I marry I’ll marry that girl who went in the carriage + from Bath to Temple Combe with me.’ I’ve cherished her memory + from that day to this. You mayn’t believe, I dare say, in love at + first sight; but this I can swear to you was a genuine case of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I can believe in it very well,” Le Neve answered, most + truthfully, “now I’ve seen Miss Trevennack.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel looked at him, and smiled sadly. “Well, when I saw her again + this morning,” he went on, after a short pause, “my heart came + up into my mouth. I said to myself, with a bound, ‘It’s she! + It’s she! At last I’ve found her.’ And it dashed my best + hopes to the ground at once to see she didn’t even remember having + met me.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve looked at him shyly. “Walter,” he said, after a short + struggle, “I’m not surprised you fell in love with her. And + shall I tell you why? I fell in love with her myself, too, the moment I + saw her.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel turned to him without one word of reproach. “Well, we’re + no rivals now,” he answered, generously. “Even if she would + have me—even if she loved me well—how could I ask her to take—her + brother’s murderer?” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve drew a long breath. He hadn’t thought of that before. But + had it been other wise, he couldn’t help feeling that the master of + Penmorgan would have been a formidable rival for a penniless engineer just + home from South America. + </p> + <p> + For already Eustace Le Neve was dimly aware, in his own sanguine mind, + that he meant to woo and win that beautiful Cleer Trevennack. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. — A STRANGE DELUSION. + </h2> + <p> + Trevennack and his wife sat alone that night in their bare rooms at + Gunwalloe. Cleer had gone out to see some girls of her acquaintance who + were lodging close by in a fisherman’s house; and the husband and + wife were left for a few hours by themselves together. + </p> + <p> + “Michael,” Mrs. Trevennack began, as soon as they were alone, + rising up from her chair and coming over toward him tenderly, “I was + horribly afraid you were going to break out before those two young men on + the cliff to-day. I saw you were just on the very brink of it. But you + resisted bravely. Thank you so much for that. You’re a dear good + fellow. I was so pleased with you and so proud of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Break out about our poor boy?” Trevennack asked, with a + dreamy air, passing his bronzed hand wearily across his high white + forehead. + </p> + <p> + His wife seated herself sideways upon the arm of his chair, and bent over + him as he sat, with wifely confidence. “No, no, dear,” she + said, taking his hand in hers and soothing it with her soft palm. “About—YOU + know—well, of course, that other thing.” + </p> + <p> + At the mere hint, Trevennack leaned back and drew himself up proudly to + his full height, like a soldier. He looked majestic as he sat there—every + inch a St. Michael. “Well, it’s hard to keep such a secret,” + he answered, laying his free hand on his breast, “hard to keep such + a secret; and I own, when they were talking about it, I longed to tell + them. But for Cleer’s sake I refrained, Lucy. For Cleer’s sake + I always refrain. You’re quite right about that. I know, of course, + for Cleer’s sake I must keep it locked up in my own heart forever.” + </p> + <p> + The silver-haired lady bent over him again, both caressingly and proudly. + “Michael, dear Michael,” she said, with a soft thrill in her + voice, “I love you and honor you for it. I can FEEL what it costs + you. My darling, I know how hard you have to fight against it. I could see + you fighting against it to-day; and I was proud of the way you struggled + with it, single-handed, till you gained the victory.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack drew himself up still more haughtily than before. “And + who should struggle against the devil,” he said, “single-handed + as you say, and gain the victory at last, if not I, myself, Lucy?” + </p> + <p> + He said it like some great one. His wife soothed his hand again and + repressed a sigh. She was a great-hearted lady, that brave wife and + mother, who bore her own trouble without a word spoken to anyone; but she + must sigh, at least, sometimes; it was such a relief to her pent-up + feelings. “Who indeed?” she said, acquiescent. “Who + indeed, if not you? And I love you best when you conquer so, Michael.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack looked down upon her with a strange tender look on his face, in + which gentleness and condescension were curiously mingled. “Yes,” + he answered, musing; “for dear Cleer’s sake I will always keep + my peace about it. I’ll say not a word. I’ll never tell + anybody. And yet it’s hard to keep it in; very hard, indeed. I have + to bind myself round, as it were, with bonds of iron. The secret will + almost out of itself at times. As this morning, for example, when that + young fellow wanted to know why St. Michael always clung to such airy + pinnacles. How jauntily he talked about it, as if the reason for the + selection were a matter of no moment! How little he seemed to think of the + Prince of the Archangels!” + </p> + <p> + “But for Cleer’s sake, darling, you kept it in,” Mrs. + Trevennack said, coaxingly; “and for Cleer’s sake you’ll + keep it in still—I know you will; now won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack looked the picture of embodied self-restraint. His back was + rigid. “For Cleer’s sake I’ll keep it in,” he + said, firmly. “I know how important it is for her. Never in this + world have I breathed a word of it to any living soul but you; and never + in this world I will. The rest wouldn’t understand. They’d say + it was madness.” + </p> + <p> + “They would,” his wife assented very gravely and earnestly. + “And that would be so bad for Cleer’s future prospects. People + would think you were out of your mind; and you know how chary young men + are nowadays of marrying a girl when they believe or even suspect there’s + insanity in the family. You can talk of it as much and as often as you + like to ME, dear Michael. I think that does you good. It acts as a + safety-valve. It keeps you from bottling your secret up in your own heart + too long, and brooding over it, and worrying yourself. I like you to talk + to ME of it whenever you feel inclined. But for heaven’s sake, + darling, to nobody else. Not a hint of it for worlds. The consequences + might be terrible.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack rose and stood at his full height, with his heels on the edge + of the low cottage fender. “You can trust me, Lucy,” he said, + in a very soft tone, with grave and conscious dignity. “You can + trust me to hold my tongue. I know how much depends upon it.” + </p> + <p> + The beautiful lady with the silvery hair sat and gazed on him admiringly. + She knew she could trust him; she knew he would keep it in. But she knew + at the same time how desperate a struggle the effort cost him; and + visionary though he was, she loved and admired him for it. + </p> + <p> + There was an eloquent silence. Then, after a while, Trevennack spoke + again, more tenderly and regretfully. “That man did it!” he + said, with slow emphasis. “I saw by his face at once he did it. He + killed our poor boy. I could read it in his look. I’m sure it was + he. And besides, I have news of it, certain news—from elsewhere,” + and he looked up significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Michael!” Mrs. Trevennack said, drawing close to him with an + appealing gesture, and gazing hard into his eyes; “it’s a long + time since. He was a boy at the time. He did it carelessly, no doubt; but + not guiltily, culpably. For Cleer’s sake, there, too—oh, + forgive him, forgive him!” She clasped her hands tight; she looked + up at him tearfully. + </p> + <p> + “It was the devil’s work,” her husband answered, with a + faint frown on his high forehead, “and my task in life, Lucy, is to + fight down the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Fight him down in your own heart, then, dear,” Mrs. + Trevennack said, gently. “Remember, we all may fall. Lucifer did—and + he was once an archangel. Fight him down in your own heart when he + suggests hateful thoughts to you. For I know what you felt when it came + over you instinctively that that young man had done it. You wanted to fly + straight at his throat, dear Michael—you wanted to fly at his + throat, and fling him over the precipice.” + </p> + <p> + “I did,” Trevennack answered, making no pretense of denial. + “But for Cleer’s sake I refrained. And for Cleer’s sake, + if you wish it, I’ll try to forgive him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack pressed his hand. Tears stood in her dim eyes. She, too, + had a terrible battle to fight all the days of her life, and she fought it + valiantly. “Michael,” she said, with an effort, “try to + avoid that young man. Try to avoid him, I implore you. Don’t go near + him in the future. If you see him too often, I’m afraid what the + result for you both may be. You control yourself wonderfully, dear; you + control yourself, I know; and I’m grateful to you for it. But if you + see too much of him, I dread an outbreak. It may get the better of you. + And then—think of Cleer! Avoid him! Avoid him!” + </p> + <p> + For only that silver-headed woman of all people on earth knew the terrible + truth, that Michael Trevennack’s was a hopeless case of suppressed + insanity. Well suppressed, indeed, and kept firmly in check for his + daughter’s sake, and by his brave wife’s aid; but insanity, + none the less, of the profoundest monomaniacal pattern, for all that. All + day long, and every day, in his dealings with the outer world, he kept + down his monomania. An able and trusted government servant, he never + allowed it for one moment to interfere with his public duties. To his wife + alone he let out what he thought the inmost and deepest secret of his real + existence—that he was the Archangel Michael. To no one else did he + ever allow a glimpse of the truth, as he thought it, to appear. He knew + the world would call it madness; and he didn’t wish the stigma of + inherited insanity to cling to his Cleer. + </p> + <p> + Not even Cleer herself for a moment suspected it. + </p> + <p> + Trevennack was wise enough and cunning enough, as madmen often are, to + keep his own counsel, for good and sufficient reason. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. — PURE ACCIDENT. + </h2> + <p> + During the next week or so, as chance would have it, Cleer Trevennack fell + in more than once on her walks with Eustace Le Neve and Walter Tyrrel. + They had picked up acquaintance in an irregular way, to be sure; but Cleer + hadn’t happened to be close by when her father uttered those strange + words to his wife, “It was he who did it; it was he who killed our + boy”; nor did she notice particularly the marked abruptness of + Tyrrel’s departure on that unfortunate occasion. So she had no such + objection to meeting the two young men as Trevennack himself not + unnaturally displayed; she regarded his evident avoidance of Walter Tyrrel + as merely one of “Papa’s fancies.” To Cleer, Papa’s + fancies were mysterious but very familiar entities; and Tyrrel and Le Neve + were simply two interesting and intelligent young men—the squire of + the village and a friend on a visit to him. Indeed, to be quite + confidential, it was the visitor who occupied the larger share of Cleer’s + attention. He was so good-looking and so nice. His open face and pink and + white complexion had attracted her fancy from the very first; and the more + she saw of him the more she liked him. + </p> + <p> + They met often—quite by accident, of course—on the moor and + elsewhere. Tyrrel, for his part, shrank somewhat timidly from the sister + of the boy, for his share in whose death he so bitterly reproached + himself; yet he couldn’t quite drag himself off whenever he found + himself in Cleer’s presence. She bound him as by a spell. He was + profoundly attracted to her. There was something about the pretty Cornish + girl so frank, so confiding, in one word, so magnetic, that when once he + came near her he couldn’t tear himself away as he felt he ought to. + Yet he could see very well, none the less, it was for Eustace Le Neve that + she watched most eagerly, with the natural interest of a budding girl in + the man who takes her pure maiden fancy. Tyrrel allowed with a sigh that + this was well indeed; for how could he ever dream, now he knew who she + was, of marrying young Michael Trevennack’s sister? + </p> + <p> + One afternoon the two friends were returning from a long ramble across the + open moor, when, near a little knoll of bare and weathered rock that rose + from a circling belt of Cornish heath, they saw Cleer by herself, propped + against the huge boulders, with her eyes fixed intently on a paper-covered + novel. She looked up and smiled as they approached; and the young men, + turning aside from their ill-marked path, came over and stood by her. They + talked for awhile about the ordinary nothings of society small-talk, till + by degrees Cleer chanced accidentally to bring the conversation round to + something that had happened to her mother and herself a year or two since + in Malta. Le Neve snatched at the word; for he was eager to learn all he + could about the Trevennacks’ movements, so deeply had Cleer already + impressed her image on his susceptible nature. + </p> + <p> + “And when do you go back there?” he asked, somewhat anxiously. + “I suppose your father’s leave is for a week or two only.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no; we don’t go back at all, thank heaven,” + Cleer answered, with a sunny smile. “I can’t bear exile, Mr. + Le Neve, and I never cared one bit for living in Malta. But this year, + fortunately, papa’s going to be transferred for a permanence to + England; he’s to have charge of a department that has something or + other to do with provisioning the Channel Squadron; I don’t quite + understand what; but anyhow, he’ll have to be running about between + Portsmouth and Plymouth, and I don’t know where else; and mamma and + I will have to take a house for ourselves in London.” + </p> + <p> + Le Neve’s face showed his pleasure. “That’s well,” + he answered, briskly. “Then you won’t be quite lost! I mean, + there’ll be some chance at least when you go away from here of one’s + seeing you sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + A bright red spot rose deep on Cleer’s cheek through the dark + olive-brown skin. “How kind of you to say so,” she answered, + looking down. “I’m sure mamma’ll be very pleased, + indeed, if you’ll take the trouble to call.” Then, to hide her + confusion, she went on hastily, “And are YOU going to be in England, + too? I thought I understood the other day from your friend you had + something to do with a railway in South America.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all over now,” Le Neve answered, with a + wave, well pleased she should ask him about his whereabouts so cordially. + “I was only employed in the construction of the line, you know; I’ve + nothing at all to do with its maintenance and working, and now the track’s + laid, my work there’s finished. But as to stopping in England,—ah—that’s + quite another thing. An engineer’s, you know, is a roving life. He’s + here to-day and there to-morrow. I must go, I suppose, wherever work may + take me. And there isn’t much stirring in the markets just now in + the way of engineering.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you’ll get something at home,” Cleer said, + simply, with a blush, and then blamed herself for saying it. She blushed + again at the thought. She looked prettiest when she blushed. Walter + Tyrrel, a little behind, stood and admired her all the while. But Eustace + was flattered she should think of wanting him to remain in England. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said, somewhat timidly, for her bashfulness + made him a trifle bashful in return. “I should like to very much—for + more reasons than one;” and he looked at her meaningly. “I’m + getting tired, in some ways, of life abroad. I’d much prefer to come + back now and settle down in England.” + </p> + <p> + Cleer rose as he spoke. His frank admiration made her feel self-conscious. + She thought this conversation had gone quite far enough for them both for + the present. After all, she knew so little of him, though he was really + very nice, and he looked at her so kindly! But perhaps it would be better + to go and hunt up papa. “I think I ought to be moving now,” + she said, with a delicious little flush on her smooth, dark cheek. “My + father’ll be waiting for me.” And she set her face across the + moor in the opposite direction from the gate of Penmorgan. + </p> + <p> + “We may come with you, mayn’t we?” Eustace asked, with + just an undertone of wistfulness. + </p> + <p> + But Tyrrel darted a warning glance at him. He, at least, couldn’t go + to confront once more that poor dead boy’s father. + </p> + <p> + “I must hurry home,” he said, feebly, consulting his watch + with an abstracted air. “It’s getting so late. But don’t + let me prevent YOU from accompanying Miss Trevennack.” + </p> + <p> + Cleer shrank away, a little alarmed. She wasn’t quite sure whether + it would be perfectly right for her to walk about alone on the moorland + with only ONE young man, though she wouldn’t have minded the two, + for there is safety in numbers. “Oh, no,” she said, half + frightened, in that composite tone which is at once an entreaty and a + positive command. “Don’t mind me, Mr. Le Neve. I’m quite + accustomed to strolling by myself round the cliff. I wouldn’t make + you miss your dinner for worlds. And besides, papa’s not far off. He + went away from me, rambling.” + </p> + <p> + The two young men, accepting their dismissal in the sense in which it was + intended, saluted her deferentially, and turned away on their own road. + But Cleer took the path to Michael’s Crag, by the gully. + </p> + <p> + From the foot of the crag you can’t see the summit. Its own + shoulders and the loose rocks of the foreground hide it. But Cleer was + pretty certain her father must be there; for he was mostly to be found, + when tide permitted it, perched up on the highest pinnacle of his namesake + skerry, looking out upon the waters with a pre-occupied glance from that + airy citadel. The waves in the narrow channel that separate the crag from + the opposite mainland were running high and boisterous, but Cleer had a + sure foot, and could leap, light as a gazelle, from rock to rock. Not for + nothing was she Michael Trevennack’s daughter, well trained from her + babyhood to high and airy climbs. She chose an easy spot where it was + possible to spring across by a series of boulders, arranged accidentally + like stepping-stones; and in a minute she was standing on the main crag + itself, a huge beetling mass of detached serpentine pushed boldly out as + the advance-guard of the land into the assailing waves, and tapering at + its top into a pyramidal steeple. + </p> + <p> + The face of the crag was wet with spray in places; but Cleer didn’t + mind spray; she was accustomed to the sea in all its moods and tempers. + She clambered up the steep side—a sheer wall of bare rock, lightly + clad here and there with sparse drapery of green sapphire, or clumps of + purple sea-aster, rooted firm in the crannies. Its front was yellow with + great patches of lichen, and on the peaks, overhead, the gulls perched, + chattering, or launched themselves in long curves upon the evening air. + Cleer paused half way up to draw breath and admire the familiar scene. + Often as she had gone there before, she could never help gazing with + enchanted eyes on those brilliantly colored pinnacles, on that deep green + sea, on those angry white breakers that dashed in ceaseless assault + against the solid black wall of rock all round her. Then she started once + more on her climb up the uncertain path, a mere foothold in the crannies, + clinging close with her tiny hands as she went to every jutting corner or + weather-worn rock, and every woody stem of weather-beaten sea plants. + </p> + <p> + At last, panting and hot, she reached the sharp top, expecting to find + Trevennack at his accustomed post on the very tallest pinnacle of the + craggy little islet. But, to her immense surprise, her father wasn’t + there. His absence disquieted her. Cleer stood up on the fissured mass of + orange-lichened rock that crowned the very summit, dispossessing the gulls + who flapped round her as she mounted it; then, shading her eyes with her + hand, she looked down in every direction to see if she could descry that + missing figure in some nook of the crag. He was nowhere visible. “Father!” + she cried aloud, at the top of her voice; “father! father! father!” + But the only answer to her cry was the sound of the sea on the base, and + the loud noise of the gulls, as they screamed and fluttered in angry + surprise over their accustomed breeding-grounds. + </p> + <p> + Alarmed and irresolute, Cleer sat down on the rock, and facing landwards + for awhile, waved her handkerchief to and fro to attract, if possible, her + father’s attention. Then she scanned the opposite cliffs, beyond the + gap or chasm that separated her from the mainland; but she could nowhere + see him. He must have forgotten her and gone home to dinner alone, she + fancied now, for it was nearly seven o’clock. Nothing remained but + to climb down again and follow him. It was getting full late to be out by + herself on the island. And tide was coming in, and the surf was getting + strong—Atlantic swell from the gale at sea yesterday. + </p> + <p> + Painfully and toilsomely she clambered down the steep path, making her + foothold good, step by step, in the slippery crannies, rendered still more + dangerous in places by the sticky spray and the brine that dashed over + them from the seething channel. It was harder coming down, a good deal, + than going up, and she was accustomed to her father’s hand to guide + her—to fit her light foot on the little ledges by the way, or to + lift her down over the steepest bits with unfailing tenderness. So she + found it rather difficult to descend by herself—both difficult and + tedious. At last, however, after one or two nasty slips, and a false step + or so on the way that ended in her grazing the tender skin on those white + little fingers, Cleer reached the base of the crag, and stood face to face + with the final problem of crossing the chasm that divided the islet from + the opposite mainland. + </p> + <p> + Then for the first time the truth was borne in upon her with a sudden rush + that she couldn’t get back—she was imprisoned on the island. + She had crossed over at almost the last moment possible. The sea now quite + covered two or three of her stepping-stones; fierce surf broke over the + rest with each advancing billow, and rendered the task of jumping from one + to the other impracticable even for a strong and sure-footed man, far more + for a slight girl of Cleer’s height and figure. + </p> + <p> + In a moment the little prisoner took in the full horror of the situation. + It was now about half tide, and seven o’clock in the evening. High + water would therefore fall between ten and eleven; and it must be nearly + two in the morning, she calculated hastily, before the sea had gone down + enough to let her cross over in safety. Even then, in the dark, she dared + hardly face those treacherous stepping-stones. She must stop there till + day broke, if she meant to get ashore again without unnecessary hazard. + </p> + <p> + Cleer was a Trevennack, and therefore brave; but the notion of stopping + alone on that desolate island, thronged with gulls and cormorants, in the + open air, through all those long dark hours till morning dawned, fairly + frightened and appalled her. For a minute or two she crouched and cowered + in silence. Then, overcome by terror, she climbed up once more to the + first platform of rock, above the reach of the spray, and shouted with all + her might, “Father! father! father!” + </p> + <p> + But ‘tis a lonely coast, that wild stretch by the Lizard. Not a soul + was within earshot. Cleer sat there still, or stood on top of the crag, + for many minutes together, shouting and waving her handkerchief for dear + life itself; but not a soul heard her. She might have died there + unnoticed; not a creature came near to help or deliver her. The gulls and + the cormorants alone stared at her and wondered. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, tide kept flowing with incredible rapidity. The gale in the + Atlantic had raised an unwonted swell; and though there was now little + wind, the breakers kept thundering in upon the firm, sandy beach with a + deafening roar that drowned Cleer’s poor voice completely. To add to + her misfortunes, fog began to drift slowly with the breeze from seaward. + It was getting dark too, and the rocks were damp. Overhead the gulls + screamed loud as they flapped and circled above her. + </p> + <p> + In an agony of despair, Cleer sat down all unnerved on the topmost crag. + She began to cry to herself. It was all up now. She knew she must stop + there alone till morning. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. — PERIL BY LAND. + </h2> + <p> + The Trevennacks dined in their lodgings at Gunwalloe at half-past seven. + But in the rough open-air life of summer visitors on the Cornish coast, + meals as a rule are very movable feasts; and Michael Trevennack wasn’t + particularly alarmed when he reached home that evening to find Cleer hadn’t + returned before him. They had missed one another, somehow, among the + tangled paths that led down the gully; an easy enough thing to do between + those big boulders and bramble-bushes; and it was a quarter to eight + before Trevennack began to feel alarmed at Cleer’s prolonged + absence. By that time, however, he grew thoroughly frightened; and, + reproaching himself bitterly for having let his daughter stray out of his + sight in the first place, he hurried back, with his wife, at the top of + his speed along the cliff path to the Penmorgan headland. + </p> + <p> + It’s half an hour’s walk from Gunwalloe to Michael’s + Crag; and by the time Trevennack reached the mouth of the gully the sands + were almost covered; so for the first time in fifteen years he was forced + to take the path right under the cliff to the now comparatively distant + island, round whose base a whole waste of angry sea surged sullenly. On + the way they met a few workmen who, in answer to their inquiries, could + give them no news, but who turned back to aid in the search for the + missing young lady. When they got opposite Michael’s Crag, a wide + belt of black water, all encumbered with broken masses of sharp rock, some + above and some below the surface, now separated them by fifty yards or + more from the island. It was growing dark fast, for these were the closing + days of August twilight; and dense fog had drifted in, half obliterating + everything. They could barely descry the dim outline of the pyramidal rock + in its lower half; its upper part was wholly shrouded in thick mist and + drizzle. + </p> + <p> + With a wild cry of despair, Trevennack raised his voice, and shouted + aloud, “Cleer, Cleer! where are you?” + </p> + <p> + That clarion voice, as of his namesake angel, though raised against the + wind, could be heard above even the thud of the fierce breakers that + pounded the sand. On the highest peak above, where she sat, cold and + shivering, Cleer heard it, and jumped up. “Here! here! father!” + she cried out, with a terrible effort, descending at the same time down + the sheer face of the cliff as far as the dashing spray and fierce wild + waves would allow her. + </p> + <p> + No other ear caught the sound of that answering cry; but Trevennack’s + keen senses, preternaturally awakened by the gravity of the crisis, + detected the faint ring of her girlish voice through the thunder of the + surf. “She’s there!” he cried, frantically, waving his + hands above his head. “She’s there! She’s there! We must + get across and save her.” + </p> + <p> + For a second Mrs. Trevennack doubted whether he was really right, or + whether this was only one of poor Michael’s hallucinations. But the + next moment, with another cry, Cleer waved her handkerchief in return, and + let it fall from her hand. It came, carried on the light breeze, and + dropped in the water before their very eyes, half way across the channel. + </p> + <p> + Frenzied at the sight, Trevennack tore off his coat, and would have + plunged into the sea, then and there, to rescue her. But the workmen held + him back. “No, no, sir; you mustn’t,” they said. “No + harm can’t come to the young lady if she stops there. She’ve + only got to sit on them rocks there till morning, and the tide’ll + leave her high and dry right enough, as it always do. But nobody couldn’t + live in such a sea as that—not Tim o’ Truro. The waves ‘u’d + dash him up afore he knowed where he was, and smash him all to pieces on + the side o’ the island.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack tried to break from them, but the men held him hard. Their + resistance angered him. He chafed under their restraint. How dare these + rough fellows lay hands like that on the Prince of the Archangels and a + superior officer in Her Majesty’s Civil Service? But with the + self-restraint that was habitual to him, he managed to refrain, even so, + from disclosing his identity. He only struggled ineffectually, instead of + blasting them with his hot breath, or clutching his strong arms round + their bare throats and choking them. As he stood there and hesitated, half + undecided how to act, of a sudden a sharp cry arose from behind. + Trevennack turned and looked. Through the dark and the fog he could just + dimly descry two men hurrying up, with ropes and life buoys. As they + neared him, he started in unspeakable horror. For one of them, indeed, was + only Eustace Le Neve; but the other—the other was that devil Walter + Tyrrel, who, he felt sure in his own heart, had killed their dear Michael. + And it was his task in life to fight and conquer devils. + </p> + <p> + For a minute he longed to leap upon him and trample him under foot, as + long ago he had trampled his old enemy, Satan. What was the fellow doing + here now? What business had he with Cleer? Was he always to be in at the + death of a Trevennack? + </p> + <p> + But true to her trust, the silver-haired lady clutched his arm with tender + watchfulness. “For Cleer’s sake, dear Michael!” she + whispered low in his ear; “for Cleer’s sake—say nothing; + don’t speak to him, don’t notice him!” + </p> + <p> + The distracted father drew back a step, out of reach of the spray. “But + Lucy,” he cried low to her, “only think! only remember! If I + cared to go on the cliff and just spread my wings, I could fly across and + save her—so instantly, so easily!” + </p> + <p> + His wife held his hand hard. That touch always soothed him. “If you + did, Michael,” she said gently, with her feminine tact, “they’d + all declare you were mad, and had no wings to fly with. And Cleer’s + in no immediate danger just now, I feel sure. Don’t try, there’s + a dear man. That’s right! Oh, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + Reassured by her calm confidence, Trevennack fell back yet another step on + the sands, and watched the men aloof. Walter Tyrrel turned to him. His + heart was in his mouth. He spoke in short, sharp sentences. “The + coastguard’s wife told us,” he said. “We’ve come + down to get her off. I’ve sent word direct to the Lizard lifeboat. + But I’m afraid it won’t come. They daren’t venture out. + Sea runs too high, and these rocks are too dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he tore off his coat, tied a rope round his waist, flung his + boots on the sand, and girded himself rapidly with an inflated life-buoy. + Then, before the men could seize him or prevent the rash attempt, he had + dashed into the great waves that curled and thundered on the beach, and + was struggling hard with the sea in a life and death contest. Eustace Le + Neve held the rope, and tried to aid him in his endeavors. He had meant to + plunge in himself, but Walter Tyrrel was beforehand with him. He was no + match in a race against time for the fiery and impetuous Cornish + temperament. It wasn’t long, however, before the breakers proved + themselves more than equal foes for Walter Tyrrel. In another minute he + was pounded and pummeled on the unseen rocks under water by the great + curling billows. They seized him resistlessly on their crests, tumbled him + over like a child, and dashed him, bruised and bleeding, one limp bundle + of flesh, against the jagged and pointed summits of the submerged + boulders. + </p> + <p> + With all his might, Eustace Le Neve held on to the rope; then, in coat and + boots as he stood, he plunged into the waves and lifted Walter Tyrrel in + his strong arms landward. He was a bigger built and more powerful man than + his host, and his huge limbs battled harder with the gigantic waves. But + even so, in that swirling flood, it was touch and go with him. The + breakers lifted him off his feet, tossed him to and fro in their trough, + flung him down again forcibly against the sharp-edged rocks, and tried to + float off his half unconscious burden. But Le Neve persevered in spite of + them, scrambling and tottering as he went, over wet and slippery reefs, + with Tyrrel still clasped in his arms, and pressed tight to his breast, + till he landed him safe at last on the firm sand beside him. + </p> + <p> + The squire was far too beaten and bruised by the rocks to make a second + attempt against those resistless breakers. Indeed, Le Neve brought him + ashore more dead than alive, bleeding from a dozen wounds on the face and + hands, and with the breath almost failing in his battered body. They laid + him down on the beach, while the fishermen crowded round him, admiring his + pluck, though they deprecated his foolhardiness, for they “knowed + the squire couldn’t never live ag’in it.” But Le Neve, + still full of the reckless courage of youth, and health, and strength, and + manhood, keenly alive now to the peril of Cleer’s lonely situation, + never heeded their forebodings. He dashed in once more, just as he stood, + clothes and all, in the wild and desperate attempt to stem that fierce + flood and swim across to the island. + </p> + <p> + In such a sea as then raged, indeed, and among such broken rocks, + swimming, in the strict sense, was utterly impossible. By some mere + miracle of dashing about, however—here, battered against the sharp + rocks; there, flung over them by the breakers; and yonder, again, sucked + down, like a straw in an eddy, by the fierce strength of the undertow—Eustace + found himself at last, half unconscious and half choked, carried round by + the swirling scour that set through the channel to the south front of the + island. Next instant he felt he was cast against the dead wall of rock + like an india rubber ball. He rebounded into the trough. The sea caught + him a second time, and flung him once more, helpless, against the dripping + precipice. With what life was left in him, he clutched with both hands the + bare serpentine edge. Good luck befriended him. The great wave had lifted + him up on its towering crest to the level of vegetation, beyond the + debatable zone. He clung to the hard root of woody sea-aster in the + clefts. The waves dashed back in tumultuous little cataracts, and left him + there hanging. + </p> + <p> + Like a mountain goat, Eustace clambered up the side, on hands, knees, + feet, elbows, glad to escape with his life from that irresistible turmoil. + The treacherous herbs on the slope of the crag were kind to him. He + scrambled ahead, like some mad, wild thing. He went onward, upward, + cutting his hands at each stage, tearing the skin from his fingers. It was + impossible; but he did it. Next minute he found himself high and dry on + the island. + </p> + <p> + His clothes were clinging wet, of course, and his limbs bruised and + battered. But he was safe on the firm plateau of the rock at last; and he + had rescued Cleer Trevennack! + </p> + <p> + In the first joy and excitement of the moment he forgot altogether the + cramping conventionalities of our every-day life; and, repeating the cry + he had heard Michael Trevennack raise from the beach below, he shouted + aloud, at the top of his voice, “Cleer! Cleer! Where are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” came an answering voice from the depths of the gloom + overhead. And following the direction whence the sound seemed to come, + Eustace Le Neve clambered up to her. + </p> + <p> + As he seized her hand and wrung it, Cleer crying the while with delight + and relief, it struck him all at once, for the very first time, he had + done no good by coming, save to give her companionship. It would be + hopeless to try carrying her through those intricate rock-channels and + that implacable surf, whence he himself had emerged, alone and unburdened, + only by a miracle. They two must stop alone there on the rock till + morning. + </p> + <p> + As for Cleer, too innocent and too much of a mere woman in her deadly + peril to think of anything but the delightful sense of confidence in a + strong man at her side to guard and protect her, she sat and held his hand + still, in a perfect transport of gratitude. “Oh, how good of you to + come!” she cried again and again, bending over it in her relief, and + half tempted to kiss it. “How good of you to come across like that + to save me.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. — SAFE AT LAST. + </h2> + <p> + The night was long. The night was dark. Slowly the fog closed them in. It + grew rainier and more dismal. But on the summit of the crag Eustace Le + Neve stood aloft, and waved his arms, and shouted. He lit a match and + shaded it. The dull glare of it through the mist just faintly reached the + eyes of the anxious watchers on the beach below. From a dozen lips there + rose an answering shout. The pair on the crag half heard its last echoes. + Eustace put his hands to his mouth and cried aloud once more, in + stentorian tones, “All right. Cleer’s here. We can hold out + till morning.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack alone heard the words. But he repeated them so instantly that + his wife felt sure it was true hearing, not insane hallucination. The sea + was gaining on them now. It had risen almost up to the face of the cliffs. + Reluctantly they turned along the path by the gully, and mounting the + precipice waited and watched till morning on the tor that overlooks + Michael’s Crag from the Penmorgan headland. + </p> + <p> + Every now and again, through that livelong night, Trevennack whispered in + his wife’s ear, “If only I chose to spread my wings, and + launch myself, I could fly across and carry her.” And each time that + brave woman, holding his hand in her own and smoothing it gently, answered + in her soft voice, “But then the secret would be out, and Cleer’s + life would be spoiled, and they’d call you a madman. Wait till + morning, dear Michael; do, do, wait till morning.” + </p> + <p> + And Trevennack, struggling hard with the mad impulse in his heart, replied + with all his soul, “I will; I will; for Cleer’s sake and + yours, I’ll try to keep it down. I’ll not be mad. I’ll + be strong and restrain it.” + </p> + <p> + For he knew he was insane, in his inmost soul, almost as well as he knew + his name was Michael the Archangel. + </p> + <p> + On the island, meanwhile, Eustace Le Neve and Cleer Trevennack sat + watching out the weary night, and longing for the dawn to make the way + back possible. At least, Cleer did, for as to Eustace, in spite of rain + and fog and cold and darkness, he was by no means insensible to the + unwonted pleasure of so long a tete-a-tete, in such romantic + circumstances, with the beautiful Cornish girl. To be sure the waves + roared, and the drizzle dripped, and the seabirds flapped all round them. + But many waters will not quench love. Cleer was by his side, holding his + hand in hers in the dark for pure company’s sake, because she was so + frightened; and as the night wore on they talked at last of many things. + They were prisoners there for five mortal hours or so, alone, together; + and they might as well make the best of it by being sociable with one + another. + </p> + <p> + There could be no denying, however, that it was cold and damp and dark and + uncomfortable. The rain came beating down upon them, as they sat there + side by side on that exposed rock. The spray from the breakers blew in + with the night wind; the light breeze struck chill on their wet clothes + and faces. After awhile Eustace began a slow tour of inspection over the + crag, seeking some cave or rock shelter, some projecting ledge of stone on + the leeward side that might screen their backs at least from the driving + showers. Cleer couldn’t be left alone; she clung to his hand as he + felt his way about the islet, with uncertain steps, through the gloom and + fog. Once he steadied himself on a jutting piece of the rock as he + supposed, when to his immense surprise—wh’r’r’r—it + rose from under his hand, with a shrill cry of alarm, and fluttered wildly + seaward. It was some sleeping gull, no doubt, disturbed unexpectedly in + its accustomed resting-place. Eustace staggered and almost fell. Cleer + supported him with her arm. He accepted her aid gratefully. They stumbled + on in the dark once more, lighting now and again for a minute or two one + of his six precious matches—he had no more in his case—and + exploring as well as they might the whole broken surface of that fissured + pinnacle. “I’m so glad you smoke, Mr. Le Neve,” Cleer + said, simply, as he lit one. “For if you didn’t, you know, we’d + have been left here all night in utter darkness.” + </p> + <p> + At last, in a nook formed by the weathered joints, Eustace found a rugged + niche, somewhat dryer than the rest, and laid Cleer gently down in it, on + a natural spring seat of tufted rock-plants. Then he settled down beside + her, with what cheerfulness he could muster up, and taking off his wet + coat, spread it on top across the cleft, like a tent roof, to shelter + them. It was no time, indeed, to stand upon ceremony. Cleer recognized as + much, and nestled close to his side, like a sensible girl as she was, so + as to keep warm by mere company; while Eustace, still holding her hand, + just to assure her of his presence, placed himself in such an attitude, + leaning before her and above her, as to protect her as far as possible + from the drizzling rainfall through the gap in front of them. There they + sat till morning, talking gradually of many things, and growing more and + more confidential, in spite of cold and wet, as they learnt more and more, + with each passing hour, of each other’s standpoint. There are some + situations where you get to know people better in a few half-hours + together than you could get to know them in months upon months of mere + drawing-room acquaintance. And this was one of them. Before morning + dawned, Eustace Le Neve and Cleer Trevennack felt just as if they had + known one another quite well for years. They were old and trusted friends + already. Old friends—and even something more than that. Though no + word of love was spoken between them, each knew of what the other was + thinking. Eustace felt Cleer loved him; Cleer felt Eustace loved her. And + in spite of rain and cold and fog and darkness they were almost happy—before + dawn came to interrupt their strange tete-a-tete on the islet. + </p> + <p> + As soon as day broke Eustace looked out from their eyrie on the fissured + peak, and down upon the troubled belt of water below. The sea was now + ebbing, and the passage between the rock and the mainland though still + full (for it was never dry even at spring-tide low water) was fairly + passable by this time over the natural bridge of stepping-stones. He + clambered down the side, giving his hand to Cleer from ledge to ledge as + he went. The fog had lifted a little, and on the opposite headland they + could just dimly descry the weary watchers looking eagerly out for them. + Eustace put his hands to his mouth, and gave a loud halloo. The sound of + the breakers was less deafening now; his voice carried to the mainland. + Trevennack, who had sat under a tarpaulin through the livelong night, + watching and waiting with anxious heart for the morning, raised an + answering shout, and waved his hat in his hand frantically. St. Michael’s + Crag had not betrayed its trust. That was the motto of the Trevennacks—“Stand + fast, St. Michael’s!”—under the crest of the rocky + islet, castled and mured, flamboyant. Eustace reached the bottom of the + rock, and, wading in the water himself, or jumping into the deepest parts, + helped Cleer across the stepping-stones. Meanwhile, the party on the cliff + had hurried down by the gully path; and a minute later Cleer was in her + mother’s arms, while Trevennack held her hand, inarticulate with + joy, and bent over her eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother,” Cleer cried, in her simple girlish naivete, + “Mr. Le Neve’s been so kind to me! I don’t know how I + should ever have got through the night without him. It was so good of him + to come. He’s been SUCH a help to me.” + </p> + <p> + The father and mother both looked into her eyes—a single searching + glance—and understood perfectly. They grasped Le Neve’s hand. + Tears rolled down their cheeks. Not a word was spoken, but in a certain + silent way all four understood one another. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s Tyrrel?” Eustace asked. + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Trevennack answered, “Carried home, severely hurt. He was + bruised on the rocks. But we hope not dangerously. The doctor’s been + to see him, we hear, and finds no bones broken. Still, he’s terribly + battered about, in those fearful waves, and it must be weeks, they tell + us, before he can quite recover.” + </p> + <p> + But Cleer, as was natural, thought more of the man who had struggled + through and reached her than of the man who had failed in the attempt, + though he suffered all the more for it. This is a world of the successful. + In it, as in most other planets I have visited, people make a deal more + fuss over the smallest success than over the noblest failure. + </p> + <p> + It was no moment for delay. Eustace turned on his way at once, and ran up + to Penmorgan. And the Trevennacks returned, very wet and cold, in the dim + gray dawn to their rooms at Gunwalloe. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they were alone—Cleer put safely to bed—Trevennack + looked at his wife. “Lucy,” he said, slowly, in a disappointed + tone, “after this, of course, come what may, they must marry.” + </p> + <p> + “They must,” his wife answered. “There’s no other + way left. And fortunately, dear, I could see from the very first, Cleer + likes him, and he likes her.” + </p> + <p> + The father paused a moment. It wasn’t quite the match he had hoped + for a Trevennack of Trevennack. Then he added, very fervently, “Thank + God it was HIM—not that other man, Tyrrel! Thank God, the first one + fell in the water and was hurt. What should we ever have done—oh, + what should we have done, Lucy, if she’d been cut off all night long + on that lonely crag face to face with the man who murdered our dear boy + Michael?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack drew a long breath. Then she spoke earnestly once more. + “Dear heart,” she said, looking deep into his clear brown + eyes, “now remember, more than ever, Cleer’s future is at + stake. For Cleer’s sake, more than ever, keep a guard on yourself, + Michael; watch word and deed, do nothing foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “You can trust me!” Trevennack answered, drawing himself up to + his full height, and looking proudly before him. “Cleer’s + future is at stake. Cleer has a lover now. Till Cleer is married, I’ll + give you my sacred promise no living soul shall ever know in any way she’s + an archangel’s daughter.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. — MEDICAL OPINION. + </h2> + <p> + From that day forth, by some unspoken compact, it was “Eustace” + and “Cleer,” wherever they met, between them. Le Neve began + it, by coming round in the afternoon of that self-same day, as soon as he’d + slept off the first effects of his fatigue and chill, to inquire of Mrs. + Trevennack “how Cleer was getting on” after her night’s + exposure. And Mrs. Trevennack accepted the frank usurpation in very good + part, as indeed was no wonder, for Cleer had wanted to know half an hour + before whether “Eustace” had yet been round to ask after her. + The form of speech told all. There was no formal engagement, and none of + the party knew exactly how or when they began to take it for granted; but + from that evening on Michael’s Crag it was a tacitly accepted fact + between Le Neve and the Trevennacks that Eustace was to marry Cleer as + soon as he could get a permanent appointment anywhere. + </p> + <p> + Engineering, however, is an overstocked profession. In that particular it + closely resembles most other callings. + </p> + <p> + The holidays passed away, and Walter Tyrrel recovered, and the Trevennacks + returned to town for the head of the house to take up his new position in + the Admiralty service; but Eustace Le Neve heard of no opening anywhere + for an energetic young man with South American experience. Those three + years he had passed out of England, indeed, had made him lose touch with + other members of his craft. People shrugged their shoulders when they + heard of him, and opined, with a chilly smile, he was the sort of young + man who ought to go to the colonies. That’s the easiest way of + shelving all similar questions. The colonies are popularly regarded in + England as the predestined dumping-ground for all the fools and failures + of the mother-country. So Eustace settled down in lodgings in London, not + far from the Trevennacks, and spent more of his time, it must be + confessed, in going round to see Cleer than in perfecting himself in the + knowledge of his chosen art. Not that he failed to try every chance that + lay open to him—he had far too much energy to sit idle in his chair + and let the stream of promotion flow by unattempted; but chances were few + and applicants were many, and month after month passed away to his chagrin + without the clever young engineer finding an appointment anywhere. + Meanwhile, his little nest-egg of South-American savings was rapidly + disappearing; and though Tyrrel, who had influence with railway men, + exerted himself to the utmost on his friend’s behalf—partly + for Cleer’s sake, and partly for Eustace’s own—Le Neve + saw his balance growing daily smaller, and began to be seriously alarmed + at last, not merely for his future prospects of employment and marriage, + but even for his immediate chance of a modest livelihood. + </p> + <p> + Nor was Mrs. Trevennack, for her part, entirely free from sundry qualms of + conscience as to her husband’s condition and the rightfulness of + concealing it altogether from Cleer’s accepted lover. Trevennack + himself was so perfectly sane in every ordinary relation of life, so able + a business head, so dignified and courtly an English gentleman, that + Eustace never even for a moment suspected any undercurrent of madness in + that sound practical intelligence. Indeed, no man could talk with more + absolute common sense about his daughter’s future, or the duties and + functions of an Admiralty official, than Michael Trevennack. It was only + to his wife in his most confidential moments that he ever admitted the + truth as to his archangelic character; to all others whom he met he was + simply a distinguished English civil servant of blameless life and very + solid judgment. The heads of his department placed the most implicit trust + in Trevennack’s opinion; there was no man about the place who could + decide a knotty point of detail off-hand like Michael Trevennack. What was + his poor wife to do, then? Was it her place to warn Eustace that Cleer’s + father might at any moment unexpectedly develop symptoms of dangerous + insanity? Was she bound thus to wreck her own daughter’s happiness? + Was she bound to speak out the very secret of her heart which she had + spent her whole life in inducing Trevennack himself to bottle up with + ceaseless care in his distracted bosom? + </p> + <p> + And yet ... she saw the other point of view as well—alas, all too + plainly. She was a martyr to conscience, like Walter Tyrrel himself; was + it right of her, then, to tie Eustace for life to a girl who was really a + madman’s daughter? This hateful question was up before her often in + the dead dark night, as she lay awake on her bed, tossing and turning + feverishly; it tortured her in addition to her one lifelong trouble. For + the silver-haired lady had borne the burden of that unknown sorrow locked + up in her own bosom for fifteen years; and it had left on her face such a + beauty of holiness as a great trouble often leaves indelibly stamped on + women of the same brave, loving temperament. + </p> + <p> + One day, about three months later, in their drawing-room at Bayswater, + Eustace Le Neve happened to let drop a casual remark which cut poor Mrs. + Trevennack to the quick, like a knife at her heart. He was talking of some + friend of his who had lately got engaged. “It’s a terrible + thing,” he said, seriously. “There’s insanity in the + family. I wouldn’t marry into such a family as that—no, not if + I loved a girl to distraction, Mrs. Trevennack. The father’s in a + mad-house, you know; and the girl’s very nice now, but one never can + tell when the tendency may break out. And then—just think! what an + inheritance to hand on to one’s innocent children!” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack took no open notice of what he said. But Mrs. Trevennack + winced, grew suddenly pale, and stammered out some conventional + none-committing platitude. His words entered her very soul. They stung and + galled her. That night she lay awake and thought more bitterly to herself + about the matter than ever. Next morning early, as soon as Trevennack had + set off to catch the fast train from Waterloo to Portsmouth direct (he was + frequently down there on Admiralty business), she put on her cloak and + bonnet, without a word to Cleer, and set out in a hansom all alone to + Harley Street. + </p> + <p> + The house to which she drove was serious-looking and professional—in + point of fact, it was Dr. Yate-Westbury’s, the well-known specialist + on mental diseases. She sent up no card and gave no name. On the contrary, + she kept her veil down—and it was a very thick one. But Dr. + Yate-Westbury made no comment on this reticence; it was a familiar + occurrence with him—people are often ashamed to have it known they + consult a mad-doctor. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask you about my husband’s case,” Mrs. + Trevennack began, trembling. And the great specialist, all attention, + leaned forward and listened to her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack summoned up courage, and started from the very beginning. + She described how her husband, who was a government servant, had been + walking below a cliff on the seashore with their only son, some fifteen + years earlier, and how a shower of stones from the top had fallen on their + heads and killed their poor boy, whose injuries were the more serious. She + could mention it all now with comparatively little emotion; great sorrows + since had half obliterated that first and greatest one. But she laid + stress upon the point that her husband had been struck, too, and was very + gravely hurt—so gravely, indeed, that it was weeks before he + recovered physically. + </p> + <p> + “On what part of the head?” Yate-Westbury asked, with quick + medical insight. + </p> + <p> + And Mrs. Trevennack answered, “Here,” laying her small gloved + hand on the center of the left temple. + </p> + <p> + The great specialist nodded. “Go on,” he said, quietly. + “Fourth frontal convolution! And it was a month or two, I have no + doubt, before you noticed any serious symptoms supervening?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so,” Mrs. Trevennack made answer, very much relieved. + “It was all of a month or two. But from that day forth—from + the very beginning, I mean—he had a natural horror of going BENEATH + a cliff, and he liked to get as high up as he could, so as to be perfectly + sure there was nobody at all anywhere above to hurt him.” And then + she went on to describe in short but graphic phrase how he loved to return + to the place of his son’s accident, and to stand for hours on lonely + sites overlooking the spot, and especially on a crag which was dedicated + to St. Michael. + </p> + <p> + The specialist caught at what was coming with the quickness, she thought, + of long experience. “Till he fancied himself the archangel?” + he said, promptly and curiously. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack drew a deep breath of satisfaction and relief. “Yes,” + she answered, flushing hot. “Till he fancied himself the archangel. + There—there were extenuating circumstances, you see. His own name’s + Michael; and his family—well, his family have a special connection + with St. Michael’s Mount; their crest’s a castled crag with + ‘Stand fast, St. Michael’s!’ and he knew he had to fight + against this mad impulse of his own—which he felt was like a devil + within him—for his daughter’s sake; and he was always standing + alone on these rocky high places, dedicated to St. Michael, till the fancy + took full hold upon him; and now, though he knows in a sort of a way he’s + mad, he believes quite firmly he’s St. Michael the Archangel.” + </p> + <p> + Yate-Westbury nodded once more. “Precisely the development I should + expect to occur,” he said, “after such an accident.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack almost bounded from her seat in her relief. “Then + you attribute it to the accident first of all?” she asked, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Not a doubt about it,” the specialist answered. “The + region you indicate is just the one where similar illusory ideas are apt + to arise from external injuries. The bruise gave the cause, and + circumstances the form. Besides, the case is normal—quite normal + altogether. Does he have frequent outbreaks?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack explained that he never had any. Except to herself, and + that but seldom, he never alluded to the subject in any way. + </p> + <p> + Yate-Westbury bit his lip. “He must have great self-control,” + he answered, less confidently. “In a case like that, I’m bound + to admit, my prognosis—for the final result—would be most + unfavorable. The longer he bottles it up the more terrible is the outburst + likely to be when it arrives. You must expect that some day he will break + out irrepressibly.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack bowed her head with the solemn placidity of despair. + “I’m quite prepared for that,” she said, quietly; + “though I try hard to delay it, for a specific reason. That wasn’t + the question I came to consult you about to-day. I feel sure my poor + husband’s case is perfectly hopeless, as far as any possibility of + cure is concerned; what I want to know is about another aspect of the + case.” She leaned forward appealingly. “Oh, doctor,” she + cried, clasping her hands, “I have a dear daughter at home—the + one thing yet left me. She’s engaged to be married to a young man + whom she loves—a young man who loves her. Am I bound to tell him she’s + a madman’s child? Is there any chance of its affecting her? Is the + taint hereditary?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with deep earnestness. She rushed out with it without reserve. + Yate-Westbury gazed at her compassionately. He was a kind-hearted man. + “No; certainly not,” he answered, with emphasis. “Not + the very slightest reason in any way to fear it. The sanest man, coming + from the very sanest and healthiest stock on earth, would almost certainly + be subject to delusions under such circumstances. This is accident, not + disease—circumstance, not temperament. The injury to the brain is + the result of a special blow. Grief for the loss of his son, and brooding + over the event, no doubt contributed to the particular shape the delusion + has assumed. But the injury’s the main thing. I don’t doubt + there’s a clot of blood formed just here on the brain, obstructing + its functions in part, and disturbing its due relations. In every other + way, you say, he’s a good man of business. The very apparent + rationality of the delusion—the way it’s been led up to by his + habit of standing on cliffs, his name, his associations, his family, + everything—is itself a good sign that the partial insanity is due to + a local and purely accidental cause. It simulates reason as closely as + possible. Dismiss the question altogether from your mind, as far as your + daughter’s future is concerned. Its no more likely to be inherited + than a broken leg or an amputated arm is.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack burst into a flood of joyous tears. “Then all I have + to do,” she sobbed out, “is to keep him from an outbreak until + after my daughter’s married.” + </p> + <p> + Dr. Yate-Westbury nodded. “That’s all you have to do,” + he answered, sympathetically. “And I’m sure Mrs. Trevennack—-” + he paused with a start and checked himself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how do you know my name?” the astonished mother cried, + drawing back with a little shudder of half superstitious alarm at such + surprising prescience. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Yate-Westbury made a clean breast of it. “Well, to tell the + truth,” he said, “Mr. Trevennack himself called round here + yesterday, in the afternoon, and stated the whole case to me from his own + point of view, giving his name in full—as a man would naturally do—but + never describing to me the nature of his delusion. He said it was too + sacred a thing for him to so much as touch upon; that he knew he wasn’t + mad, but that the world would think him so; and he wanted to know, from + something he’d heard said, whether madness caused by an injury of + the sort would or would not be considered by medical men as inheritable. + And I told him at once, as I’ve told you to-day, there was not the + faintest danger of it. But I never made such a slip in my life before as + blurting out the name. I could only have done it to you. Trust me, your + secret is safe in my keeping. I have hundreds in my head.” He took + her hand in his own as he spoke. “Dear madam,” he said, + gently, “I understand; I feel for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” Mrs. Trevennack answered low, with tears standing + in her eyes. “I’m—I’m so glad you’ve SEEN + him. It makes your opinion so much more valuable to me. But you thought + his delusion wholly due to the accident, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Wholly due to the accident, dear lady. Yes, wholly, wholly due to + it. You may go home quite relieved. Your doubts and fears are groundless. + Miss Trevennack may marry with a clear conscience.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. — A BOLD ATTEMPT. + </h2> + <p> + During the next ten or eleven months poor Mrs. Trevennack had but one + abiding terror—that a sudden access of irrepressible insanity might + attack her husband before Cleer and Eustace could manage to get married. + Trevennack, however, with unvarying tenderness, did his best in every way + to calm her fears. Though no word on the subject passed between them + directly, he let her feel with singular tact that he meant to keep himself + under proper control. Whenever a dangerous topic cropped up in + conversation, he would look across at her affectionately, with a + reassuring smile. “For Cleer’s sake,” he murmured often, + if she was close by his side; “for Cleer’s sake, dearest!” + and his wife, mutely grateful, knew at once what he meant, and smiled + approval sadly. + </p> + <p> + Her heart was very full; her part was a hard one to play with fitting + cheerfulness; but in his very madness itself she couldn’t help + loving, admiring, and respecting that strong, grave husband who fought so + hard against his own profound convictions. + </p> + <p> + Ten months passed away, however, and Eustace Le Neve didn’t seem to + get much nearer any permanent appointment than ever. He began to tire at + last of applying unsuccessfully for every passing vacancy. Now and then he + got odd jobs, to be sure; but odd jobs won’t do for a man to marry + upon; and serious work seemed always to elude him. Walter Tyrrel did his + best, no doubt, to hunt up all the directors of all the companies he knew; + but no posts fell vacant on any line they were connected with. It grieved + Walter to the heart, for he had always had the sincerest friendship for + Eustace Le Neve; and now that Eustace was going to marry Cleer Trevennack, + Walter felt himself doubly bound in honor to assist him. It was HE who had + ruined the Trevennacks’ hopes in life by his unintentional injury to + their only son; the least he could do in return, he thought, and felt, was + to make things as easy as possible for their daughter and her intended + husband. + </p> + <p> + By July, however, things were looking so black for the engineer’s + prospects that Tyrrel made up his mind to run up to town and talk things + over seriously with Eustace Le Neve himself in person. He hated going up + there, for he hardly knew how he could see much of Eustace without running + some risk of knocking up accidentally against Michael Trevennack; and + there was nothing on earth that sensitive young squire dreaded so much as + an unexpected meeting with the man he had so deeply, though no doubt so + unintentionally and unwittingly, injured. But he went, all the same. He + felt it was his duty. And duty to Walter Tyrrel spoke in an imperative + mood which he dared not disobey, however much he might be minded to turn a + deaf ear to it. + </p> + <p> + Le Neve had little to suggest of any practical value. It wasn’t his + fault, Tyrrel knew; engineering was slack, and many good men were looking + out for appointments. In these crowded days, it’s a foolish mistake + to suppose that energy, industry, ability, and integrity are necessarily + successful. To insure success you must have influence, opportunity, and + good luck as well, to back them. Without these, not even the invaluable + quality of unscrupulousness itself is secure from failure. + </p> + <p> + If only Walter Tyrrel could have got his friend to accept such terms, + indeed, he would gladly, for Cleer’s sake, have asked Le Neve to + marry on an allowance of half the Penmorgan rent-roll. But in this + commercial age, such quixotic arrangements are simply impossible. So + Tyrrel set to work with fiery zeal to find out what openings were just + then to be had; and first of all for that purpose he went to call on a + parliamentary friend of his, Sir Edward Jones, the fat and good-natured + chairman of the Great North Midland Railway. Tyrrel was a shareholder + whose vote was worth considering, and he supported the Board with + unwavering loyalty. + </p> + <p> + Sir Edward was therefore all attention, and listened with sympathy to + Tyrrel’s glowing account of his friend’s engineering energy + and talent. When he’d finished his eulogy, however, the practical + railway magnate crossed his fat hands and put in, with very common-sense + dryness, “If he’s so clever as all that, why doesn’t he + have a shot at this Wharfedale Viaduct?” + </p> + <p> + Walter Tyrrel drew back a little surprised. The Wharfedale Viaduct was a + question just then in everybody’s mouth. But what a question! Why, + it was one of the great engineering works of the age; and it was + informally understood that the company were prepared to receive plans and + designs from any competent person. There came the rub, though. Would + Eustace have a chance in such a competition as that? Much as he believed + in his old school-fellow, Tyrrel hesitated and reflected. “My friend’s + young, of course,” he said, after a pause. “He’s had + very little experience—comparatively, I mean—to the greatness + of the undertaking.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Edward pursed his fat lips. It’s a trick with your railway + kings. “Well, young men are often more inventive than old ones,” + he answered, slowly. “Youth has ideas; middle age has experience. In + a matter like this, my own belief is, the ideas count for most. Yes, if I + were you, Tyrrel, I’d ask your friend to consider it.” + </p> + <p> + “You would?” Walter cried, brightening up. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, that I would,” the great railway-man answered, still + more confidently than before, rubbing his fat hands reflectively. “It’s + a capital opening. Erasmus Walker’ll be in for it, of course; and + Erasmus Walker’ll get it. But don’t you tell your fellow that. + It’ll only discourage him. You just send him down to Yorkshire to + reconnoiter the ground; and if he’s good for anything, when he’s + seen the spot he’ll make a plan of his own, a great deal better than + Walker’s. Not that that’ll matter, don’t you know, as + far as this viaduct goes. The company’ll take Walker’s, no + matter how good any other fellow’s may be, and how bad Walker’s—because + Walker has a great name, and because they think they can’t go far + wrong if they follow Walker. But still, if your friend’s design is a + good one, it’ll attract attention—which is always something; + and after they’ve accepted Walker’s, and flaws begin to be + found in it—as experts can always find flaws in anything, no matter + how well planned—your friend can come forward and make a fuss in the + papers (or what’s better still, YOU can come forward and make it for + him) to say these flaws were strikingly absent from HIS very superior and + scientific conception. There’ll be flaws in your friend’s as + well, of course, but they won’t be the same ones, and nobody’ll + have the same interest in finding them out and exposing them. And that’ll + get your man talked about in the papers and the profession. It’s + better, anyhow, than wasting his time doing nothing in London here.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall do it!” Walter cried, all on fire. “I’ll + take care he shall do it. And Sir Edward, I tell you, I’d give five + thousand pounds down if only he could get the job away from Walker.” + </p> + <p> + “Got a grudge against Walker, then?” Sir Edward cried quickly, + puckering up his small eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” Tyrrel answered, smiling; that was not much in his + line. “But I’ve got strong reasons of my own, on the other + hand, for wishing to do a good turn to Le Neve in this business.” + </p> + <p> + And he went home, reflecting in his own soul on the way that many + thousands would be as dross in the pan to him if only he could make Cleer + Trevennack happy. + </p> + <p> + But that very same evening Trevennack came home from the Admiralty in a + most excited condition. + </p> + <p> + “Lucy!” he cried to his wife, as soon as he was alone in the + room with her, “who do you think I saw to-day—there, alive in + the flesh, standing smiling on the steps of Sir Edward Jones’ house?—that + brute Walter Tyrrel, who killed our poor boy for us!” “Hush! + hush, Michael!” his wife cried in answer. “It’s so long + ago now, and he was such a boy at the time; and he repents it bitterly—I’m + sure he repents it. You promised you’d try to forgive him. For Cleer’s + sake, dear heart, you must keep your promise.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack knit his brows. “What does he mean, then, by dogging my + steps?” he cried. “What does he mean by coming after me up to + London like this? What does he mean by tempting me? I can’t stand + the sight of him. I won’t be challenged, Lucy; I don’t know + whether it’s the devil or not, but when I saw the fellow to-day I + had hard work to keep my hands off him. I wanted to spring at his throat. + I would have liked to throttle him!” + </p> + <p> + The silver-haired lady drew still closer to the excited creature, and held + his hands with a gentle pressure. “Michael,” she said, + earnestly, “this IS the devil. This is the greatest temptation of + all. This is what I dread most for you. Remember, it’s Satan himself + that suggests such thoughts to you. Fight the devil WITHIN, dearest. Fight + him within, like a man. That’s the surest place, after all, to + conquer him.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack drew himself up proudly, and held his peace for a time. Then he + went on in another tone: “I shall get leave,” said he quietly, + becoming pure human once more. “I shall get leave of absence. I can’t + stop in town while this creature’s about. I’d HAVE to spring + at him if I saw him again. I can’t keep my hands off him. I’ll + fly from temptation. I must go down into the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to Cornwall!” Mrs. Trevennack cried, in deep distress; + for she dreaded the effect of those harrowing associations for him. + </p> + <p> + Trevennack shook his head gravely. “No, not to Cornwall,” he + answered. “I’ve another plan this time. I want to go to + Dartmoor. It’s lonely enough there. Not a soul to distract me. You + know, Lucy, when one means to fight the devil, there’s nothing for + it like the wilderness; and Dartmoor’s wilderness enough for me. I + shall go to Ivybridge, for the tors and the beacons.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack assented gladly. If he wanted to fight the devil, it was + best at any rate he should be out of reach of Walter Tyrrel while he did + it. And it was a good thing to get him away, too, from St. Michael’s + Mount, and St. Michael’s Crag, and St. Michael’s Chair, and + all the other reminders of his archangelic dignity in the Penzance + neighborhood. Why, she remembered with a wan smile—the dead ghost of + a smile rather—he couldn’t even pass the Angel Inn at Helston + without explaining to his companions that the parish church was dedicated + to St. Michael, and that the swinging sign of the old coaching house once + bore a picture of the winged saint himself in mortal conflict with his + Satanic enemy. It was something, at any rate, to get Trevennack away from + a district so replete with memories of his past greatness, to say nothing + of the spot where their poor boy had died. But Mrs. Trevennack didn’t + know that one thing which led her husband to select Dartmoor this time for + his summer holiday was the existence, on the wild hills a little behind + Ivybridge, of a clatter-crowned peak, known to all the country-side as St. + Michael’s Tor, and crowned in earlier days by a medieval chapel. It + was on this sacred site of his antique cult that Trevennack wished to + fight the internal devil. And he would fight it with a will, on that he + was resolved; fight and, as became his angelic reputation, conquer. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. — BUSINESS IS BUSINESS. + </h2> + <p> + It reconciled Cleer to leaving London for awhile when she learnt that + Eustace Le Neve was going north to Yorkshire, with Walter Tyrrel, to + inspect the site of the proposed Wharfedale viaduct. Not that she ever + mentioned his companion’s name in her father’s presence. Mrs. + Trevennack had warned her many times over, with tears in her eyes, but + without cause assigned, never to allude to Tyrrel’s existence before + her father’s face; and Cleer, though she never for one moment + suspected the need for such reticence, obeyed her mother’s + injunction with implicit honesty. So they parted two ways, Eustace and + Tyrrel for the north, the Trevennacks for Devonshire. Cleer needed a + change indeed; she’d spent the best part of a year in London. And + for Cleer, that was a wild and delightful holiday. Though Eustace wasn’t + there, to be sure, he wrote hopefully from the north; he was maturing his + ideas; he was evolving a plan; the sense of the magnitude of his stake in + this attempt had given him an unwonted outburst of inspiration. As she + wandered with her father among those boggy uplands, or stood on the rocky + tors that so strangely crest the low flat hill-tops of the great Devonian + moor. She felt a marvelous exhilaration stir her blood—the old + Cornish freedom making itself felt through all the restrictions of our + modern civilization. She was to the manner born, and she loved the Celtic + West Country. + </p> + <p> + But to Michael Trevennack it was life, health, vigor. He hated London. He + hated officialdom. He hated the bonds of red tape that enveloped him. It’s + hard to know yourself an archangel— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “One of the seven who nearest to the throne + Stand ready at command, and are as eyes + That run through all the heavens, or down to the earth,” + </pre> + <p> + and yet to have to sit at a desk all day long, with a pen in your hand, in + obedience to the orders of the First Lord of the Admiralty! It’s + hard to know you can + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Bear swift errands over moist and dry, + O’er sea and land,” + </pre> + <p> + as his laureate Milton puts it, and yet be doomed to keep still hour after + hour in a stuffy office, or to haggle over details of pork and cheese in a + malodorous victualing yard. Trevennack knew his “Paradise Lost” + by heart—it was there, indeed, that he had formed his main ideas of + the archangelic character; and he repeated the sonorous lines to himself, + over and over again, in a ringing, loud voice, as he roamed the free moor + or poised light on the craggy pinnacles. This was the world that he loved, + these wild rolling uplands, these tall peaks of rock, these great granite + boulders; he had loved them always, from the very beginning of things; had + he not poised so of old, ages and ages gone by, on that famous crag + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds, + Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent + Accessible from earth, one entrance high; + The rest was craggy cliff that overhung + Still as it rose, impossible to climb.” + </pre> + <p> + So he had poised in old days; so he poised himself now, with Cleer by his + side, an angel confessed, on those high tors of Dartmoor. + </p> + <p> + But amid all the undulations of that great stony ocean, one peak there was + that delighted Trevennack’s soul more than any of the rest—a + bold russet crest, bursting suddenly through the heathery waste in abrupt + ascent, and scarcely to be scaled, save on one difficult side, like its + Miltonic prototype. Even Cleer, who accompanied her father everywhere on + his rambles, clad in stout shoes and coarse blue serge gown—. for + Dartmoor is by no means a place to be approached by those who, like Agag, + “walk delicately”—even Cleer didn’t know that this + craggy peak, jagged and pointed like some Alpine or dolomitic aiguille, + was known to all the neighboring shepherds around as St. Michael’s + Tor, from its now forgotten chapel. A few wild Moorland sheep grazed now + and again on the short herbage at its base; but for the most part father + and daughter found themselves alone amid that gorse-clad solitude. There + Michael Trevennack would stand erect, with head bare and brows knit, in + the full eye of the sun, for hour after hour at a time, fighting the devil + within him. And when he came back at night, tired out with his long tramp + across the moor and his internal struggle, he would murmur to his wife, + “I’ve conquered him to-day. It was a hard, hard fight! But I + conquered! I conquered him!” + </p> + <p> + Up in the north, meanwhile, Eustace Le Neve worked away with a will at the + idea for his viaduct. As he rightly wrote to Cleer, the need itself + inspired him. Love is a great engineer, and Eustace learned fast from him. + He was full of the fresh originality of youth; and the place took his + fancy and impressed itself upon him. Gazing at it each day, there rose up + slowly by degrees in his mind, like a dream, the picture of a great work + on a new and startling principle—a modification of the cantilever to + the necessities of the situation. Bit by bit he worked it out, and reduced + his first floating conception to paper; then he explained it to Walter + Tyrrel, who listened hard to his explanations, and tried his best to + understand the force of the technical arguments. Enthusiasm is catching; + and Le Neve was enthusiastic about his imaginary viaduct, till Walter + Tyrrel in turn grew almost as enthusiastic as the designer himself over + its beauty and utility. So charmed was he with the idea, indeed, that when + Le Neve had at last committed it all to paper, he couldn’t resist + the temptation of asking leave to show it to Sir Edward Jones, whom he had + already consulted as to Eustace’s prospects. + </p> + <p> + Eustace permitted him, somewhat reluctantly, to carry the design to the + great railway king, and on the very first day of their return to London, + in the beginning of October, Tyrrel took the papers round to Sir Edward’s + house in Onslow Gardens. The millionaire inspected it at first with + cautious reserve. He was a good business man, and he hated enthusiasm—except + in money matters. But gradually, as Walter Tyrrel explained to him the + various points in favor of the design, Sir Edward thawed. He looked into + it carefully. Then he went over the calculations of material and expense + with a critical eye. At the end he leant back in his study chair, with one + finger on the elevation and one eye on the figures, while he observed with + slow emphasis: “This is a very good design. Why, man, its just about + twenty times better than Erasmus Walker’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think it may succeed?” Tyrrel cried, with keen + delight, as anxious for Cleer’s sake as if the design were his own. + “You think they may take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, no,” Sir Edward answered, confidently, with a + superior smile. “Not the slightest chance in the world of that. They’d + never even dream of it. It’s novel, you see, novel, while Walker’s + is conventional. And they’ll take the conventional one. But its a + first rate design for all that, I can tell you. I never saw a better one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but how do you know what Walker’s is like?” + Tyrrel asked, somewhat dismayed at the practical man’s coolness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he showed it me last night,” Sir Edward answered, calmly. + “A very decent design, on the familiar lines, but not fit to hold a + candle to Le Neve’s, of course; any journeyman could have drafted + it. Still, it has Walker’s name to it, don’t you see—it + has Walker’s name to it; that means everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it cheaper than this would be,” Tyrrel asked, for Le Neve + had laid stress on the point that for economy of material, combined with + strength of weight-resisting power, his own plan was remarkable. + </p> + <p> + “Cheaper!” Sir Edward echoed. “Oh dear, no. By no means. + Nothing could very well be cheaper than this. There’s genius in its + construction, don’t you see? It’s a new idea, intelligently + applied to the peculiarities and difficulties of a very unusual position, + taking advantage most ingeniously of the natural support afforded by the + rock and the inequalities of the situation; I should say your friend is + well within the mark in the estimate he gives.” He drummed his + finger and calculated mentally. “It’d save the company from a + hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand pounds, I fancy,” he said, + ruminating, after a minute. + </p> + <p> + “And do you mean to tell me,” Tyrrel exclaimed, taken aback, + “men of business like the directors of the Great North Midland will + fling away two hundred thousand pounds of the shareholder’s money as + if it were dirt, by accepting Walker’s plan when they might accept + this one?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Edward opened his palms, like a Frenchman, in front of him. It was a + trick he had picked up on foreign bourses. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he answered, compassionately, “directors + are men, and to err is human. These great North Midland people are mere + flesh and blood, and none of them very brilliant. They know Walker, and + they’ll be largely guided by Walker’s advice in the matter. If + he saw his way to make more out of contracting for carrying out somebody + else’s design, no doubt he’d do it. But failing that, he’ll + palm his own off upon them, and Stillingfleet’ll accept it. You see + with how little wisdom the railways of the world are governed! People + think, if they get Walker to do a thing for them, they shift the + responsibility upon Walker’s shoulders. And knowing nothing + themselves, they feel that’s a great point; it saves them trouble + and salves their consciences.” + </p> + <p> + A new idea seemed to cross Tyrrel’s mind. He leant forward suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “But as to safety,” he asked, with some anxiety, “viewed + as a matter of life and death, I mean? Which of these two viaducts is + likely to last longest, to be freest from danger, to give rise in the end + to least and fewest accidents?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, your friend Le Neve’s, of course,” the millionaire + answered, without a moment’s hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so at all, my dear fellow, I know it. I’m + sure of it. Look here,” and he pulled out a design from a + pigeon-hole in his desk; “this is in confidence, you understand. I + oughtn’t to show it to you; but I can trust your honor. Here’s + Walker’s idea. It isn’t an idea at all, in fact, it’s + just the ordinary old stone viaduct, with the ordinary dangers, and the + ordinary iron girders—nothing in any way new or original. It’s + respectable mediocrity. On an affair like that, and with this awkward + curve, too, just behind taking-off point, the liability to accident is + considerably greater than in a construction like Le Neve’s, where + nothing’s left to chance, and where every source of evil, such as + land-springs, or freshets, or weakening, or concussion, is considered + beforehand and successfully provided against. If a company only thought of + the lives and limbs of its passengers—which it never does, of course—and + had a head on its shoulders, which it seldom possesses, Le Neve’s is + undoubtedly the design it would adopt in the interests of security.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel drew a long breath. “And you know all this,” he said, + “and yet you won’t say a word for Le Neve to the directors. A + recommendation from YOU, you see—” + </p> + <p> + Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders. “Impossible!” he answered, + at once. “It would be a great breach of confidence. Remember, Walker + showed me his design as a friend, and after having looked at it I couldn’t + go right off and say to Stillingfleet, ‘I’ve seen Walker’s + plans, and also another fellow’s, and I advise you, for my part, not + to take my friend’s.’ It wouldn’t be gentlemanly.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel paused and reflected. He saw the dilemma. And yet, what was the + breach of confidence or of etiquette to the deadly peril to life and limb + involved in choosing the worst design instead of the better one? It was a + hard nut to crack. He could see no way out of it. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” Sir Edward went on, musingly, “even if I told + them they wouldn’t believe me. Whatever Walker sends in they’re + sure to accept it. They’ve more confidence, I feel sure, in Walker + than in anybody.” + </p> + <p> + A light broke in on Walter Tyrrel’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “Then the only way,” he said, looking up, “would be ... + to work upon Walker; induce him NOT to send in, if that can be managed.” + </p> + <p> + “But it can’t be,” Sir Edward answered, with brisk + promptitude. “Walker’s a money-grubbing chap. If he sees a + chance of making a few thousands more anywhere, depend upon it he’ll + make ‘em. He’s a martyr to money, he is. He toils and slaves + for L. s. d. {money} all his life. He has no other interests.” + </p> + <p> + “What can he want with it?” Tyrrel exclaimed. “He’s + a bachelor, isn’t he, without wife or child? What can a man like + that want to pile up filthy lucre for?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t say, I’m sure,” Sir Edward answered, good + humoredly. “I have my quiver full of them myself, and every guinea I + get I find three of my children are quarreling among themselves for ten + and sixpence apiece of it. But what Walker can want with money heaven only + knows. If <i>I</i> were a bachelor, now, and had an estate of my own in + Cornwall, say, or Devonshire, I’m sure I don’t know what I’d + do with my income.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel rose abruptly. The chance words had put an idea into his head. + </p> + <p> + “What’s Walker’s address?” he asked, in a very + curt tone. + </p> + <p> + Sir Edward gave it him. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll find him a tough nut, though,” he added, with a + smile, as he followed the enthusiastic young Cornishman to the door. + “But I see you’re in earnest. Good luck go with you!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. — A HARD BARGAIN. + </h2> + <p> + Tyrrel took a hansom, and tore round in hot haste to Erasmus Walker’s + house. He sent in his card. The famous engineer was happily at home. + Tyrrel, all on fire, found himself ushered into the great man’s + study. Mr. Walker sat writing at a luxurious desk in a most luxurious room—writing, + as if for dear life, in breathless haste and eagerness. He simply paused + for a second in the midst of a sentence, and looked up impatiently at the + intruder on his desperate hurry. Then he motioned Tyrrel into a chair with + an imperious wave of his ivory penholder. After that, he went on writing + for some moments in solemn silence. Only the sound of his steel nib, + traveling fast as it could go over the foolscap sheet, broke for several + seconds the embarrassing stillness. + </p> + <p> + Walter Tyrrel, therefore, had ample time meanwhile to consider his host + and to take in his peculiarities before Walker had come to the end of his + paragraph. The great engineer was a big-built, bull-necked, bullet-headed + sort of person, with the self-satisfied air of monetary success, but with + that ominous hardness about the corners of the mouth which constantly + betrays the lucky man of business. His abundant long hair was iron-gray + and wiry—Erasmus Walker had seldom time to waste in getting it cut—his + eyes were small and shrewd; his hand was firm, and gripped the pen in its + grasp like a ponderous crowbar. His writing, Tyrrel could see, was thick, + black, and decisive. Altogether the kind of man on whose brow it was + written in legible characters that it’s dogged as does it. The + delicately organized Cornishman felt an instinctive dislike at once for + this great coarse mountain of a bullying Teuton. Yet for Cleer’s + sake he knew he mustn’t rub him the wrong way. He must put up with + Erasmus Walker and all his faults, and try to approach him by the most + accessible side—if indeed any side were accessible at all, save the + waistcoat pocket. + </p> + <p> + At last, however, the engineer paused a moment in his headlong course + through sentence after sentence, held his pen half irresolute over a new + blank sheet, and turning round to Tyrrel, without one word of apology, + said, in a quick, decisive voice, “This is business, I suppose, + business? for if not, I’ve no time. I’m very pressed this + morning. Very pressed, indeed. Very pressed and occupied.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is business,” Tyrrel answered, promptly, taking his + cue with Celtic quickness. “Business that may be worth a good deal + of money.” Erasmus Walker pricked up his ears at that welcome sound, + and let the pen drop quietly into the rack by his side. “Only I’m + afraid I must ask for a quarter of an hour or so of your valuable time. + You will not find it thrown away. You can name your own price for it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” the engineer replied, taking up his visitor’s + card again and gazing at it hard with a certain inquiring scrutiny, + “if it’s business, and business of an important character, of + course I need hardly say I’m very glad to attend to you. There are + so many people who come bothering me for nothing, don’t you know—charitable + appeals or what not—that I’m obliged to make a hard and fast + rule about interviews. But if it’s business you mean, I’m your + man at once. I live for public works. Go ahead. I’m all attention.” + </p> + <p> + He wheeled round in his revolving chair, and faced Tyrrel in an attitude + of sharp practical eagerness. His eye was all alert. It was clear, the man + was keen on every passing chance of a stray hundred or two extra. His + keenness disconcerted the conscientious and idealistic Cornishman. For a + second or two Tyrrel debated how to open fire upon so unwonted an enemy. + At last he began, stammering, “I’ve a friend who has made a + design for the Wharfedale Viaduct.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” Erasmus Walker answered, pouncing down upon him + like a hawk. “And I’ve made one too. And as mine’s in + the field, why, your friend’s is waste paper.” + </p> + <p> + His sharpness half silenced Tyrrel. But with an effort the younger man + went on, in spite of interruption. “That’s precisely what I’ve + come about,” he said; “I know that already. If only you’ll + have patience and hear me out while I unfold my plan, you’ll find + what I have to propose is all to your own interest. I’m prepared to + pay well for the arrangement I ask. Will you name your own price for half + an hour’s conversation, and then listen to me straight on and + without further interruption?” + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker glanced back at him with those keen ferret-like eyes of + his. “Why, certainly,” he answered; “I’ll listen + if you wish. We’ll treat it as a consultation. My fees for + consultation depend, of course, upon the nature of the subject on which + advice is asked. But you’ll pay well, you say, for the scheme you + propose. Now, this is business. Therefore, we must be business-like. So + first, what guarantee have I of your means and solvency? I don’t + deal with men of straw. Are you known in the City?” He jerked out + his sentences as if words were extorted from him at so much per thousand. + </p> + <p> + “I am not,” Tyrrel answered, quietly; “but I gave you my + card, and you can see from it who I am—Walter Tyrrel of Penmorgan + Manor. I’m a landed proprietor, with a good estate in Cornwall. And + I’m prepared to risk—well, a large part of my property in the + business I propose to you, without any corresponding risk on your part. In + plain words, I’m prepared to pay you money down, if you will accede + to my wish, on a pure matter of sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “Sentiment?” Mr. Walker replied, bringing his jaw down like a + rat-trap, and gazing across at him, dubiously. “I don’t deal + in sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “No; probably not,” Tyrrel answered. “But I said + sentiment, Mr. Walker, and I’m willing to pay for it. I know very + well it’s an article at a discount in the City. Still, to me, it + means money’s worth, and I’m prepared to give money down to a + good tune to humor it. Let me explain the situation. I’ll do so as + briefly and as simply as I can, if only you’ll listen to me. A + friend of mine, as I said, one Eustace Le Neve, who has been constructing + engineer of the Rosario and Santa Fe, in the Argentine Confederacy, has + made a design for the Wharfedale Viaduct. It’s a very good design, + and a practical design; and Sir Edward Jones, who has seen it, entirely + approves of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Jones is a good man,” Mr. Walker murmured, nodding his head + in acquiescence. “No dashed nonsense about Jones. Head screwed on + the right way. Jones is a good man and knows what he’s talking + about.” “Well, Jones says it’s a good design,” + Tyrrel went on, breathing freer as he gauged his man more completely. + “And the facts are just these: My friend’s engaged to a young + lady up in town here, in whom I take a deep interest—” Mr. + Walker whistled low to himself, but didn’t interrupt him—“a + deep FRIENDLY interest,” Tyrrel corrected, growing hot in the face + at the man’s evident insolent misconstruction of his motives; + “and the long and the short of it is, his chance of marrying her + depends very much upon whether or not he can get this design of his + accepted by the directors.” + </p> + <p> + “He can’t,” Mr. Walker said, promptly, “unless he + buys me out. That’s pat and flat. He can’t, for mine’s + in; and mine’s sure to be taken.” + </p> + <p> + “So I understand,” Tyrrel went on. “Your name, I’m + told, carries everything before it. But what I want to suggest now is + simply this—How much will you take, money down on the nail, this + minute, to withdraw your own design from the informal competition?” + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker gasped hard, drew a long breath, and stared at him. “How + much will I take,” he repeated, slowly; “how—much—will—I—take—to + withdraw my design? Well, that IS remarkable!” + </p> + <p> + “I mean it,” Tyrrel repeated, with a very serious face. + “This is to me, I will confess, a matter of life and death. I want + to see my friend Le Neve in a good position in the world, such as his + talents entitle him to. I don’t care how much I spend in order to + insure it. So what I want to know is just this and nothing else—how + much will you take to withdraw from the competition?” + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker laid his two hands on his fat knees, with his legs wide + open, and stared long and hard at his incomprehensible visitor. So strange + a request stunned for a moment even that sound business head. A minute or + two he paused. Then, with a violent effort, he pulled himself together. + “Come, come,” he said, “Mr. Tyrrel; let’s be + practical and above-board. I don’t want to rob you. I don’t + want to plunder you. I see you mean business. But how do you know, suppose + even you buy me out, this young fellow’s design has any chance of + being accepted? What reason have you to think the Great North Midland + people are likely to give such a job to an unknown beginner?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Edward Jones says it’s admirable,” Tyrrel ventured, + dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Edward Jones says it’s admirable! Well, that’s + good, as far as it goes. Jones knows what he’s talking about. Head’s + screwed on the right way. But has your friend any interest with the + directors—that’s the question? Have you reason to think, if he + sends it in, and I hold back mine, his is the plan they’d be likely + to pitch upon?” + </p> + <p> + “I go upon its merits,” Walter Tyrrel said, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “The very worst thing on earth any man can ever possibly go upon,” + the man of business retorted, with cynical confidence. “If that’s + all you’ve got to say, my dear sir, it wouldn’t be fair of me + to make money terms with you. I won’t discuss my price in the matter + till I’ve some reason to believe this idea of yours is workable.” + </p> + <p> + “I have the designs here all ready,” Walter Tyrrel replied, + holding them out. “Plans, elevations, specifications, estimates, + sections, figures, everything. Will you do me the favor to look at them? + Then, perhaps, you’ll be able to see whether or not the offer’s + genuine.” + </p> + <p> + The great engineer took the roll with a smile. He opened it hastily, in a + most skeptical humor. Walter Tyrrel leant over him, and tried just at + first to put in a word or two of explanation, such as Le Neve had made to + himself; but an occasionally testy “Yes, yes; I see,” was all + the thanks he got for his pains and trouble. After a minute or two he + found out it was better to let the engineer alone. That practiced eye + picked out in a moment the strong and weak points of the whole conception. + Gradually, however, as Walker went on, Walter Tyrrel could see he paid + more and more attention to every tiny detail. His whole manner altered. + The skeptical smile faded away, little by little, from those thick, + sensuous lips, and a look of keen interest took its place by degrees on + the man’s eager features. “That’s good!” he + murmured more than once, as he examined more closely some section or + enlargement. “That’s good! very good! knows what he’s + about, this Eustace Le Neve man!” Now and again he turned back, to + re-examine some special point. “Clever dodge!” he murmured, + half to himself. “Clever dodge, undoubtedly. Make an engineer in + time—no doubt at all about that—if only they’ll give him + his head, and not try to thwart him.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel waited till he’d finished. Then he leant forward once more. + “Well, what do you think of it now?” he asked, flushing hot. + “Is this business—or otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, business, business,” the great engineer murmured, + musically, regarding the papers before him with a certain professional + affection. “It’s a devilish clever plan—I won’t + deny that—and it’s devilish well carried out in every detail.” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel seized his opportunity. “And if you were to withdraw your own + design,” he asked, somewhat nervously, hardly knowing how best to + frame his delicate question, “do you think ... the directors ... + would be likely to accept this one?” + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker hummed and hawed. He twirled his fat thumbs round one + another in doubt. Then he answered oracularly, “They might, of + course; and yet, again, they mightn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon whom would the decision rest?” Tyrrel inquired, looking + hard at him. + </p> + <p> + “Upon me, almost entirely,” the great engineer responded at + once, with cheerful frankness. “To say the plain truth, they’ve + no minds of their own, these men. They’d ask my advice, and accept + it implicitly.” + </p> + <p> + “So Jones told me,” Tyrrel answered. + </p> + <p> + “So Jones told you—quite right,” the engineer echoed, + with a complacent nod. “They’ve no minds of their own, you + see. They’ll do just as I tell them.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think this design of Le Neve’s a good one, both + mechanically and financially, and also exceptionally safe as regards the + lives and limbs of passengers and employees?” Tyrrel inquired once + more, with anxious particularity. His tender conscience made him afraid to + do anything in the matter unless he was quite sure in his own mind he was + doing no wrong in any way either to shareholders, competitors, or the + public generally. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” Mr. Walker replied, fingering the papers + lovingly, “it’s an admirable design—sound, cheap, and + practical. It’s as good as it can be. To tell you the truth, I + admire it immensely.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” Tyrrel said at last, all his scruples removed—“let’s + come to business. I put it plainly. How much will you take to withdraw + your own design, and to throw your weight into the scale in favor of my + friend’s here?” + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker closed one eye, and rewarded his visitor fixedly out of the + other for a minute or two in silence, as if taking his bearings. It was a + trick he had acquired from frequent use of a theodolite. Then he answered + at last, after a long, deep pause, “It’s YOUR deal, Mr. + Tyrrel. Make me an offer, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand pounds?” tremblingly suggested Walter Tyrrel. + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker opened his eye slowly, and never allowed his surprise to be + visible on his face. Why, to him, a job like that, entailing loss of time + in personal supervision, was hardly worth three. The plans were + perfunctory, and as far as there was anything in them, could be used again + elsewhere. He could employ his precious days meanwhile to better purpose + in some more showy and profitable work than this half-hatched viaduct. But + this was an upset price. “Not enough,” he murmured, slowly, + shaking his bullet head. “It’s a fortune to the young man. You + must make a better offer.” + </p> + <p> + Walter Tyrrel’s lip quivered. “Six thousand,” he said, + promptly. + </p> + <p> + The engineer judged from the promptitude of the reply that the Cornish + landlord must still be well squeezable. He shook his head gain. “No, + no; not enough,” he answered short. “Not enough—by a + long way.” + </p> + <p> + “Eight,” Tyrrel suggested, drawing a deep breath of suspense. + It was a big sum, indeed, for a modest estate like Penmorgan. + </p> + <p> + The engineer shook his head once more. That rush up two thousand at once + was a very good feature. The man who could mount by two thousand at a time + might surely be squeezed to the even figure. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid,” Walter said, quivering, after a brief + mental calculation—mortgage at four per cent—and agricultural + depression running down the current value of land in the market—“I + couldn’t by any possibility go beyond ten thousand. But to save my + friend—and to get the young lady married—I wouldn’t mind + going as far as that to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + The engineer saw at once, with true business instinct, his man had reached + the end of his tether. He struck while the iron was hot and clinched the + bargain. “Well,—as there’s a lady in the case”—he + said, gallantly,—“and to serve a young man of undoubted + talent, who’ll do honor to the profession, I don’t mind + closing with you. I’ll take ten thousand, money down, to back out of + it myself, and I’ll say what I can—honestly—to the + Midland Board in your friend’s favor.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” Tyrrel answered, drawing a deep breath of relief. + “I ask no more than that. Say what you can honestly. The money shall + be paid you before the end of a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Only, mind,” Mr. Walker added in an impressive afterthought, + “I can’t, of course, ENGAGE that the Great North Midland + people will take my advice. You mustn’t come down upon me for + restitution and all that if your friend don’t succeed and they take + some other fellow. All I guarantee for certain is to withdraw my own plans—not + to send in anything myself for the competition.” + </p> + <p> + “I fully understand,” Tyrrel answered. “And I’m + content to risk it. But, mind, if any other design is submitted of + superior excellence to Le Neve’s, I wouldn’t wish you on any + account to—to do or say anything that goes against your conscience.” + </p> + <p> + Erasmus Walker stared at him. “What—after paying ten thousand + pounds?” he said, “to secure the job?” + </p> + <p> + Tyrrel nodded a solemn nod. “Especially,” he added, “if + you think it safer to life and limb. I should never forgive myself if an + accident were to occur on Eustace Le Neve’s viaduct.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. — ANGEL AND DEVIL. + </h2> + <p> + Tyrrel left Erasmus Walker’s house that morning in a turmoil of + mingled exultation and fear. At least he had done his best to atone for + the awful results of his boyish act of criminal thoughtlessness. He had + tried to make it possible for Cleer to marry Eustace, and thereby to + render the Trevennacks happier in their sonless old age; and what was more + satisfactory still, he had crippled himself in doing it. There was comfort + even in that. Expiation, reparation! He wouldn’t have cared for the + sacrifice so much if it had cost him less. But it would cost him dear + indeed. He must set to work at once now and raise the needful sum by + mortgaging Penmorgan up to the hilt to do it. + </p> + <p> + After all, of course, the directors might choose some other design than + Eustace’s. But he had done what he could. And he would hope for the + best, at any rate. For Cleer’s sake, if the worst came, he would + have risked and lost much. While if Cleer’s life was made happy, he + would be happy in the thought of it. + </p> + <p> + He hailed another hansom, and drove off, still on fire, to his lawyer’s + in Victoria Street. On the way, he had to go near Paddington Station. He + didn’t observe, as he did so, a four-wheel cab that passed him with + luggage on top, from Ivybridge to London. It was the Trevennacks, just + returned from their holiday on Dartmoor. But Michael Trevennack had seen + him; and his brow grew suddenly dark. He pinched his nails into his palm + at sight of that hateful creature, though not a sound escaped him; for + Cleer was in the carriage, and the man was Eustace’s friend. + Trevennack accepted Eustace perforce, after that night on Michael’s + Crag; for he knew it was politic; and indeed, he liked the young man + himself well enough—there was nothing against him after all, beyond + his friendship with Tyrrel; but had it not been for the need for avoiding + scandal after the adventure on the rock, he would never have allowed Cleer + to speak one word to any friend or acquaintance of her brother’s + murderer. + </p> + <p> + As it was, however, he never alluded to Tyrrel in any way before Cleer. He + had learnt to hold his tongue. Madman though he was, he knew when to be + silent. + </p> + <p> + That evening at home, Cleer had a visit from Eustace, who came round to + tell her how Tyrrel had been to see the great engineer, Erasmus Walker; + and how it was all a mistake that Walker was going to send in plans for + the Wharfedale Viaduct—nay, how the big man had approved of his own + design, and promised to give it all the support in his power. For Tyrrel + was really an awfully kind friend, who had pushed things for him like a + brick, and deserved the very best they could both of them say about him. + </p> + <p> + But of course Eustace hadn’t the faintest idea himself by what + manner of persuasion Walter Tyrrel had commended his friend’s + designs to Erasmus Walker. If he had, needless to say, he would never have + accepted the strange arrangement. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Cleer,” Eustace cried, jubilant and radiant with the + easy confidence of youth and love, “I do believe I shall carry the + field at last, and spring at a bound into a first-rate position among + engineers in England.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” Cleer asked, nestling close to his side. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” Eustace went on, smiling tacitly at her native + simplicity, “as it would mean permanent work in superintending and + so forth, I see no reason why—we shouldn’t get married + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + They were alone in the breakfast room, where Mrs. Trevennack had left + them. They were alone, like lovers. But in the drawing-room hard by, + Trevennack himself was saying to his wife with a face of suppressed + excitement, “I saw him again to-day, Lucy. I saw him again, that + devil—in a hansom near Paddington. If he stops in town, I’m + sure I don’t know what I’m ever to do. I came back from + Devonshire, having fought the devil hard, as I thought, and conquered him. + I felt I’d got him under. I felt he was no match for me. But when I + see that man’s face the devil springs up at me again in full force, + and grapples with me. Is he Satan himself? I believe he must be. For I + feel I must rush at him and trample him under foot, as I trampled him long + ago on the summit of Niphates.” + </p> + <p> + In a tremor of alarm Mrs. Trevennack held his hand. Oh, what would she + ever do if the outbreak came ... before Cleer was married! She could see + the constant strain of holding himself back was growing daily more and + more difficult for her unhappy husband. Indeed, she couldn’t bear it + herself much longer. If Cleer didn’t marry soon, Michael would break + out openly—perhaps would try to murder that poor man Tyrrel—and + then Eustace would be afraid, and all would be up with them. + </p> + <p> + By and by, Eustace came in to tell them the good news. He said nothing + about Tyrrel, at least by name, lest he should hurt Trevennack; he merely + mentioned that a friend of his had seen Erasmus Walker that day, and that + Walker had held out great hopes of success for him in this Wharfedale + Viaduct business. Trevennack listened with a strange mixture of interest + and contempt. He was glad the young man was likely to get on in his chosen + profession—for Cleer’s sake, if it would enable them to marry. + But, oh, what a fuss it seemed to him to make about such a trifle as a + mere bit of a valley that one could fly across in a second—to him + who could become + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “... to his proper shape returned + A seraph winged: six wings he wore, to shade + His lineaments divine; the pair that clad + Each shoulder broad, came mantling o’er his breast + With regal ornament; the middle pair + Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round + Skirted his loins and thighs, the third his feet + Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail.” + </pre> + <p> + And then they talked to HIM about the difficulties of building a few + hundred yards of iron bridge across a miserable valley! Why, was it not he + and his kind of whom it was written that they came + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Gliding through the even + On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star + In autumn thwarts the night?” + </pre> + <p> + A viaduct indeed! a paltry human viaduct! What need, with such as him, to + talk of bridges or viaducts? + </p> + <p> + As Eustace left that evening, Mrs. Trevennack followed him out, and + beckoned him mysteriously into the dining-room at the side for a minute’s + conversation. The young man followed her, much wondering what this strange + move could mean. Mrs. Trevennack fell back, half faint, into a chair, and + gazed at him with a frightened look very rare on that brave face of hers. + “Oh, Eustace,” she said, hurriedly, “do you know what’s + happened? Mr. Tyrrel’s in town. Michael saw him to-day. He was + driving near Paddington. Now do you think... you could do anything to keep + him out of Michael’s way? I dread their meeting. I don’t know + whether you know it, but Michael has some grudge against him. For Cleer’s + sake and for yours, do keep them apart, I beg of you. If they meet, I can’t + answer for what harm may come of it.” + </p> + <p> + Eustace was taken aback at her unexpected words. Not even to Cleer had he + ever hinted in any way at the strange disclosure Walter Tyrrel made to him + that first day at Penmorgan. He hesitated how to answer her without + betraying his friend’s secret. At last he said, as calmly as he + could, “I guessed, to tell you the truth, there was some cause of + quarrel. I’ll do my very best to keep Tyrrel out of the way, Mrs. + Trevennack, as you wish it. But I’m afraid he won’t be going + down from town for some time to come, for he told me only to-day he had + business at his lawyer’s, in Victoria Street, Westminster, which + might keep him here a fortnight. Indeed, I rather doubt whether he’ll + care to go down again until he knows for certain, one way or the other, + about the Wharfedale Viaduct.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack sank back in her chair, very pale and wan. “Oh, what + shall we do if they meet?” she cried, wringing her hands in despair. + “What shall we do if they meet? This is more than I can endure. + Eustace, Eustace, I shall break down. My burden’s too heavy for me!” + </p> + <p> + The young man leant over her like a son. “Mrs. Trevennack,” he + said, gently, smoothing her silvery white hair with sympathetic fingers, + “I think I can keep them apart. I’ll speak seriously to Tyrrel + about it. He’s a very good fellow, and he’ll do anything I ask + of him. I’m sure he’ll try to avoid falling in with your + husband. He’s my kindest of friends; and he’d cut off his hand + to serve me.” + </p> + <p> + One word of sympathy brought tears into Mrs. Trevennack’s eyes. She + looked up through them, and took the young man’s hand in hers. + “It was HE who spoke to Erasmus Walker, I suppose,” she + murmured, slowly. + </p> + <p> + And Eustace, nodding assent, answered in a low voice, “It was he, + Mrs. Trevennack. He’s a dear good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + The orphaned mother clasped her hands. This was too, too much. And + Michael, if the fit came upon him, would strangle that young man, who was + doing his best after all for Cleer and Eustace! + </p> + <p> + But that night in his bed Trevennack lay awake, chuckling grimly to + himself in an access of mad triumph. He fancied he was fighting his + familiar foe, on a tall Cornish peak, in archangelic fashion; and he had + vanquished his enemy, and was trampling on him furiously. But the face of + the fallen seraph was not the face of Michael Angelo’s Satan, as he + oftenest figured it—for Michael Angelo, his namesake, was one of + Trevennack’s very chiefest admirations;—it was the face of + Walter Tyrrel, who killed his dear boy, writhing horribly in the dust, and + crying for mercy beneath him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. — AT ARM’S LENGTH. + </h2> + <p> + For three or four weeks Walter Tyrrel remained in town, awaiting the + result of the Wharfedale Viaduct competition. With some difficulty he + raised and paid over meanwhile to Erasmus Walker the ten thousand pounds + of blackmail—for it was little else—agreed upon between them. + The great engineer accepted the money with as little compunction as men + who earn large incomes always display in taking payment for doing nothing. + It is an enviable state of mind, unattainable by most of us who work hard + for our living. He pocketed his check with a smile, as if it were quite in + the nature of things that ten thousand pounds should drop upon him from + the clouds without rhyme or reason. To Tyrrel, on the other hand, with his + sensitive conscience, the man’s greed and callousness seemed simply + incomprehensible. He stood aghast at such sharp practice. But for Cleer’s + sake, and to ease his own soul, he paid it all over without a single + murmur. + </p> + <p> + And then the question came up in his mind, “Would it be effectual + after all? Would Walker play him false? Would he throw the weight of his + influence into somebody else’s scale? Would the directors submit as + tamely as he thought to his direction or dictation?” It would be + hard on Tyrrel if, after his spending ten thousand pounds without security + of any sort, Eustace were to miss the chance, and Cleer to go unmarried. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a month, however, as Tyrrel sat one morning in his own room + at the Metropole, which he mostly frequented, Eustace Le Neve rushed in, + full of intense excitement. Tyrrel’s heart rose in his mouth. He + grew pale with agitation. The question had been decided one way or the + other he saw. + </p> + <p> + “Well; which is it?” he gasped out. “Hit or miss? Have + you got it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I’ve got it!” Eustace answered, half beside + himself with delight. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it! The + chairman and Walker have just been round to call on me, and congratulate + me on my success. Walker says my fortune’s made. It’s a + magnificent design. And in any case it’ll mean work for me for the + next four years; after which I’ll not want for occupation elsewhere. + So now, of course, I can marry almost immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God!” Tyrrel murmured, falling back into his chair as + he spoke, and turning deadly white. + </p> + <p> + He was glad of it, oh, so glad; and yet, in his own heart, it would cost + him many pangs to see Cleer really married in good earnest to Eustace. + </p> + <p> + He had worked for it with all his might to be sure; he had worked for it + and paid for it! and now he saw his wishes on the very eve of fulfillment, + the natural man within him rose up in revolt against the complete success + of his own unselfish action. + </p> + <p> + As for Mrs. Trevennack, when she heard the good news, she almost fainted + with joy. It might yet be in time. Cleer might be married now before poor + Michael broke forth in that inevitable paroxysm. + </p> + <p> + For inevitable she felt it was at last. As each day went by it grew harder + and harder for the man to contain himself. Fighting desperately against it + every hour, immersing himself as much as he could in the petty fiddling + details of the office and the Victualing Yard so as to keep the fierce + impulse under due control, Michael Trevennack yet found the mad mood + within him more and more ungovernable with each week that went by. As he + put it to his own mind he could feel his wings growing as if they must + burst through the skin; he could feel it harder and ever harder as time + went on to conceal the truth, to pretend he was a mere man, when he knew + himself to be really the Prince of the Archangels, to busy himself about + contracts for pork, and cheese, and biscuits, when he could wing his way + boldly over sea and land, or stand forth before the world in gorgeous + gear, armed as of yore in the adamant and gold of his celestial panoply! + </p> + <p> + So Michael Trevennack thought in his own seething soul. But that strong, + brave woman, his wife, bearing her burden unaided, and watching him + closely day and night with a keen eye of mingled love and fear, could see + that the madness was gaining on him gradually. Oftener and oftener now did + he lose himself in his imagined world; less and less did he tread the + solid earth beneath us. Mrs. Trevennack had by this time but one anxious + care left in life—to push on as fast as possible Cleer and Eustace’s + marriage. + </p> + <p> + But difficulties intervened, as they always WILL intervene in this + work-a-day world of ours. First of all there were formalities about the + appointment itself. Then, even when all was arranged, Eustace found he had + to go north in person, shortly after Christmas, and set to work with a + will at putting his plan into practical shape for contractor and workmen. + And as soon as he got there he saw at once he must stick at it for six + months at least before he could venture to take a short holiday for the + sake of getting married. Engineering is a very absorbing trade; it keeps a + man day and night at the scene of his labors. + </p> + <p> + Storm or flood at any moment may ruin everything. It would be prudent too, + Eustace thought, to have laid by a little more for household expenses, + before plunging into the unknown sea of matrimony; and though Mrs. + Trevennack, flying full in the face of all matronly respect for foresight + in young people, urged him constantly to marry, money or no money, and + never mind about a honeymoon, Eustace stuck to his point and determined to + take no decisive step till he saw how the work was turning out in + Wharfedale. It was thus full August of the succeeding year before he could + fix a date definitely; and then, to Cleer’s great joy, he named a + day at last, about the beginning of September. + </p> + <p> + It was an immense relief to Mrs. Trevennack’s mind when, after one + or two alterations, she knew the third was finally fixed upon. She had + good reasons of her own for wishing it to be early; for the twenty-ninth + is Michaelmas Day, and it was always with difficulty that her husband + could be prevented from breaking out before the eyes of the world on that + namesake feast of St. Michael and All Angels. For, on that sacred day, + when in every Church in Christendom his importance as the generalissimo of + the angelic host was remembered and commemorated, it seemed hard indeed to + the seraph in disguise that he must still guard his incognito, still go on + as usual with his petty higgling over corned beef and biscuits and the + price of jute sacking. “There was war in heaven,” said the + gospel for the day—that sonorous gospel Mrs. Trevennack so cordially + dreaded—for her husband would always go to church at morning + service, and hold himself more erect than was his wont, to hear it—“There + was war in heaven; Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and + the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not.” And should he, + who could thus battle against all the powers of evil, be held in check any + longer, as with a leash of straw, by the Lords Commissioners of the + Admiralty? No, no, he would stand forth in his true angelic shape, and + show these martinets what form they had ignorantly taken for mere Michael + Trevennack of the Victualing Department! + </p> + <p> + One thing alone eased Mrs. Trevennack’s mind through all those weary + months of waiting and watching: Walter Tyrrel had long since gone back + again to Penmorgan. Her husband had been free from that greatest of all + temptations, to a mad paroxysm of rage—the sight of the man who, as + he truly believed, had killed their Michael. And now, if only Tyrrel would + keep away from town till Cleer was married and all was settled—Mrs. + Trevennack sighed deep—she would almost count herself a happy woman! + </p> + <p> + On the day of Cleer’s wedding, however, Walter Tyrrel came to town. + He came on purpose. He couldn’t resist the temptation of seeing with + his own eyes the final success of his general plan, even though it cost + him the pang of watching the marriage of the one girl he ever truly loved + to another man by his own deliberate contrivance. But he didn’t + forget Eustace Le Neve’s earnest warning, that he should keep out of + the way of Michael Trevennack. Even without Eustace, his own conscience + would have urged that upon him. The constant burden of his remorse for + that boyish crime weighed hard upon him every hour of every day that he + lived. He didn’t dare on such a morning to face the father of the + boy he had unwittingly and half-innocently murdered. + </p> + <p> + So, very early, as soon as the church was opened, he stole in unobserved, + and took a place by himself in the farthest corner of the gallery. A + pillar concealed him from view; for further security he held his + handkerchief constantly in front of his face, or shielded himself behind + one of the big free-seat prayer-books. Cleer came in looking beautiful in + her wedding dress; Mrs. Trevennack’s pathetic face glowed radiant + for once in this final realization of her dearest wishes. A single second + only, near the end of the ceremony, Tyrrel leaned forward incautiously, + anxious to see Cleer at an important point of the proceedings. At the very + same instant Trevennack raised his face. Their eyes met in a flash. Tyrrel + drew back, horrorstruck, and penitent at his own intrusion at such a + critical moment. But, strange to say, Trevennack took no overt notice. Had + his wife only known she would have sunk in her seat in her agony of fear. + But happily she didn’t know. Trevennack went through the ceremony, + all outwardly calm; he gave no sign of what he had seen, even to his wife + herself. He buried it deep in his own heart. That made it all the more + dangerous. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. — ST. MICHAEL DOES BATTLE. + </h2> + <p> + The wedding breakfast went off pleasantly, without a hitch of any sort. + Trevennack, always dignified and always a grand seigneur, rose to the + occasion with his happiest spirit. The silver-haired wife, gazing up at + him, felt proud of him as of old, and was for once quite at her ease. For + all was over now, thank heaven, and dear Cleer was married! + </p> + <p> + That same afternoon the bride and bridegroom started off for their + honeymoon to the Tyrol and Italy. When Mrs. Trevennack was left alone with + her husband it was with a thankful heart. She turned to him, flowing over + in soul with joy. “Oh, Michael,” she cried, melting, “I’m + so happy, so happy, so happy.” + </p> + <p> + Trevennack stooped down and kissed her forehead tenderly. He had always + been a good husband, and he loved her with all his heart. “That’s + well, Lucy,” he answered. “Thank God, it’s all over. For + I can’t hold out much longer. The strain’s too much for me.” + He paused a moment, and looked at her. “Lucy,” he said, once + more, clasping his forehead with one hand, “I’ve fought + against it hard. I’m fighting against it still. But at times it + almost gets the better of me. Do you know who I saw in the church this + morning, skulking behind a pillar?—that man Walter Tyrrel.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack gazed at him all aghast. This was surely a delusion, a + fixed idea, an insane hallucination. “Oh, no, dear,” she + cried, prying deep into his eyes. “It couldn’t be he, it + couldn’t. You must be mistaken, Michael. I’m sure he’s + not in London.” + </p> + <p> + “No more mistaken than I am this minute,” Trevennack answered, + rushing over to the window, and pointing with one hand eagerly. “See, + see! there he is, Lucy—the man that killed our poor, dear Michael!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Trevennack uttered a little cry, half sob, half wail, as she looked + out of the window and, under the gas-lamps opposite, recognized through + the mist the form of Walter Tyrrel. + </p> + <p> + But Trevennack didn’t rush out at him as she feared and believed he + would. He only stood still in his place and glared at his enemy. “Not + now,” he said, slowly; “not now, on Cleer’s wedding day. + But some other time—more suitable. I hear it in my ears; I hear the + voice still ringing: ‘Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince!’ + I can’t disobey. I shall go in due time. I shall fight the enemy.” + </p> + <p> + And he sank back in his chair, with his eyes staring wildly. + </p> + <p> + For the next week or two, while Cleer wrote home happy letters from Paris, + Innsbruck, Milan, Venice, Florence, poor Mrs. Trevennack was tortured + inwardly with another terrible doubt; had Michael’s state become so + dangerous at last that he must be put under restraint as a measure of + public security? For Walter Tyrrel’s sake, ought she to make his + condition known to the world at large—and spoil Cleer’s + honeymoon? She shrank from that final necessity with a deadly shrinking. + Day after day she put the discovery off, and solaced her soul with the + best intentions—as what true woman would not? + </p> + <p> + But we know where good intentions go. On the morning of the twenty-ninth, + which is Michaelmas Day, the poor mother rose in fear and trembling. + Michael, to all outward appearance, was as sane as usual. He breakfasted + and went down to the office, as was his wont. + </p> + <p> + When he arrived there, however, he found letters from Falmouth awaiting + him with bad news. His presence was needed at once. He must miss his + projected visit to St. Michael’s, Cornhill. He must go down to + Cornwall. + </p> + <p> + Hailing a cab at the door he hastened back to Paddington just in time for + the Cornish express. This was surely a call. The words rang in his ears + louder and clearer than ever, “Go, Michael, of celestial armies + prince!” He would go and obey them. He would trample under foot this + foul fiend that masqueraded in human shape as his dear boy’s + murderer. He would wield once more that huge two-handed sword, brandished + aloft, wide-wasting, in unearthly warfare. He would come out in his true + shape before heaven and earth as the chief of the archangels. + </p> + <p> + Stepping into a first-class compartment he found himself, unluckily for + his present mood, alone. All the way down to Exeter the fit was on him. He + stood up in the carriage, swaying his unseen blade, celestial temper fine, + and rolling forth in a loud voice Miltonic verses of his old encounters in + heaven with the powers of darkness. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air + Made horrid circles; two broad suns their shields + Blazed opposite, while expectation stood + In horror.” + </pre> + <p> + He mouthed out the lines in a perfect ecstasy of madness. It was + delightful to be alone. He could give his soul full vent. He knew he was + mad. He knew he was an archangel. + </p> + <p> + And all the way down he repeated to himself, many times over, that he + would trample under foot that base fiend Walter Tyrrel. Satan has many + disguises; squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, he sat in Paradise; + for + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “...spirits as they please + Can limb themselves, and color, or size assume + As likes them best, condense or rare.” + </pre> + <p> + If he himself, Michael, prince of celestial hosts, could fit his angelic + majesty to the likeness of a man, Trevennack—could not Satan meet + him on his own ground, and try to thwart him as of old in the likeness of + a man, Walter Tyrrel—his dear boy’s murderer. + </p> + <p> + As far as Exeter this was his one train of thought. But from there to + Plymouth new passengers got in. They turned the current. Trevennack + changed his mind rapidly. Another mood came over him. His wife’s + words struck him vaguely in some tenderer place. “Fight the devil + WITHIN you, Michael. Fight him there, and conquer him.” That surely + was fitter far for an angelic nature. That foeman was worthier his + celestial steel. “Turn homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth!” + Not his to do vengeance on the man Walter Tyrrel. Not his to play the + divine part of vindicator. In his madness even Trevennack was magnanimous. + Leave the creature to the torment of his own guilty soul. Do angels care + for thrusts of such as he? Tantaene animis coelestibus irae? + </p> + <p> + At Ivybridge station the train slowed, and then stopped. Trevennack, + accustomed to the Cornish express, noted the stoppage with surprise. + “We’re not down to pull up here!” he said, quickly, to + the guard. + </p> + <p> + “No sir,” the guard answered, touching his hat with marked + respect, for he knew the Admiralty official well. “Signals are + against us. Line’s blocked as far as Plymouth.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get out here, then,” Trevennack said, in haste; + and the guard opened the door. A new idea had rushed suddenly into the + madman’s head. This was St. Michael’s Day—his own day; + and there was St. Michael’s Tor—his own tor—full in + sight before him. He would go up there this very evening, and before the + eyes of all the world, in his celestial armor, taking Lucy’s advice, + do battle with and quell this fierce devil within him. + </p> + <p> + No sooner thought than done. Fiery hot within, he turned out of the gate, + and as the shades of autumn evening began to fall, walked swiftly up the + moor toward the tor and the uplands. + </p> + <p> + As he walked his heart beat to a lilting rhythm within him. “Go, + Michael, of celestial armies prince!—Go, Michael!—Go, Michael! + Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince—Go, Michael!—Go, + Michael!” + </p> + <p> + The moor was draped in fog. It was a still, damp evening. Swirling clouds + rose slowly up, and lifted at times and disclosed the peaty hollows, the + high tors, the dusky heather. But Trevennack stumbled on, o’er bog + or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, as chance might lead him, + clambering ever toward his goal, now seen, now invisible—the great + stack of wild rock that crowned the gray undulating moor to northward. + Often he missed his way; often he floundered for awhile in deep ochreous + bottoms, up to his knees in soft slush, but with some strange mad instinct + he wandered on nevertheless, and slowly drew near the high point he was + aiming at. + </p> + <p> + By this time it was pitch dark. The sun had set and fog obscured the + starlight. But Trevennack, all on fire, wandered madly forward and scaled + the rocky tor by the well-known path, guided not by sight, but by pure + instinctive groping. In his present exalted state, indeed, he had no need + of eyes. What matters earthly darkness to angelic feet? He could pick his + own way through the gloom, though all the fiends from hell in serried + phalanx broke loose to thwart him. He would reach the top at last; reach + the top; reach the top, and there fight that old serpent who lay in wait + to destroy him. At last he gained the peak, and stood with feet firmly + planted on the little rocky platform. Now, Satan, come on! Ha, traitor, + come, if you dare! Your antagonist is ready for you! + </p> + <p> + Cr’r’r’k! as he stood there, waiting, a terrible shock + brought him to himself all at once with startling suddenness. Trevennack + drew back aghast and appalled. Even in his mad exaltation this strange + assault astonished him. He had expected a struggle, indeed; he had + expected a conflict, but with a spiritual foe; to meet his adversary in so + bodily a form as this, wholly startled and surprised him. For it was a + fierce earthly shock he received upon his right leg as he mounted the + rocky platform. Satan had been lying in wait for him then, expecting him, + waylaying him, and in corporeal presence too. For this was a spear of good + steel! This was a solid Thing that assaulted him as he rose—assaulted + him with frantic rage and uncontrollable fury! + </p> + <p> + For a moment Trevennack was stunned—the sharpness of the pain and + the suddenness of the attack took both breath and sense away from him. He + stood there one instant, irresolute, before he knew how to comport + himself. But before he could make up his mind—cr’r’k, a + second time—the Presence had assailed him again, fighting with + deadly force, and in a white heat of frenzy. Trevennack had no leisure to + think what this portent might mean. Man or fiend, it was a life-and-death + struggle now between them. He stood face to face at last in mortal + conflict with his materialized enemy. What form the Evil Thing had assumed + to suit his present purpose Trevennack knew not, nor did he even care. + Stung with pain and terror he rushed forward blindly upon his enraged + assailant, and closed with him at once, tooth and nail, in a deadly + grapple. + </p> + <p> + A more terrible battle man and brute never fought. Trevennack had no + sword, no celestial panoply. But he could wrestle like a Cornishman. He + must trample his foe under foot, then, in this final struggle, by sheer + force of strong thews and strained muscles alone. He fought the Creature + as it stood, flinging his arms round it wildly. The Thing seemed to rear + itself as if on cloven hoofs. Trevennack seized it round the waist, and + grasping it hard in an iron grip, clung to it with all the wild energy of + madness. Yield, Satan, yield! But still the Creature eluded him. Once more + it drew back a pace—he felt its hot breath, he smelt its hateful + smell—and prepared to rush again at him. Trevennack bent down to + receive its attack, crouching. The Creature burst full tilt on him—it + almost threw him over. Trevennack caught it in his horror and awe—caught + it bodily by the horns—for horned it seemed to be, as well as + cloven-footed—and by sheer force of arm held it off from him an + elbow’s length one minute. The Thing struggled and reared again. + Yes, yes, it was Satan—he felt him all over now—a devil + undisguised—but Satan rather in medieval than in Miltonic fashion. + His skin was rough and hairy as a satyr’s; his odor was foul; his + feet were cleft; his horns sharp and terrible. He flung him from him + horrified. + </p> + <p> + Quick as lightning the demon rose again, and tilted fiercely at him once + more. It was a death fight between those two for that rocky platform. + Should Satan thus usurp St. Michael’s Tor? Ten thousand times, no! + Yield, yield! No surrender! Each knew the ground well, and even in the + dark and in the mad heat of the conflict, each carefully avoided the steep + edge of the precipice. But the fiend knew it best, apparently. He had been + lying in a snug nook, under lee of a big rock, sharpening his sword on its + side, before Trevennack came up there. Against this rock he took his + stand, firm as a rock himself, and seemed to defy his enemy’s arms + to dislodge him from his position. + </p> + <p> + Trevennack’s hands and legs were streaming now with blood. His left + arm was sorely wounded. His thumb hung useless. But with the strange + energy of madness he continued the desperate conflict against his unseen + foe. Never should Michael turn and yield to the deadly assaults of the + Evil One! He rushed on blindly once more, and the Adversary stooped to + oppose him. Again, a terrible shock, it almost broke both his knees; but + by sheer strength of nerve he withstood it, still struggling. Then they + closed in a final grapple. It was a tooth-and-nail conflict. They fought + one another with every weapon they possessed; each hugged each in their + fury; they tilted, and tore, and wrestled, and bit, and butted. + </p> + <p> + Trevennack’s coat was in ribbons, his arm was ripped and bleeding; + but he grasped the Adversary still, he fought blindly to the end. Down, + Satan, I defy thee! + </p> + <p> + It was a long, fierce fight! At last, bit by bit, the Enemy began to + yield. Trevennack had dashed him against the crag time after time like a + log, till he too was torn and hurt and bleeding. His flesh was like pulp. + He could endure the unequal fight no longer. He staggered and gave way. A + great joy rose up tremulous in Trevennack’s heart. Even without his + celestial sword, then, he had vanquished his enemy. He seized the Creature + round the middle, dragged it, a dead weight, in his weary arms, to the + edge of the precipice, and dropped it, feebly resisting, on to the bare + rock beneath him. + </p> + <p> + Victory! Victory! Once more, a great victory! + </p> + <p> + He stood on the brink of the tor, and poised himself, as if for flight, in + his accustomed attitude. But he was faint from loss of blood, and his + limbs shook under him. + </p> + <p> + A light seemed to break before his blinded eyes. Victory! Victory! It was + the light from heaven! He stared forward to welcome it. The brink of the + precipice? What was THAT to such as he? He would spread his wings—for + once—at last—thus! thus! and fly forward on full pinions to + his expected triumph! + </p> + <p> + He raised both arms above his head, and spread them out as if for flight. + His knees trembled fearfully. His fingers quivered. Then he launched + himself on the air and fell. His eyes closed half-way. He lost + consciousness. He fainted. Before he had reached the bottom he was wholly + insensible. + </p> + <p> + Next day it was known before noon in London that a strange and + inexplicable accident had befallen Mr. Michael Trevennack C.M.G., the + well-known Admiralty official, on the moor near Ivybridge. Mr. Trevennack, + it seemed, had started by the Cornish express for Falmouth, on official + business; but the line being blocked between Ivybridge and Plymouth, he + had changed his plans and set out to walk, as was conjectured, by a + devious path across the moor to Tavistock. Deceased knew the neighborhood + well, and was an enthusiastic admirer of its tors and uplands. But fog + coming on, the unfortunate gentleman, it was believed, had lost his way, + and tried to shelter himself for a time behind a tall peak of rock which + he used frequently to visit during his summer holidays. There he was + apparently attacked by a savage moorland ram—one of that wild breed + of mountain sheep peculiar to Dartmoor, and famous for the strength and + ferocity often displayed by the fathers of the flock. Mr. Trevennack was + unarmed, and a terrible fight appeared to have taken place between these + ill-matched antagonists on the summit of the rocks, full details of which, + the Telegram said in its curt business-like way, were too ghastly for + publication. After a long and exhausting struggle, however, the combatants + must either have slipped on the wet surface and tumbled over the edge of + the rocks together in a deadly grapple, or else, as seemed more probable + from the positions in which the bodies were found, the unhappy gentleman + had just succeeded in flinging his assailant over, and then, faint from + loss of blood, had missed his footing and fallen beside his dead + antagonist. At any rate, when the corpse was discovered life had been + extinct for several hours; and it was the opinion of the medical + authorities who conducted the post-mortem that death was due not so much + to the injuries themselves as to asphyxiation in the act of falling. + </p> + <h3> + * * * + </h3> + <p> + The jury found it “Death from accidental circumstances.” Cleer + never knew more than that her father had met his end by walking over the + edge of a cliff on Dartmoor. + </p> + <h3> + * * * + </h3> + <p> + But when the body came home for burial, Dr. Yate-Westbury looked in by + Mrs. Trevennack’s special request, and performed an informal and + private examination of the brain and nervous system. At the close of the + autopsy he came down to the drawing-room where the silver-haired lady sat + pale and tearful, but courageous. “It is just as I thought,” + he said; “a clot of blood, due to external injury, has pressed for + years above the left frontal region, causing hallucinations and + irregularities of a functional character only. You needn’t have the + slightest fear of its proving hereditary. It’s as purely accidental + as a sprain or a wound. Your daughter, Mrs. Le Neve, couldn’t + possibly suffer for it.” + </p> + <p> + And neither Cleer nor Le Neve nor anyone else ever shared that secret of + Trevennack’s delusions with his wife and the doctor. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Michael’s Crag, by Grant Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MICHAEL’S CRAG *** + +***** This file should be named 5869-h.htm or 5869-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/8/6/5869/ + +Etext produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produce by David Wiger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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