diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/68712-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68712-0.txt | 9199 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9199 deletions
diff --git a/old/68712-0.txt b/old/68712-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7f5f652..0000000 --- a/old/68712-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9199 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The secret in the hill, by Bernard -Edward Joseph Capes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The secret in the hill - -Author: Bernard Edward Joseph Capes - -Release Date: August 8, 2022 [eBook #68712] - -Language: English - -Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET IN THE HILL *** - - - - - - THE - SECRET IN THE HILL - - BY - BERNARD CAPES - - LONDON - SMITH, ELDER & CO., - 15, WATERLOO PLACE - 1903 - (_all rights reserved_) - - - - - [DEDICATION.] - - To - MISS PRECISION - AND - “YOUR AFFECNUT LITTLE FRIEND” - _THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED_ - WITH DEFERENCE - BY - ITS AUTHOR AND THEIRS - - - - - CONTENTS. - - PART I - I. I first see Joshua Pilbrow - II. A Great Loss and a Queer Equivalent - III. Uncle Jenico - IV. My First View of the Hill - V. The Story Of The Earthquake - VI. Mrs. Puddephatt and Fancy-Maria - VII. Mr. Sant - VIII. Treasure-Hunting - IX. Harry Harrier - X. Friends at Last - XI. Mischief of Sorts - PART II - I. The Badger - II. The Great Storm - III. Open Sesame - IV. The Secret in the Hill - V. A Reappearance - VI. An Odd Compact - VII. “Facilis Descensus Averni” - VIII. The Feast of Lanterns - IX. The Weary Sands - X. The Darkest Hour - XI. Joshua Speaks - XII. Rescue - XIII. Rampick Speaks - XIV. What the Letter said - XV. Out of the Depths - Conclusion - - - - - THE SECRET IN THE HILL. - PART I. - - CHAPTER I. - I FIRST SEE JOSHUA PILBROW. - -When I was a very little boy my mother died. I was too young to feel -her loss long, though I missed her badly at first; but the -compensation was that it brought my father nearer to me. He was a -barrister, a prodigal love of a man, dear bless him! And he felt his -bereavement so cruelly that for a time he seemed incapable of rallying -from the blow. But presently he plucked up heart, and went, for my -sake, to his business again. - -He was more liked than lucky, I believe. I had evidence enough, at -least of the former; for after my mother’s death, not bearing that we -should be parted, he carried me with him on the last circuit he was -ever to go. Those were the days when Bench and Bar dined well, and sat -up late telling tales. Sometimes my father would slip me into his -pocket, so to speak, and from its shelter--when, to be candid, I had -been much better in bed--I heard fine stories related by the gentlemen -who put off gravity with the horsehair they wore all day. They were a -merry and irresponsible lot, rather like a strolling company of -actors; and, indeed, it was no less their business to play many parts. -There were types among them which I came to associate with certain -qualities: such as the lean vivacious ones, who ate and drank -hungrily, and presently grew incoherent and quarrelsome; such as the -rosy bald-headed ones, who always seemed to make most laughter; such -as the large, heavy-browed ones, who sulked when they were bettered in -argument. But my friend amongst them all, next to my father, was Mr. -Quayle, Q.C. - -I fancied I had discovered, after much consideration, why he was -called Q.C. He was a little man, quite bald and round all over his -head and face except for a tuft of hair on his chin, and there was the -Q; and he wore a pouter-pigeon ruff under his chin like this, Q/C, and -there was the Q.C. I may have been wrong; but anyhow I had precedent -to justify me, for many of these jolly souls bore such characteristic -nicknames. There was Plain John, for instance, who had so christened -himself for ever during a dispute about the uses or abuses of multiple -titles. “Plain John” had been enough for him, he had said. Again, -there was Blind Fogle, so called from his favourite cross-examination -phrase. “I don’t quite see.” They were all boys together when off -duty, chaffing and horse-playing, and my father was the merriest and -most irrepressible of the crew. - -There was one treat, however, of which he was persistent in baulking -me. Pray him as I might, he would never let me see or hear him in his -character of Counsel. The Court where he would be working by day was -forbidden ground to me, and for that very reason I longed, like -Bluebeard’s wife, to peep into it. This was not right, even in -thought, for I knew his wishes. But worse is to be confessed. I once -took an opportunity, which ought never to have been given me, to -disobey him; and dreadful were the consequences, as you shall hear. - -We were travelling on what is called the Home Circuit, and one day we -came to Ipswich, a town to mark itself red in the annals of my young -life. On the second morning after our arrival I was playing at horses -with George, my father’s man, when Mr. Quayle looked in at our hotel, -and, dismissing George, took and sat me upon his knee. - -“Dad gone to Court?” said he. - -“Yes,” I answered; “just.” - -He grunted, and rubbed his bald head, with a look half comical, half -aggravated. His eyes were rather blinky and red, and he seemed -confused in manner and at a loss for words. - -“Dicky,” he said, suddenly, “did you live very well, very rich-like, -when mamma was alive?” - -“Yes,” I answered; “’cept when mamma said we must retrench, and cried; -and by’m-by papa laughed, and threw the rice pudding into the fire, -and took us to dine at a palace.” - -“And that was--very long before--hey?” - -“It was a very little while before mamma went away for good,” I -murmured, and hung my head, inclined to whimper. - -Mr. Quayle twitched at me compunctious. - -“O, come!” he said, “we must all bear our losses like men. They teach -us the best in the world to stand square on our own toeses. There! -Shall I tell you a story--hey?” - -I brightened at once. He knew some good ones. “Yes, please,” I said. - -“O, lud!” he exclaimed, rubbing his nose with his eye-glasses. “I am -committed! Judex damnatur. Dicky, I sat up late last night, devouring -briefs, and they’ve given me an indigestion. Never sit up late, Dicky, -_or you’ll have to pay for it_!” - -He said the last words with an odd emphasis, giving me a little shake. - -“Is that the beginning of the story?” I asked, with reserve. - -“O, the story!” he said. “H’m! ha! Dear take my fuddled caput! Well, -here goes: - -“There were once two old twin brothers, booksellers, name of Pilbrow, -who kept shop together in a town, as it might be Ipswich. Now books, -young gentleman, should engender an atmosphere of reason and sympathy, -inasmuch as we talk of the Republic of letters, which signifies a sort -of a family tie between A, B, and C. But these fellows, though twins, -were so far from being united that they were always quarrelling. If -Joshua bought a book of a stranger, Abel would say he had given more -than its worth, and sell it at his own valuation; and if Abel attended -a sale, there was Joshua to bid against him. Naturally, under these -conditions, the business didn’t flourish. The brothers got poorer and -poorer, and the more they lost the worse they snapped and snarled, -till they took to threatening one another in public with dear knows -what reprisals. Well, one day, at an auction, after bidding each -against t’other thremenjus for a packet of old manuscripts and book -rubbish--which Abel ended by getting, by-the-by--they fastened -together like tom-cats, and had to be separated. The people laughed -and applauded; but the end was more serious than was expected. Abel -disappeared from the business, and a few days later the shop took -fire, and was burned to the ground. - -“So far, so plain; and now, Mr. Dickycumbob, d’ye know what’s meant by -Insurance?” - -“No, sir?” - -“Well, look here. If I want to provide against my house, and the goods -in it, being lost to me by fire, I go to a gentleman, with a gold -watch-chain like a little ship’s cable to recommend him, and says -I:--‘If I give you so much pocket-money a year, will you undertake to -build up my house again for me in case it happens to be burned down?’ -And the gentleman smiles, and says ‘Certainly.’ Then I say, ‘If I -double your pocket-money will you undertake to give me a thousand -pounds for the value of the goods in that house supposing they are -burned too?’ And the gentleman says, ‘Certainly; in case their value -really _is_ a thousand pounds at the time.’ So I go away, and -presently, strange to say, my house _is_ actually burned to the -ground. Then I ask the gentleman to fulfil his promise; but he says, -‘Not at all. The house I will rebuild as before, and for the goods I -will pay you; but not a thousand pounds, because I am given to believe -that they were worth nothing like that sum at the time of the fire?’ -Now, what am I to do? Well, I will tell you what this Joshua did. He -insisted upon having the whole thousand pounds, and the gentleman -answered by saying that he believed Joshua had purposely set fire to -his own house in order to secure a thousand pounds for a lot of old -rubbish in it that wasn’t worth twopence ha’penny. D’yunderstand?” - -“Yes, I think so.” - -“Very well, then, and listen to this. If the gentleman spoke true, -Joshua had fallen _in Scyllam cupiens vitare Charybdim_, which means -that he had jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire, or, in other -words had, in trying to catch the Insurance gentleman, been nabbed -himself by the law. For arson is arson, and fraud fraud, and the -gentleman with the watch-chain isn’t to be caught with a pinch of salt -on his tail. But that was not the worst. Human bones had been found -among the _débris_ of the building, and ugly rumours got about that -these bones were Abel’s bones--the bones of an unhappy victim of -Joshua’s murderous hate. The man had disappeared, the brothers’ deadly -quarrel was recalled; it was whispered that the fire might owe itself -to a double motive--that, in short, Joshua had designed, at one blow, -to secure the thousand pounds and destroy the evidences of a great -crime. Joshua, sir, was arrested and put upon his trial for murder and -arson.” - -I was listening with all my eyes and ears. - -“Who defended him?” I whispered, gulping; for I knew something of the -legal terms. - -The answer took me like a smack. - -“Your father, sir.” - -“O!” I exclaimed, thrilling. And then, after a pause, with a pride of -loyalty: “He got him off, didn’t he?” - -Mr. Quayle put me down, and yawned dyspeptically. - -“What!” he said. “If any man can, papa will. I ask your pardon, Master -Dicky, I really do, for palming off fact instead of fiction on you. -But my poor brain wasn’t equal. The case is actually _sub -judice_--being tried at this moment. Yesterday began it, and to-day -will end. If you whisper to me to-night, I’ll whisper back the -result.” - -The delay seemed insupportable. He had read and worked me up to the -last chapter of the story, and now proposed to leave me agonising for -the end. It was the first time I had ever been brought so close to the -living romance of the law, and my blood was on fire with the -excitement of it. - -“O, I wish----” I began. - -The barrister looked down at me oddly, and shook his head. - -“Ah, you little rogue!” he chuckled. - -I felt too guilty to speak. He knew all that was in my mind. Suddenly -he took my hand. - -“Come along, then,” he said, “and let’s have a peep. Papa needn’t -know.” - -He shouldn’t have tempted me, nor should I have succumbed. A murder -romance was no book for a child, though my father figured in it as a -Paladin championing the wronged and oppressed. - -I hung back a moment, but the creature cooed and whistled to me. “Come -and see Joshua,” he said, “with his back to the wall, and papa in -front daring ’em all to come on.” - -The picture was irresistible. I let myself be persuaded and run out, -tingling all over. - -It was a dingy November morning. The old town seemed dull and uneasy, -and a tallow-faced clock on a church dawdled behind time, as if it had -stopped to let something unpleasant go by. That might have been a -posse of melancholy javelin-men, who, with a ludicrous little -strutting creature at their head--a sort of pocket drum-major, in -sword and cocked hat and with a long staff in his hand--went splashing -past at the moment. The court-house, what with the fog and drip, met -us like the mouth of a sewer, and I was half-inclined to cry off so -disenchanting an adventure, when my companion tossed me up in his arms -and carried me within. Through halls and passages, smelling of cold, -trodden mud, we were passed with deference, and suddenly were swung -and shut into a room where there were lights and a great foggy hush. - -I saw before me the scarlet judge. I knew him well enough, but never -awful like this--a shrunk ferret with piercing eyes looking out of a -gray nest. I saw the wigs of the counsel; but their bobtails seemed -cocked with an unfamiliar viciousness. I saw the faces of the Jury, -set up in two rows like ghostly ninepins; and then I saw another, a -face by itself, a face like a little shrewd wicked gurgoyle, that hung -yellow and alone out of the mist of the court. And that face, I knew, -was the face of Joshua. - -The terrible silence ticked itself away, and there suddenly was my -father standing up before them all, and talking in a quick impassioned -voice. My skin went cold and hot. If I reaped little of the dear -tones, I understood enough to know that he spoke impetuously for the -prisoner, heaping scorn upon the prosecution. Never, he said, in all -his experience had he known calumny visit a soul so spotless as the -one it was now his privilege to defend. The process would be laughably -easy, it was true, and he would only dwell upon what must be to the -jury a foregone conclusion--the accused’s innocence, that was to -say--with the object to crush with its own vicious fallacies a -_pro_secution which, indeed, he could not help remarking bore more the -appearance of a _per_secution. - -Mr. Quayle at this point laughed a little under his breath and -whispered, “Bravo!” in my ear, as he eased his burden by resting my -feet on the back of a bench. As for me, I was burning and shooting all -over with pride, as my eyes went from my father to the poor little -ugly prisoner in the dock, and back again. - -The accused, went on my father (in substance. I can only give the -briefest abstract of his speech), would not deny that there had been -differences between him and his brother. Indeed, it would be useless -to, in the face of some recent notorious evidence to the contrary. But -did not all history teach us the folly of jumping, on the strength of -an unguarded word, to fatal conclusions? Had not one of our own -monarchs (surnamed Fitz-Empress, as he need not remind the jury) -suffered a lifelong regret from the false interpretation put upon a -rash utterance of his? “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” -he had cried, in an unthinking moment. “You shall pay for this!” had -been Joshua Pilbrow’s threat to his brother, under a like aggravation, -in the sale-room. “Gentlemen,” said my father, “how deadly the seeming -import, how laughable the explanation in either case. King Henry cried -only distractedly for some one to persuade his importunate Chancellor -to leave him alone. Joshua Pilbrow meant no more than to insist that -his brother should ‘stand the whole racket’ of a purchase of which he -himself had disapproved. Hence, gentlemen, these tears!” - -There was a little stir in court, and my companion chuckled -delightedly in my ear again. - -My father then proceeded triumphantly to give the true facts of the -case. The packet of books had, it appeared when opened, revealed one -item of unexpected value, in the profits from which Joshua, as -partner, insisted upon sharing. To this, however, Abel, quoting his -own words against him, demurred. It was his--Abel’s purchase, Abel -contended, to do with as he chose. The dispute ran so high as to -threaten litigation; when all of a sudden one night Abel was found to -have taken himself off with the cherished volume. Joshua, at first -unable to credit such perfidy, bided his time, expecting his brother -to return. But when, at last, his suspicion of bereavement settled -into a conviction, he grew like one demented. He could not believe in -the reality of his loss; but, candle in hand, went hunting high and -low amongst the litter with which the premises were choked, hoping -somewhere to alight, in some forgotten corner where cupidity had -concealed it, on the coveted prize. Alas! it never rains but it pours. -He not only failed to trace the treasure, but, in his distracted hunt -for it, must accidentally have fired the stock, which, smouldering for -awhile, burst out presently into flame, and committed all to ruin. - - * * * * * * - -Such was the outline of the story, and, for all that I understood of -it, I could have clapped my father to the echo, with the tears gulping -in my throat, for his noble vindication of a wronged man. There were -other points he made, such as that Joshua had himself escaped with the -utmost difficulty from the burning building (and did that look like -arson?); such as that he had instructed his lawyers, after committal, -to advertise strenuously, though vainly, for his brother’s whereabouts -(and did that look like murder?); such as that the bones found amongst -the ruins were the bones of anatomical specimens, in which the firm -was well known to have dealt. I need not insist on them, because the -end was what I knew it must be if men were not base and abominable -enough to close their ears wilfully to those ringing accents of truth. - -The prosecution, poor thing! answered, and the judge summed up; and -still Mr. Quayle, quite absorbed in the case, did not offer to take me -away. I had my eyes on my father all the time. He had sunk back, as if -exhausted, after his speech, and sat in a corner of the bench, his -hand over his face. The jury gave their verdict without leaving their -places. I heard the demand and the answer. The cry, “Not Guilty,” rang -like a pæan in my ears; and still I kept my eyes on my father. - -The prisoner, freed from the dock, had left the court, when suddenly -some people stirred, and a whisper went round. A barrister bent over -the resting figure, and arose hurriedly. In a moment there was a -springing up of heads everywhere, so that the dear form was blotted -from my sight. Mr. Quayle, looking over my shoulder, caught a word, -and gave a quick little gasp. - -“Dicky,” he said, catching at me, “come out at once! We must get away -before--before----” and he left the sentence unfinished as he hurried -me into the street. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - A GREAT LOSS AND A QUEER EQUIVALENT. - -I looked in Mr. Quayle’s face; but I asked him no question. The mud -we trod seemed colder, the houses we passed more frowning than before; -but I asked no question. I could not form one in my mind; only -suddenly and somehow I felt frightened, as if in dreams before a great -solitude. Then in a moment I was sobbing fast and thickly. - -Ah, what is the use to skate round the memory! Let it clutch me for a -moment, and be faced and dismissed. My father, my dear, ardent, noble -father was dead--struck down in an instant--shaken out of life by the -poignant utterances of his own spirit. While the flower of his fervour -was blossoming and bearing fruit, the roots thereof were dead -already--smitten in their place in his heart. That, its work done, had -ceased beating. Sometimes afterwards in my desolation I recalled the -church clock, with its poised motionless hands, and thought what a -melancholy omen it had been. - -Mr. Quayle was kindness itself to me in my utter terror and -loneliness. He took upon himself, provisionally, the whole conduct of -my affairs. One morning he came in, and drew me to him. - -“Dicky--Dicky-bird, me jewl!” he said. “I’ve found the fine cuckoo -that’s to come and father the poor little orphaned nestling.” - -I must observe that he had his own theories about this same “harbinger -of spring,” which, according to him, was the “bird that looked after -another bird’s young.” I remembered the occasion on which he had so -defined it, and the laughter which had greeted him; and his -alternative, “Well, then, ’tis the bird that doesn’t lay its own eggs, -and that’s all one!” But the first definition, it appeared, was the -one he kept faith in. - -“D’you remember Mr. Paxton?” he said. - -“Uncle Jenico?” I asked. - -He nodded. - -“Uncle Jenico Paxton, mamma’s own only brother. Poor papa, my -dear--always a wonder and an honour to his profession--has left, it -seems, a will, in which he bequeathes everything to Uncle Jenico in -trust for his little boy, Master Dicky Bowen. And Uncle Jenico has -been found, and is coming to take charge of little Dicky Bowen.” - -Was I glad or sorry? I was too stunned, I think, to care one way or -the other. Any one would do to stop the empty place which none could -ever fill, and neither my sympathies nor my dislikes were active in -the case of Uncle Jenico. I had seen him only once or twice, when he -had come to spend a night or so with us in town. My memory was of a -stout, hoarse old man in spectacles, rather lame, with a little nose -and twinkling eyes. He had seemed always busy, always in a hurry. He -bore an important, mysterious reputation with us as a great inventive -genius, who carried a despatch-box with him choked with invaluable -patents, and always left something behind--a toothbrush or an -umbrella--when he left. Let it be Uncle Jenico as well as another. - -While we were talking there was a flurry at the door of the room, and -a man, overcoming some resistance outside, forced his way in. I gave a -little cry, and stood staring. It was the acquitted prisoner, Joshua -Pilbrow. George appeared just behind him, flushed and truculent. - -“He would do it, sir,” said the servant, “for all I warned him away.” - -Mr. Quayle had put me from him and arisen. There was a bad look on his -face; but he motioned to George to go, and we were left alone. - -The intruder stood shrugging his disordered clothes into place, and -looking the while with a sort of black stealth at the barrister. His -face held and haunted me. It was bleak and sallow, and grey in the -hollows, with fixed dark eyes--the face, I thought, of a malignant, -though injured, creature. But it did not so affect Mr. Quayle, it was -evident. - -“The verdict was ‘Not guilty,’ sir,” said the man, quite suddenly and -vehemently. - -Mr. Quayle gave an unpleasant laugh. - -“Or else you wouldn’t be intrudin’ here,” he said shortly. - -“I came to thank my benefactor,” said the man. “I had heard nothing -till this moment of the tragic sequel.” - -“Well,” said the barrister, in the same cynical tone, “you have come -too late. The price of your acquittal is this little orphaned life.” - -He put his arm about my shoulders. The stranger looked hard at me. - -“His son?” he muttered. - -“There are some verdicts,” said Mr. Quayle, “bought too dear.” - -In a moment the man turned upon him in a sort of fierce concentrated -bitterness. - -“With the inconsistency of your evil profession,” he cried, “you -discount your own conclusions. The law guarantees and grudges me my -innocence. A curse upon it, I say! Did he there sacrifice his life for -me? He sacrificed it for truth, sir, and it’s that which you, as a -lawyer, can’t forgive.” - -“You will observe,” said Mr. Quayle, icily, “that I have not -questioned the truth.” - -“Not directly,” answered the visitor. “I know, I know. You damn by -innuendo; it’s your trade.” - -The little lawyer laughed again. - -“You malign our benevolence,” he said. “The law, by its artless -verdict, has entitled you to sue on the insurance question. Think, Mr. -Pilbrow; it actually offers itself to witness to your right to the -thousand pounds.” - -“And I shall force it to,” cried the other; “and would to heaven I -could make it bleed another thousand for the wrong it has done me. It -would, if equity were justice.” - -“Equity _is_ justice,” said Mr. Quayle. “Good morning.” - -The man did not move for a moment, but stood looking gloomily at me. - -Now, I cannot define what was working in my little soul. The pinched, -shorn face was not lovely, the eyes in it were not good; yet there was -something there of loss and hopelessness that touched me cruelly. And -was not my father lying in the next room in solemn witness to its -innocence? Suddenly, before Mr. Quayle could stay me, I had run to the -visitor and plucked at his coat. - -“You did not do it,” I cried. “My father said so!” - -He gave a little gasp, and fluttered his hand across his eyes, -sweeping in a wonderful way the evil out of them. - -“Ah!” he said, “if your father, young gentleman, would whisper to you -where Abel lies hidden! He knows now.” - -He stepped back, with a strange, wintry smile on his lips, stopped, -seemed about to speak, waved his hand to me, and was gone. - -“Dicky, Dicky,” cried Mr. Quayle, “you’re the son of your father; but, -dear me, not so good a lawyer!” - - - - - CHAPTER III. - UNCLE JENICO. - -That same evening Uncle Jenico arrived. I was just put to bed at the -time, but he came and stood by me a little before I went to sleep and -dreamt of him. He was not the least grown from his place in my -memory--only, to my wonder, a little more shabby-looking than I seemed -to recollect. The round gold spectacles were there, and the big beaver -hat, and the blue frock coat, and the nankeen trousers, and the -limp--all but the first and last a trifle the worse for wear. His -smile, however, was as cherubic, his despatch-box as glossy, his -walking-stick as stout as ever; and he nodded at me like a benevolent -Mandarin. - -“Only we two left, my boy,” he said. “Poor papa, dear papa! He’s -learnt by now the secret of perpetual motion.” - -It was an odd introduction. I cried a little, and, moved by his -kindness, clung to him. - -“There!” he said, soothing me. “That’s all right. We are going to be -famous friends, _we_ are. _We’ll_ invent things; _we’ll_ set the -Thames on fire, _we_ will.” - -Whether from exhaustion or from the dreamy contemplation of this -amazing feat to be performed by us, I fell asleep in his arms, lulled -for the first time out of my grief, and did not awake till bright -morning. The fog was gone; the birds were singing to us to carry my -father to his rest under the blue sky. - -By-and-by we set out, Uncle Jenico very grave, in black, with a long -weeper round his hat. Mr. Quayle, and one or two more, who had -lingered a day behind the Assizes to do honour to the dead, came with -us; and others, including the judge, sent flowers. It was a simple, -pathetic service, in a green corner of the churchyard. I felt more -than understood its beauty, and when once I caught a glimpse of Uncle -Jenico busily and stealthily writing something with a pencil on the -inside lining of his hat, I accepted the fact naturally as a detail of -the ceremony. - -But it was on the way home in the carriage that he disillusioned me by -removing his hat, and showing me a little drawing of a gravestone he -had made therein. - -“Just an idea that occurred to me,” he said, “to perpetuate the memory -of poor papa. We want to do something better than keep it _green_, you -see. The weather and the lichen pay us all _that_ compliment. So I -suggest having the inscription very small, on a stone something the -shape of a dining-room clock, and over it a magnifying glass boss, -like one of those paperweights, you know, that have a little view at -the back. The tooth of Time could never touch that. What do you think -now?” - -I thought it a very pleasant and kind idea, and told him so, at which -he was obviously pleased. But it was never carried out, no more than -many another he developed; and in the end--but that was long -afterwards--a simple headstone, of my own design, commemorated my -beloved father’s virtues. - -The few mourners returned with us to the hotel, where, in a private -room, we had cake and sherry wine. Afterwards Mr. Quayle, when all but -he were gone, asked the favour of a final word with Uncle Jenico. - -He appeared to find it a word difficult of utterance, walking up and -down, and puffing, and getting a little red in the face, while Uncle -Jenico sat beaming in a chair, his legs crossed and finger-tips -bridged. - -At length Mr. Quayle stopped before him. - -“Mr. Paxton,” said he, “when time’s short formalities are best -eschewed, eh?” - -Uncle Jenico nodded. - -“Surely,” said he. “I ask nothing less.” - -“Then,” said Mr. Quayle, stuttering a little, “you are prepared to -accept our friend’s trust, _for all it’s worth_?” - -Uncle Jenico nodded again, though I thought his countenance fell a -trifle over the emphatic qualification. However, he recovered in an -instant, and rubbed his hands together gleefully. - -“Capital, sir,” he said; “a little capital. That’s all Richard and I -need to make our fortunes.” - -He spoke as if we had been long partners, but hampered by insufficient -means. - -“Ah!” said Mr. Quayle, decisively; “but that’s just the point.” - -“Just the point,” echoed Uncle Jenico, still nodding, but weakly, and -with a dew of perspiration on his forehead. - -“Just the point,” repeated Mr. Quayle. “I stood close to our friend. I -know something of his affairs--and habits. He was--d’ye understand -French, Mr. Paxton?” - -“Yes, certainly,” answered my uncle, proudly. - -“Well, listen to this, then: ‘Il a été un joueur invétéré celui -là; c’est possible qu’il a mangé son blé en herbe.’” - -He drew back, to let his words take effect. - -“God bless me!” said Uncle Jenico, weakly. “You have reason to know?” - -“My dear sir,” replied Mr. Quayle, “I know how some of us occupy our -time on circuit when we’d be better abed. I know a punter when I see -one. I may be right; I may be wrong; and for your sake I hope I’m -wrong. But the point is this: A good deal of our friend’s paper has -come my way; and I want to know if, supposing I take it to market with -bad results to the estate, you are going to swear off your trust?” - -Then Uncle Jenico did an heroic thing; how heroic I could not realise -at the time, though even then I think a shadow of the truth was -penetrating my bewilderment. He got to his feet, looking like an -angel. - -“Mr. Quayle,” he said, “you’ve spoken plainly, and I don’t conceal -your words are a disappointment. But if they are also a prophecy, rest -assured, sir, that Richard and I stand or fall together. We are the -surviving partners of an honourable firm, and there is that in there, -sir” (he pointed to his inseparable despatch-box), “to uphold our -credit with the world.” - -Mr. Quayle seized his hand, with an immense expression of relief on -his face. - -“You’re a good soul,” he said. “Without that assurance I should have -felt like robbing the orphan. I hope it may turn out better than we -suppose.” - -“I hope so, too,” said Uncle Jenico, rather disconsolately. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - MY FIRST VIEW OF THE HILL. - -It turned out not so badly, yet pretty badly. Uncle Jenico took -cheap lodgings for us in the town, and for two or three months was -busy flitting between Ipswich and London winding up my father’s -estate. At the end, when the value of every lot, stick, and warrant -had been realised, and the creditors satisfied, a sum representing -perhaps £150 a year was secured to us, and with this, and the -despatch-box, we committed ourselves to the future. - -It appeared that my Uncle Jenico’s inventions had always been more -creditable than profitable to him, and this for the reason that -unattainable capital was necessary to their working. Given a few -hundreds, he was confident that he could make thousands out of any one -of them. It was hard, for the lack of a little fuel, so to speak, to -have so much power spoiling on one’s hands. I would have had him, when -once I understood, invest our own capital in some of them; but, though -I could see he loved me for the suggestion, he had the better strength -of affection to keep loyal to his trust, which he administered -scrupulously according to the law. Afterwards, when I came to know him -better, I could not but be thankful that he had shown this superior -genius for honesty; for his faith in his own concerns was so complete, -and at the same time so naïve, that he might otherwise have lacked -nothing but the guilt to be a defaulter. - -As to the patents themselves, they represented a hundred phases of -craft, every one of which delighted and convinced me by its -originality. There was a design amongst them for an automatic -dairy-maid, a machine which, by exhausting the air in a number of -flexible tubes, could milk twenty cows at once. There was a design for -making little pearls large, by inserting them like setons in the -shells of living oysters. There was a plan for a ship to be driven by -a portable windmill, which set a turbine spinning under the stern. -Uncle Jenico’s contrivances were mostly on an heroic scale, and -covered every form of enterprise--from the pill which was to eliminate -dyspepsia from the land, to a scheme for liquidating the National Debt -by pawning all England for a term of years to an International Trust. -At the same time, there was no human need too mean for his -consideration. He was for ever striving to economise labour for the -betterment of his poorer fellow-creatures. His inventiveness was a -great charity, which did not even begin at home. His patents, from -being designed to improve any condition but his own, suffered the -neglect of a world to which selfishness is the first principle of -business competence. His “Napina,” a liquid composition from which old -clothes, after having been dipped therein, re-emerged as new, could -find no market. His “Labour-of-Love Spit,” which was turned by a -rocking-chair moving a treadle, like that on a knife-grinder’s -machine, so that the cook could roast her joint in great comfort while -dozing over her paper, could make no headway against the more -impersonal clock-work affair. And so it was with most of his designs, -but a few of which had been actually tested before being condemned on -insufficient evidence. What more ridiculous, for instance, than to -denounce his “Burglar’s Trap” on the score that one single idiot of a -householder had blundered into his own snare and been kept there while -the robbers were rifling his premises? What more scandalous than to -convict his Fire-Derrick--a noble invention, like a crane dangling a -little cabin, for saving life at conflagrations--because the first -time it was tested the box would not descend, but kept the insurance -gentlemen swinging in the air for an hour or two; or his Infallible -Lifebelt, which turned upside-down in the water for the single reason -that they tried it on a revenue officer who had lost his legs in an -explosion? No practical innovation was surely ever started without a -stumble. But Uncle Jenico had no luck. He sunk all his capital in his -own patents without convincing a soul, or--and this is the notable -thing--losing his temper. That one only of his possessions remained to -him, fresh and sound as when, as a little boy, he had invented a -flying top, which broke his grandmother’s windows. No neglect had -impaired it, nor adversity ruffled for more than a moment. If he had -patented it and nothing else, he could have made his fortune, I am -certain. - -Still, when we came to be comrades--or partners, as he loved to call -us--his restless brain was busy as ever with ideas. Nothing was too -large or small for him to touch. He showed me, on an early occasion, -how his hat--not the black one he had worn at the funeral, but the big -beaver article that came over his eyes--explained its own proportions -in a number of little cupboards or compartments in the lining, which -were designed to carry one’s soap, toothbrush, razor, etc., when on a -short visit. He had the most delightful affection for his own -ingenuities, and the worldliest axioms for explaining the secret of -their success. On the afternoon when Mr. Quayle, after the kindest of -partings with me, had left us, and while he was yet on the stairs, -Uncle Jenico had bent to me and whispered: “Make it a business -principle, my boy, never to confess to insolvency. You heard the way I -assured the gentleman? Well, Richard, we may have in our despatch-box -there all Ophir lying fallow for the lack of a little cash to work it; -but we mustn’t tell our commercial friends so--no, no. We must let -them believe it is their privilege to back us. Necessity is a bad -recommendation.” - -It may be. But I was not a commercial gent; and Uncle Jenico had all -my faith, and should have had all my capital if it had rested with me -to dispose of it as I liked. - -During the time my uncle was engaged in London, George, good man, -remained at Ipswich to look after me, though we were forced -reluctantly to dismiss him as soon as things were settled. It was -impossible, however, on a hundred and fifty pounds a year to keep a -man-servant; and so presently he went, and with him my last connection -with the old life. Not more of the past than the clothes I stood in -now remained to me. It was as if I had been shipwrecked and adopted by -a stranger. But the final severance seemed a relief to Uncle Jenico, -who, when it was accomplished, drew a long breath, and adjusted his -glasses and looked at me rosily. - -“Now, Richard,” he said, “with nobody any longer to admonish us, comes -the question of our home, and where to make it. Have you any choice?” - -Dear me; what did I know of the world’s dwelling-places? I answered -that I left it all to him. - -“Very well,” he said, with a happy sigh; “then I have an original -plan. Suppose we make it nowhere?” - -He paused to note how the surprise struck home. - -“You mean----” I began, hesitating. - -“I mean,” said he, “supposing we have no fixed abode, but go from -place to place as it suits us?” - -What boy would not have jumped at the suggestion? I was in ecstasies. - -“You see,” said Uncle Jenico, “moving about, I get ideas; and in ideas -lies our future prosperity. Let’s look at the map.” - -It was a lovely proposal. To enter, in actual being, the mysterious -regions of pictures-on-the-wall; to breathe the real atmosphere, so -long felt in romance, of tinted lithographs and coloured prints; to -find roads and commons and phantom distances, wistful, unattainable -dreams hitherto, made suddenly accessible to me--it was thrilling, it -was rapturous. My uncle humoured the thought so completely as to leave -to me the fanciful choice of our first resting-place. - -“Only don’t let it be too far,” he said. “Just at present we must go -moderate, and until I can realise on the sale of a little patent, -which I am on the point of parting with for an inadequate though -considerable sum.” - -I spent a delightful hour in poring over the county map. It was -patched with verdant places--big farms and gentlemen’s estates--and -reminded me somehow of those French green-frilled sugarplums which -crunch liqueur and are shaped like little vegetables. One could feel -the cosy shelter of the woods, marked in groves of things that looked -like tiny cabbages, and gaze down in imagination from the hills -meandering like furry caterpillars with a miniature windmill here and -there to turn them from their course. The yellow roads were rich in -suggestion of tootling coaches, and milestones, and inns revealing -themselves round corners, with troughs in front and sign-boards, and -perhaps a great elm shadowed with caves of leafiness at unattainable -heights. But the red spit of railway which came up from the bottom of -the picture as far as Colchester, and was thence extended, in a dotted -line only, to Ipswich, gave me a thrill of memory half sad and half -beautiful. For it was by that wonderful crimson track that my father -and I had travelled our last road together as far as the old Essex -town, where, since it ended there for the time being, we had taken -coach for Suffolk. - -“Made up your mind?” asked Uncle Jenico, by-and-by, with a chuckle. - -I flushed and wriggled, and came out with it. - -“Can’t we--mayn’t we go to the sea? I’ve never been there yet; and -we’re so close; and papa promised.” - -“The sea?” he echoed. “Why, to be sure. I’ve long had an idea that -seaweed might be used for water-proofing. It’s an inspiration, -Richard. We’ll beat Mr. Macintosh on his own ground. But whereabouts -to the sea, now?” - -I could not suggest a direction, however; so he borrowed for me a -local guide-book, which dealt with places of interest round the coast, -and left me to study it while he went out for a walk to get ideas. - -I had no great education; but I could read glibly enough for my eight -years. When Uncle Jenico returned in an hour or two, our choice, so -far as I was concerned, was made. I brought the book, and, laying it -before him, pointed to a certain description. - -“Dunberry,” he read, skipping, so as to take the gist of it--“the -Sitomagus of the Roman occupation, and later the Dunmoc of East -Anglia. Population, 694. (H’m, h’m!) Disfranchised by the Reform Act -of ’32. (H’m!) Formerly a place of importance, owning a seaport, -fortifications, seven churches and an abbey. In the twelfth century -the sand, silting up, destroyed its harbour and admitted the -encroachments of the sea, from which date its prosperity was gradually -withdrawn. (H’m, h’m!) Since, century by century, made the devouring -sport of the ocean, until, at the present date, but a few crumbling -ruins, toppling towards their final extinction in the waves below, -remain the sole sad relics of an ancient glory which once proudly -dominated the element under which it was doomed later to lie -’whelmed.” - -Uncle Jenico stopped reading, and looked up at me a little puzzled. - -“There’s better to come,” I murmured, blushing. - -He nodded, and went on-- - -“A hill, called the Abbot’s Mitre, as much from its associations, -perhaps, as from its peculiar conformation, overlooks the modern -village, and is crowned on its seaward edge by the remains of the -ancient foundation from which it takes its name. Some business is done -in the catching and curing of sprats and herrings. There is an annual -fair. Morant states that after violent storms, when the shingle-drifts -are overturned, bushels of coins, Roman and other, and many of -considerable value, may be picked up for the seeking.” - -Uncle Jenico’s face came slowly round to stare into mine. His hair -seemed risen; his jaw was a little dropped. - -“Richard!” he whispered, “our fortune is made.” - -“Yes,” I thrilled back, delighted. “That’s why I chose it. I thought -you’d be pleased.” - -He looked out the direction eagerly on the map. It was distant, by -road, some twenty-five miles north-east by north from Ipswich; by sea, -perhaps ten miles further. But the weather was fine, and -water-transport more suited to our finances. So two days later we had -started for Dunberry, in one of the little coasting ketches that ply -between Harwich and Yarmouth carrying farm produce and such chance -passengers as prefer paying cheap for a risk too dear for security. - -It was lovely April weather, and a light wind blowing up the shores -from the south-east bowled us gaily on our way. I never so much as -thought of sickness, and if I had, Uncle Jenico, looking in his large -Panama hat like a benevolent planter, would have shamed me, with his -rubicund serenity, back to confidence again. Our sole property, for -all contingencies, was contained in the despatch-box and a single -carpet bag; and with no more sense of responsibility than these -engendered, we were committing ourselves to a future of ravishing -possibilities. - -Throughout the pleasant journey we hugged the coast, never being more -than a mile or two distant from it, so that its features, wild or -civilized, were always plain to us. It showed ever harsher and more -desolate the farther we ran north, and the tearing and hollowing -effect of waves upon its sandy cliffs more evident. All the way it was -fretted, near and far, with towers--a land of churches. They stood -grey in the gaps of hills; brown and gaunt on solitary headlands. -Sometimes they were dismantled; and once, on a deserted shore, we saw -a belfry and part of a ruined chancel footing the tide itself. It was -backed by a great heaped billow of sand, which--so our skipper told -us--had stood between it and the sea till storms flung it all over and -behind, leaving the walls it had protected exposed to destruction. - -As evening came on I must confess my early jubilation waned somewhat. -The thin, harsh air, the melancholy cry of the birds, the eternal -desolation of the coast, chilled me with a creeping terror of our -remoteness from all that friendly warmth and comfort we had rashly -deserted. Not a light greeted us from the shore but such as shone -ghastly in the lifeless wastes of foam. The last coast town, miles -behind, seemed to have passed us beyond the final bounds of -civilization. So that it was with something like a whimper of joy that -I welcomed the sudden picture of a hill notched oddly far ahead -against the darkening sky. I ran hurriedly to Uncle Jenico. - -“Uncle!” I cried. “Uncle, look! The Abbot’s Mitre!” - -The skipper heard me, and answered. - -“Aye,” said he, “it’s the Mitre, sure enow,” and spat over the -taffrail. - -There was something queer in his tone. He rolled his quid in his -cheek. - -“And like enow, by all they say,” he added, looking at Uncle Jenico, -“to figure agen for godliness.” - -“Eh?” said my uncle; “I beg your pardon?” - -“Granted,” answered the skipper shortly; and that was all. - -There was an uneasy atmosphere of enigma here. But we were abroad -after adventure, when all was said, and had no cause to complain. - -I stood holding my uncle’s hand, while we ran our last knot for home -in the twilight. As we neared the hill its peculiar shape was -gradually lost, and instead, looking up from below, we saw the cap of -a broken tower showing over its swell. Then hill and ruin dropped -behind us, a shadowy bulk, and of a sudden we were come opposite a -sandy cleft cutting up into the cliff, and below on the shingle a -ghostly group of boats and shore-loafers, though still no light or -sign of houses. - -We brought to, the sails flapping, and the skipper sent a long -melancholy boom sounding over the water from a horn. It awoke a stir -on the beach, and presently we saw a boat put off, and come curtseying -towards us. It was soon alongside, revealing three men, of whom the -one who sat steering was a little remarkable. He was immensely tall -and slouching, with a lank bristled jaw, a swarthy skin, and, in -spectral contrast, eye-places of such an odd sick pallor as to give -him the appearance, at least in this gloaming, of wearing huge -spectacles. However, he was the authoritative one of the three, and -welcomed us civilly enough for early visitors to Dunberry, hoping we -should favour the place. - -“None so well as thee, Jole, since thy convarsion,” bellowed the -skipper, as we pushed off. - -There followed a chuckle of laughter from the ketch, and I noticed -even that the two men pulling us creased their cheeks. Their -companion, unmoving, clipped out something like an oath, which he -gruffly and hastily coughed over. - -“The Lord in His wrath visit not the scoffer,” he said aloud, “nor -waft him blindfold this night upon the Weary Sands!” - -In a few minutes we slid up the beach on the comb of a breaker, and -half a dozen arms were stretched to help us out. One seized the -carpet-bag, another--our tall coxswain’s itself--the despatch-box; and -thereby, by that lank arm, hangs this tale. For my uncle, who was -jealous of nothing in the world but his box, in scrambling to resecure -it from its ravisher, slipped on the wet thwarts, and, falling with -his head against a corner of the article itself, rolled out bleeding -and half-stunned upon the sand. - -I was terribly frightened, and for a moment general consternation -reigned. But my uncle was not long in recovering himself, though to -such a dazed condition that a strong arm was needed in addition to his -stick to help him towards the village. We started, a toilful -procession, up the sandy gully (Dunberry Gap its name), I carrying the -precious case, and presently, reaching the top, saw the village going -in a long gentle sweep below us, the scoop of the land covering it -seawards, which was the reason we had seen no lights. - -It had been Uncle Jenico’s intention to look for reasonable lodgings; -but this being from his injury impracticable, we let ourselves be -conducted to the Flask Inn, the most important in the place, where we -were no sooner arrived than he consented to be put to bed, with me in -a little closet giving off his room. It was near dark by the time we -were settled, and feeling forlorn and bewildered I was glad enough, -after a hasty supper, to tuck my troubles between the sheets and -forget everything in sleep. But how little I guessed, as I did so, -that Uncle Jenico had, in falling, taken possession, like William the -Conqueror, of this new land of our adoption. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - THE STORY OF THE EARTHQUAKE. - -Providence, I cannot but believe, had all this time humoured us -along a seeming “Road of Casualty,” which was, in truth, the direct -path to its own wonderful ends. We talk of luck and accident and -coincidence. They are, I am certain, but the veils with which It -blinds us to Its inexorable conclusions. My chance selection of our -destination, my uncle’s mishap--what were these but second and third -acts in the strange drama which had begun in the law courts of -Ipswich, where my father had given his life for a truth, which was to -be here, thirty miles away, proven and consummated. The _dénouement_ -was distant yet, to be sure, for Providence, having all eternity to -plot in, works deliberately. Nevertheless, It never loses sight, I -think, of what we call the Unities of Art. - -I awoke from a dreamless sleep, a restored and avid little giant. It -was bright morning. A clock on the stairs cleared its throat and sang -out six times. The house was still, save for a shuffling of drowsy -maids at their dusting below. I lay quiet, conscious of the most -unfamiliar atmosphere all about me--of whitewashed walls; of a smell -between wood-smoke and seaweed and the faint sourness of beer; of cold -boarded floors gritty with sand; of utter remoteness from the noise of -traffic habitual to a young denizen of towns. This little gap of time -had lifted me clean out of my accustomed conditions, and dumped me in -an outpost of civilization, amongst uncouth allies, friendlies in -name, but as foreign as foes to my experience. - -I got up soon very softly, and washed and dressed and went out. I had -to pass, on my way, through my uncle’s room; and it relieved me to see -him slumbering peacefully on his pillow, though the white bandage -across his forehead gave me a momentary shock. - -I emerged upon a landing, on a wall of which, papered with varnished -marble, hung a smoke-stained print of a hunt, with a case of stuffed -water-birds on a table beneath. No one accosted me as I descended the -little creaking flight of stairs. I passed out by the unlatched -private door of the tavern, and found myself at the sea-end of the -village street. It was a glowing morning. Not a soul appeared abroad, -and I turned to the path by which we had come the night before, -thrilling to possess the sea. - -The ground went gently up by the way of a track that soon lost itself -in the thin grass of the cliffs. Not till I reached the verge did I -pause to reconnoitre, and then at once all was displayed about me. I -drew one deep delighted breath, and turned as my foremost duty to -examine the way I had come. The village, yawning from its chimneys -little early draughts of smoke, ran straight from the sea, perhaps for -a quarter of a mile, under the shelter of a low, long hill on which a -few sheep were folded. Beyond this hill, southwards, and divided from -it by a deepish gorge, whose end I could see like a cut trough in the -cliff edge, bulged another, the Abbot’s, the contour which gave it its -name but roughly distinguishable at these closer quarters. The ruins -we had passed overnight crowned this second slope near its marge; and -inland both hills dropped into pastures, whence the ground rose again -towards a rampart of thick woods which screened all Dunberry from the -world beyond. - -It looked so endearing, such a happy valley of peace, one would -scarcely have credited the picture with a single evil significance; -yet--but I am not going to anticipate. Tingling with pleasure, I faced -round to the sea. - -It was withdrawn a distance away, creaming at the ebb. All beyond was -a sheet of golden lustre fading into the bright mists of dawn. Right -under the rising sun, like a bar beneath a crest, stretched the line -of the Weary Sands, a perilous bank situate some five miles from -shore; and between bank and coast rode a solitary little two-masted -lugger, with shrouds of gossamer and hull of purple velvet, it seemed, -in the soft glow. Even while I looked, this shook out sails like -beetles’ wings, and, drawing away, revealed a tiny boat speeding -shorewards. I bent and peered over. Ten fathoms beneath me the gully -we had climbed in the dark discharged itself, a river of sand, upon -the beach; and tumbled at its mouth, as it might be _débris_, lay a -dozen pot-bellied fishing boats. Right and left the cliffs rose and -dropped in fantastic conformations, until they sank either way into -the horizon. It was a wonderful scene to the little town-bred boy. - -Presently I looked for the rowing-boat again, and saw it close in -shore. In a minute it grated on the shingle, and there heaved himself -out of it the tall fisherman who had escorted us last night. I was -sure of him, and he also, it appeared, of me; for after staring up -some time, shading his eyes with his hand, he turned, as if convinced, -to haul his craft into safety. I watched him awhile, and was then once -more absorbed in the little vessel drawing seawards, when I started to -hear his voice suddenly address me close by. He must have come up the -gully as soft-footed as a cat. - -His eyes were less like a marmoset’s by daylight; but they were still -a strange feature in his gaunt forbidding face. I felt friendly -towards every one; yet somehow this man’s expression chilled me, as he -stood smiling down ingratiatory without another word. - -“Is that your little ship out there?” I asked, for lack of anything -better. - -“Lor’ bless ’ee, no, sir,” he answered, heartily, but in a sort of -breathless way. “What makes ’ee think so?” - -“Weren’t you coming from it?” - -“Me!” He protested, with a panting chuckle. “Jole Rampick own that -_there_ little tender beauty! I’d skipped out _fur_ my morning dip, -sir--_if_ you must know. A wonderful bracing water this--_if_ folks -would only credit it.” - -His unshorn dusky face was not, I could not help thinking, the best -testimony to its cleansing properties. But I kept my wisdom to myself, -and turned to go back to the inn. Mr. Rampick volunteered his company, -and on the way some instructive information. - -“Aye,” he panted huskily; “man and boy _fur_ nigh on fifty year have I -known this here Abbot’s Dunberry, but never--_till_ three months -ago--the healing vartues of its brine.” - -“Who told you of them?” I asked. - -“The Lord,” he answered, showing the under-whites of his eyes a -moment. “The Lord, sir, _through_ his minister the parson--that’s Mr. -Sant. Benighted we were--_and_ ignorant--till the light was vouchsafed -us; and parson he revealed the Bethesda lying _at_ our very doors.” - -“What’s Bethesda?” I had, I am sorry to say, to ask. - -“A blessed watering-place,” he said--“I’m humbly surprised, sir; like -as parson calc’lates _to_ make of this here, if the Almighty will -condescend to convart our former wickedness _to_ our profit.” - -“Were you wicked?” - -“Bad, bad!” He answered, setting his lips, and shaking his head. “A -nest of smugglers _and_ forswearers, till He set His hand on us.” - -“Mr. Rampick! How?” - -“It tuk the form of an ’arthquake,” he said, with a little cough. - -I jumped, and ejaculated: “O! Where?” - -“Yonder, in the Mitre,” he said, waving his hand towards the hidden -bluff. “It’ll be fower months ago, won’t it, _as_ they run their last -contraband to ground _in_ the belly of that there hill. A cave, _it_ -was supposed, sir; but few knew for sarten, and none will ever know -now till the day _when_ the Lord ‘shall judge the secrets of men.’ -There was a way in, _as_ believed, known only to the few; and one -night, _as_ believed, them few entered by it, each man with his brace -o’ runlets--_and they never come out agen_!” - -I gasped and knotted my fingers together. It did not occur to my -innocence to question the source of his knowledge, or conjecture. - -“Why?” I whispered. - -“Why?” he echoed in a sort of asthmatic fury. “Why, sir, because it -was a full cargo, and their iniquity according; and so the Lord He -spoke, _and_ the hill it closed upon ’em. In the dark, when we was all -abed, there come a roaring wind _from_ underground what turned our -hearts to water; and in the morning when we gathered to look, there -was the hill twisted _like_ a dead face out of knowledge, and the -Abbey--two-thirds of what was left--scrattled abroad.” - -I could only stare up at him, breathing quick in face of this -wonderful romance. It had, I knew, been a year strangely prolific in -earth-shocks. - -“Yes, sir,” he said soberly; “_if_ all what’s believed is Gospel true, -there at this moment lays those poor sinners, bedded like flints in -chalk--_and_ the hill fair reeking with Nantes brandy.” - -He groaned hoarsely. - -“Hallerloojer! It was a sign _and_ a warning. The shock of it carried -off th’ old vicar, and in a week or two arter Mr. Sant he come _to_ -take his place. He found us a sober’d people, Hallerloojer! and soil -meet _fur_ the Lord’s planting. You be the fust fruits, sir; and we -favourably hope _as_ when you go away you’ll recommend us.” - -Perhaps I vaguely understood by this something of the nature of our -welcome. Given an isolated fishing village skipped by tourists because -of its remoteness; given the sudden withdrawal from that village of -its natural advantages for an illicit trade; given a clerical -enthusiast, introduced at the right moment, to point out to a -depressed population it’s locality’s potentialities as a -watering-place, and to show the way for them to win an honest -prosperity out of the ruins of evil; given, to top all, a dressing of -local superstition, and the position was clear. Such deduction, no -doubt, was for the adult rather than the child; but though I could not -draw it at the time, it was there to _be_ drawn, I am sure. - -As we talked we had reached the inn, and my companion, touching his -cap, passed on. But he came back before I had time to enter, and -addressed me breathlessly, as if on an after-thought. - -“Begging _your_ pardon, sir--but you makes me laugh, you reely -does--about that there lugger belonging to poor Jole Rampick.” And he -went off chuckling, and looking, with his little head and slouching -shoulders and stilts of legs, like the hind-quarters of a pantomime -elephant. - -I found my uncle sitting up in preparation to breakfast in bed. He was -very genial and happy; but, so it seemed to me, extraordinarily vague. -I told him about my adventure and the story of the earthquake, which -he seemed somehow unable to dissociate from his own accident. - -“I knew it, Richard,” he said; “but it was taking rather a mean -advantage of a lame man, eh? There’s no security against it but -balloons--that I’ve often thought. You see, when the ground itself -gives underneath you, where are you to go? If one could only pump -oxygen into one’s own head, you know. I’ll think about it in the -course of the morning. I don’t fancy I shall get up just at present. -That despatch-box, now--it was a drastic way of impressing its claims -upon me, eh? Well, well!” - -He laughed, rather wildly I thought. - -“Uncle,” I said, “you’ve never told me--how did you get lame?” - -“How did I get lame?” he murmured, pressing the bandage on his -forehead. “Why, to be sure, it was a parachute, Richard--a really -capital thing I invented. But the wires got involved--the merest -accident--and I came to the ground.” - -He was interrupted by two young ladies, daughters of the inn, who came -themselves--out of curiosity, I think--to serve us breakfast. They -were over-dressed, all but for their trodden slippers, with large bows -of hair on their heads, and they giggled a good deal and answered -questions pertly. - -“Well, my dears,” said Uncle Jenico, “how about the earthquake?” - -They stared at him, and then at one another, and burst out laughing. - -“O, there now!” said one; “earthquake yourself, old gentleman! Go -along with you!” And they ran out, and we heard them tittering all -down the stairs. - -Uncle Jenico got clearer after his meal, though he was still -disinclined to move. I sat with him all the morning, while he showed -and explained to me more of the contents of his box; and about midday -a visitor, the Reverend Mr. Sant, was announced. I stood up expectant, -and saw a thin, dark young man, in clerical dress, enter the room at a -stride. He had the colourless face, large-boned nose, and burning eyes -of a zealot, and not an ounce of superfluous flesh anywhere about him. -Much athletic temperance had trimmed him down to frame and muscle, but -had not parched the sources of a very sweet smile, which was the only -emotional weakness he retained. He came up to the bed, took my uncle’s -hand, and introduced himself in a word. - -“Permit me,” he said; “I heard of your accident. I know a trifle of -surgery, and our apothecary visits us but twice in the month. May I -look?” - -He examined the hurt, and, saying he would send a salve for it, -settled down to talk. - -Now, I could not follow the persuasive process; but all I know is that -within a quarter of an hour he had learned all my uncle’s and my -history, and the reason for our coming to Dunberry, and that, having -once mastered the details, he very ingeniously set himself to -appropriating them to the schemes of Providence. - -“It is clear,” he said, “that you, free-lances of Destiny, were -inspired to select this, out of all the world, for your operations. -_We_ looked for visitors to report for us upon the attractions of the -place; _you_ for a quiet and healthful spot in which to develop your -schemes.” - -“Very true,” said Uncle Jenico. “I’ve long had an idea for extracting -gold from sea-water.” - -“You see?” cried Mr. Sant, greatly pleased. “It’s a clear -interposition of Providence. This coast is, I am sure, peculiarly -adapted, from the accessibility of its waters, to gold-seeking.” - -I could not restrain my excitement. - -“Please,” I said, “did-d-d the smugglers hide it there?” - -Mr. Sant glanced at me sharply. - -“Who told you about smugglers?” he demanded. - -“Mr. Rampick,” I whispered, hanging my head. - -“Ah!” he exclaimed, and turned to my uncle. “Old Joel Rampick, was it? -One of the most cherished of my converts, sir; a deeply religious man -at bottom, though circumstances long obscured the light in him. Old -Rampick, now! And talked about smuggling, did he? He’ll have drawn the -moral of it from his own experience, _I_ don’t doubt. Dunberry, -there’s no use concealing, has been a long thorn in the side of the -Revenue, though happily the earthquake has changed all that.” - -“Ah, to be sure!” said my uncle; “the earthquake.” - -“It was without question a Divine visitation,” said Mr. Sant, -resolutely. - -“Do you think so?” said my uncle, his face falling. “My purpose in -coming here was really most harmless, sir.” - -Mr. Sant looked puzzled; then went on, with a dry smack of his lips: - -“I am afraid that my predecessor lacked a little the apostolic -fervour. He was old, and liked his ease, good man. Perhaps long -association with the place had blunted his prejudices. I must not play -the Pharisee to him, however. No doubt so circumstanced I should have -failed no less to sow the seed. Heaven sent me at a fruitful moment: -to Heaven be the credit and the glory! This little boy now--nephew -Dicky? He knows his catechism?” - -“Ah!” said Uncle Jenico, with a cunning look; “does he?” - -“Chit-chit!” protested the clergyman. “I hope not altogether ignorant -of it?” - -He was decently shocked, and won an easy promise from my uncle that I -should come up to him for an hour’s instruction every day. Then he -rose to go. - -“You’ll excuse me,” he said, bending his brows, “but I trust you are -satisfied with your quarters?” - -“Well, yes,” answered my uncle, hesitating; “but--an inn, you see. -It’s a little more than we can--than we ought to--eh?” - -Mr. Sant brightened immediately. We came to know afterwards that he -strongly disapproved of these flashy Miss Flemings, and had once -expressed in public some surprise that they had not been impounded as -skittish animals not under proper control. - -“There’s the widow Puddephatt, ripe and ready for visitors,” he said, -“and perfectly reasonable, I am sure. May I give you her address? It’s -No. 3, the Playstow.” - -My uncle thanked him warmly; and, smitten with a sudden idea, caught -at his coat as he was leaving. - -“O, by the way!” he said, “these coins to be picked up on the beach, -now. There are enough left to make it profitable, I suppose?” - -Mr. Sant stared at him. - -“The coins, Roman and other,” persisted Uncle Jenico, anxiously -scanning the clergyman’s face; “the antiques, which Morant tells us -litter the beach like shells after storms?” - -Mr. Sant shook his head. - -“I have heard nothing of them during _my_ time,” he said; “but I -should hardly think smuggling would have got such a hold here if it -were the Tom Tiddler’s ground your friend supposes it to be.” - -Directly he was gone, Uncle Jenico turned to me, rubbing his hands, -with a most roguish smile puckering his mouth. - -“Richard,” he said, “we are in plenty of time. The obtuseness of the -rustic is a thing astonishing beyond words! Here, with all Pactolus at -his feet, he needs a stranger to come and show him his opportunities. -But, mum, boy, mum! We’ll keep this little matter to ourselves.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - MRS. PUDDEPHATT AND FANCY-MARIA. - -The following day my uncle was near himself again, and we left the -Flask inn and took lodging with the widow Puddephatt. The Playstow was -a little green, about half-way down the village, where the villagers -reared their may-pole on May-day, and built their fires on Midsummer’s -Eve, and caroused in September on the harvest-largesse won from -passers-by. Round about, in a little _square_, were cottages, detached -and exclusive, the _élite_ of Dunberry; and to one side was the -church--but now in process of completion--in whose porch the daring -would seat themselves on St. Mark’s eve to see, at midnight, the -wraiths of the year’s pre-doomed come and knock at the door. Mr. Sant -had, however, limited that custom, as well as some others less -reputable; and the fact that he was able to do so spoke volumes for -his persuasiveness. At the present time the villagers, under his -stimulus, were transferring, stone by stone, to the long unfinished -fabric and its adjoining school-house, the less sacred parts of the -ruined foundation on the hill. - -Mrs. Puddephatt, though Dunberry-born, was a comparative acquisition -to the village, to which she had been summoned, and to her natural -succession in No. 3, the Playstow, through the death of an only sister -without encumbrances. She had, in fact, gone very young, a great many -years ago, into service in London, and had never set foot again in her -native place until this inheritance, now two years old, had called -her. She brought with her an ironic atmosphere of the great world, and -a disdainful tolerance towards the little, in which her lot was now to -vegetate. She had, in her high experience, “’tweenied,” “obliged,” -scullery-maided, kitchen-maided, house-maided, parlour-maided, and -old-maided; and she had somehow emerged from this five-fold chrysalis -of virginity the widow Puddephatt--no one knew by what warrant, other -than that of a sort of waspish charity-girl cap, with a knuckle-bone -frill round her face. But then her knowledge of men was so matrimonial -that it was admitted nothing but a husband could have inspired it. Her -dictums, in respect to this mystic experience, were _merum sal_ to the -wives of Dunberry. - -“Look in the pot for your new gownd,” and “The way to a man’s purse is -through his mouth,” may be bracketed for utterances cryptic to the -“general,” but not to _their_ delighted understandings. - -“A hopen ’and comes empty ’ome.” - -“A man shuts his sweet’art’s mouth with a kiss, but his wife’s heyes.” - -“Be careful of a Saturday morning to mend the ’ole in your man’s -pocket.” - -“When your ’usband talks of his hage, be sure he means yours.” - -Such and the like shrewd axioms served the widow Puddephatt at least -as well as marriage lines; and, if more were needed, her mastery of -the exact science of nagging and of the conquering resource of -hysterics supplied it. Sometimes, it was whispered, she was to be seen -in her front garden viciously dusting a man’s coat with a stick; and -on this moral implication alone, late tavern roysterers, lurching home -after closing-time past the little wicket where she was often to be -seen watching spectral and ironic, had been known to slink by, meanly -conscious of deserting, and surrendering into her gloating hands a -purely imaginary Puddephatt, their late boon companion. - -This tremendous lady undertook the care of us with infinite -condescension, and, hearing that we were Londoners bred, gathered us -at once under the protection of her maternal and metropolitan wing. - -“Lork, Fancy-Maria!” she would say, with an air of amused tolerance -towards the little Suffolk rawbones who “generalled” for her; “we -don’t breathe on the knives and polish ’em in our haprons in -_London_!” Or, “That won’t do, Fancy-Maria! We know better in London -than to dust the ’ot plates with our helbers.” - -With this shibboleth of sarcastic comparison, she had won, not only -Fancy-Maria, but all feminine Dunberry to a perspiring emulation of -her gentility, so that in the course of her two years the social code -had grown quite elevated, and it was no longer fashionable to dine in -one’s shirt-sleeves. - -Fancy-Maria was her adoring, but unable lieutenant. She tried hard, -and breathed _very_ hard; yet her fervour led to frequent disaster. It -was the management of trays that tested her most severely. If she rose -with one from the depths, she invariably struck it against the lintel -of the parlour door, and shot everything from it into the hall. If she -descended with one from the heights, she tripped at the corner where -the stairs turned, and tobogganed down on it the rest of the way, -preceded by an avalanche of cups and dishes. She always did her best -to keep the contents steady with her thumbs; but her thumbs, though -large, were not universal, and were generally occupied in holding -secure the bread and butter, for choice, on one side, and the fried -fish on the other. Some people make a point of leaving a little piece -on each dish “for manners.” We always cut out and left Fancy-Maria’s -thumb-marks for that mysterious retainer of our childhood. - -It was not long before Uncle Jenico questioned Mrs. Puddephatt about -the earthquake. She turned up her nose at the first mention of it, and -tittered the shrillest sarcasm. - -“Lork, sir!” she said, “you’ve never abin took hin by that stuff! -_And_ you a Londoner!” - -“Stuff, is it?” said Uncle Jenico, genially. “And why, now?” - -She cocked her head and folded her arms across her chest, like a -tricksy saint in an old woodcut. - -“I wouldn’t a’ believed it of you,” she said; “no, not if you’d gone -and took me by the ears and battered my ’ed on the table.” - -“But, my good woman,” began my uncle, “Mr. Sant----” - -“Bless ’im for a hinnercent suckling-dove o’cooing among the -sarpints!” she interrupted, with a tight little laugh. - -We looked at her quite bewildered, and Uncle Jenico was evidently at a -loss for an answer. - -“What ’e wants, that ’e believes,” said Mrs. Puddephatt, nodding her -head many times. “But _he_ ain’t a Londoner, and _hi ham_!” - -The advantage, one would have thought, lay with the untainted -clergyman. - -“_Herthquake_, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Puddephatt, with withering -contempt. “And grace took hout of it? No, sir; not more than what -Elijah looked to find in his’n, and was deceived in the Almighty. A -fine show convert we’ve got in our Mr. Rampick, haven’t we? Ho, yes! -Tee-hee! And I ’opes as he makes it pay, sinst the loss of his -liveli’ood by the _herthquake_.” - -The amount of scorn she got each time into the word was simply -blasting. - -“He lost----” began my uncle, surprised. - -“Ah! what would he lose, now?” interrupted the lady, acridly humorous. -“That’s just _hit_, sir. Talked of the wicked smugglers to Master -Bowen here, didn’t he? Well, supposin’ he were hisself the most -howtdacious of the lot? I don’t say he was, you know. I wouldn’t so -commit myself. I merely states as a curious fact that this Rampick, as -was formerly as warm and dangerous a man as the best in the place, is, -sinst the _herthquake_, become a loafer, without any visible means of -substance. Ho, yes! A pretty convert, I _don’t_ think!” - -“You believe him to be at heart a smuggler still?” said my uncle. -“Now, now, Mrs. Puddephatt!” - -“Sir,” she answered, with dignity, “I thank you for the himplication; -but whatever my apperient greenness, I wasn’t born yesterday. We may -have our faults in London, but to be Suffolk paunches isn’t among -them. Once a smuggler, sir, is halways a smuggler.” - -“Indeed?” said Uncle Jenico, much abashed. - -“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Puddephatt; “just as to be born a gipsy is to -laugh at the rates. A ’ottentot, sir, isn’t ashamed of his own -nekkedness, nor a smuggler of his smugness. Reform, hindeed!” - -“Well, well,” said Uncle Jenico. “But what makes you suppose it -_wasn’t_ an earthquake?” - -The landlady laughed sarcastic. - -“In London, sir,” she said, “_herthquakes_--as is p’raps beknownst to -you--sends out sulfurious perfumes, and not the heffluvium of brandy.” - -“Good heavens!” exclaimed my uncle. “But what----?” - -“I reveal nothing, Mr. Paxton,” she interrupted him, “but what my nose -tells me. You may smell it yet, sir, begging your pardon, about the -Mitre.” - -“But----” - -“I’ve ’eard tell, sir, of ile wells, but never of brandy. I may be -wrong; and halso I may be wrong in doubting that gunpowder forms of -itself in the ’oller places of the herth,” and with these enigmatic -words she left us. - -But it must be said that, for all her withering gentility, she made us -an excellent landlady, as we had full opportunity of proving. For--I -may as well out with it at once--we had come to Dunberry to stay. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - MR. SANT. - -I think, perhaps, Uncle Jenico foresaw it no more than I. Without -doubt, at first, he would have laughed to scorn the idea of sinking -all his eager interests in this little Suffolk fishing village, whose -communications with any town of even fifth-rate importance, such as -Yokestone, were by seven miles at least of villainous roads. Our -settlement was gradual; our departure postponed, in the beginning, -week by week, probably like that of the man who went to Venice for a -fortnight and stayed for thirty years. The initiatory step towards our -continued residence was certainly my uncle’s acceptance of Mr. Sant’s -offer to instruct me. That was, as the French say, _le premier pas qui -coûte_. Afterwards, the offer--being extended, with infinite -consideration for our means, to one for my general tuition by the -clergyman--grew to confirm our attachment to the place, until it came -to be tacitly understood that Dunberry was to see me through my -education. - -But there was another reason. Uncle Jenico seemed never _quite_ to -recover from the stun inflicted upon him at his landing. His -affection, his geniality, his inventiveness were no whit impaired; yet -somehow the last, one could have thought, had relapsed from the -practical upon the theoretic. He was a trifle less restless; a trifle -more inert. He appeared to bask in a sort of luminous placidity, and -more and more his concern in his patents diminished. I do not mean by -this to imply that his schemes for our enrichment were all forgotten. -On the contrary, they concentrated to an intensity as pathetic as it -was single in its object. I know at this date that Uncle Jenico was a -lovable failure. I recognize, moreover, as I hardly recognized then, -that a wistful realization of this fact--minus its qualifying -adjective--was beginning to dawn upon him, and that he was inclining -to consider his “lame and impotent conclusions” a right judgment upon -him for his self-seeking. God bless him, I say! He thought to atone -for this, his egotism, dear charitable soul, by devoting all his -remaining energies to the task of making the fortune of the little -trust committed to his care. He wrought, in fact, that he might die -content, leaving me rich; and, in the furtherance of this object, his -schemes were not, as I say, forgotten, but transferred. They were -consolidated, in short, into one, which in the end was to become an -obsession. But of that I will treat in its place. - -As soon as we were settled, I began at once to go to Mr. Sant’s for my -daily lesson, the scope of which imperceptibly enlarged itself from -Catechism to the Classics. The rectory stood inland beyond the -Playstow, in a rather lonely position under the drop of the hill. It -was a dark, mossy old building, shrouded in trees, and a by-road went -past its gates up to the woods beyond, in the depths of whose shadows -lay the Court Manor-house and its bed-ridden old squire. - -Mr. Sant was a bachelor, a tough militant Churchman and Church -reformer. He taught me the uses of my fists as well as of the -Decalogue. No doubt it was this constitution of his which made such -way with the villagers, for Englishmen respect piety the better for -its being knocked into them. I took my share of his excellent -influence, and I trust it helped to make a man of me. You shall hear -by-and-by about the first practical use to which I put it. - -He had the motto from Cicero framed and hung over the mantelpiece in -his study. I will quote it to you, because it speaks the man more -perfectly than I can do. _Quidquid agas, agere pro viribus_! Whatever -you do, to do with your whole strength--that was it. It was a maxim -very apt to one whose own strength, both of will and body, was of -tempered steel. - -One among his many characteristic innovations was “The Feast of -Lanterns,” as he called it. A lecture, to combine instruction with -amusement, would be called for delivery in the church after dark. -Whosoever listed might, on a single condition, attend this. He would -find set up, spectrally discernible in the chancel, which, like the -rest of the building, would be unlighted, a screen of white linen, on -which had been roughly sketched in crayon, by the courageous lecturer -himself, a number of objects--to become, in their turn, -subjects--which might range, say, from a leg of mutton to the dome of -St. Paul’s. The condition of attendance was simply that each comer -should bring his or her own lantern, with the natural consequence that -the greater the company the brighter the illumination. Now, with the -first arrival began hymns, and were so continued until sufficient -lights were congregated to reveal the drawings on the screen, a right -identification of any one of which, by any member of the audience, at -the close of any verse, put a period to the singing and started a -disquisition on the object named. It must be said that the -identification was not always accurate, in which case the singing was -continued. For religious and artistic fervour are not necessarily -associated, and the splendid daring which Mr. Sant put into his work -sometimes obscured its intentions, as when his bellows, designed to -introduce a dissertation on pulmonics, were taken for a ham. But the -vigour and resourcefulness of the lecturer neither allowed an -_impasse_, nor, while he was always quite ready to join in the -laughter over his own artistic shortcomings, permitted criticism to -degenerate into fooling. He did not object to laughter; on the -contrary (I am afraid it will scandalize some people), he credited the -Almighty with an almighty sense of humour, only he insisted upon its -being tempered to the sacredness of the place in which it was evoked. -And, for the rest, he had a fund of bright and ready information at -his constant disposal. - -Such is an example of his methods, and, if any pious reactionaries -object, I can only say that in the result it was educational; that it -won tavern-loafers to at least one wholesome evening in the week; -that, in short, it attained such popularity, that any dissipated -seceder attempting to sneak out of the church, and thereby obscure the -light by so much as the loss of a taper, would be roughly grabbed back -by his fellows, and forced, willy-nilly, to hear the lecture out. - -Mr. Sant, to sum him up, was a zealot without being a bigot, and a -devoted servant to his Master without prejudice to human nature. He -was also a capable boxer. I came to love as much as to respect him. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - TREASURE-HUNTING. - -For a fortnight succeeding our arrival the weather remained calm and -bright, so that Uncle Jenico and I were able to explore the locality -with great comfort and satisfaction. The coast, which we followed up -both north and south for miles, was extremely desolate and unvisited, -though bearing at intervals all along it the traces of former -settlements. It would seem to have been quite thickly populated once, -during a period which dated probably from the incursions, first, of -the Roman legions, and, after, of those salt sea-wolves who preferred -squatting round the fringes of their conquered island--with the open -door of the sea beside them, and its smell in their briny nostrils--to -penetrating into the traps of the close-shut valleys. Later, -Christianity had come to fret these windy, foam-whipped settlements -with pinnacles, and monastic walls, and stone fanes with jewelled -windows and airy bell-towers, so that church might peal to church all -down this long front line of the position it had won. But corruption -creeping in with prosperity, and lawlessness with the tides, God had -withdrawn His countenance from the temples that abused His service, -and had permitted the ocean to break in their defences and one by one -devour them. The priest who had evaded his vows had ages ago tucked up -his cassock and fled; the parson who succeeded him, and to the -reversion of his benefices, could not so hoodwink Heaven by taking his -tithes of smuggled tobacco and brandy, as to stay for one season the -hunger of the gluttonous waters. Year by year, century by century, the -storms had fed on these devoted sand-built coasts, and were still -feeding when we came to know them. Towns and once-flourishing colonies -had disappeared as utterly as if they had never existed. Not only -they, but the very soil on which they had been planted, paved the -floor of the ocean for miles out. There were legends of foundered -bells rung by unseen mermen at incredible distances from shore. There -were stories of treasure chests and sculptured marbles revealed to -storm-belated fishermen in the deep troughs of monstrous, -bottom-scouring waves. So far away as the Weary Sands themselves, it -was said, traces of the ancient Dunberry could be spelt out, in calm -seasons, by those who gazed intently enough and long enough into the -green, deep waters. It was a fable, probably, in a land of fables; yet -it served to emphasize the wreck of time, and will show upon what a -haunted border-land of ghosts we had come to make our home. The modern -village itself was old. How ancient, then, those grey ruins on the -cliff, which had survived to see the last of the glory, of which they -had once been a part, claimed by the deep, and their own hoary -traditions engulfed into the pettier traditions of a little clan! - -These same ruins consisted of the great tower of the abbey, with a -mass of tumbled and complicated masonry at its foot; of the line of -the nave, picked out in an avenue of shattered arches which ran -seawards until stopped by the upward and outward sweep of the cliff; -and, finally, of a maze of huge fragments, mostly on the inland side, -which marked the sites of monastic buildings, lazar house, boundary -walls, and so forth. Elsewhere were traces of aisles, cloisters and -supernumerary offices uncountable, the whole buttressed with ivy. But -the most significant ruin of all, to my thinking, was one which stood -under the cliff, and for three-fourths of its depth apart from it. -This was no other than the abbey well, which generations of storms had -gnawed out of its deep bed in the ground without being able to crunch -and devour the sturdy relic itself. There it stood, a Titan of the -vanished race, sprouting stubborn from the littered sand below, -cemented, as it seemed, by the very drift which was yearly flung upon -it to destroy. Exposed and isolated, choked with parching rubbish as -it was, how thrilling was the thought of the monks who had once drunk -from it; of the waters it had drained from the hill; of the hill -itself with its one-time springs lying under the salt sea! It was the -very gaunt dead monument to the desolation of this land, and as such, -it seemed, would endure when all else was vanished. The storms which -took the rest stone by stone, could do no more than stone by stone -reveal this; the earthquake, which at a blow had rent the massive -tower and tumbled half the remaining walls, had left this unshaken. It -was a wonderful and impressive relic. - -The first time I had entered among the ruins was by myself. I climbed -the slope early on the morning before breakfast, and stood in the -midst of them, thrilled and awestricken. A little grassy valley -divided me from the hill which concealed the village, of which not so -much as a roof was visible from where I stood. I seemed entirely cut -off and alone, a pigmy in the stupendous shadows of these “ruined -choirs.” The ground swept in a steepish curve to the cliff edge, and -again, inland, in one slightly shallower. These were the “Old and New -Testaments” of the Mitre; and in the “Valley of Knowledge” that lay -between, was built the abbey, its monastery, chapter-house, refectory -and other buildings taking and topping the western slope, which, on -its further side, went shelving down to the _Cemeterium Fratrum_, and -the confines of the old grounds. - -I poked about among the shattered stones with a feeling between fear -and curiosity. I could tell by the fresh edges of the rents, and the -way in which little avalanches of mortar were constantly falling with -a whispering sound, that much of the devastation was recent. The tower -had been breached by the earthquake all down its seaward front, -opening a monstrous gap from which a cataract of stones had thundered, -and piled themselves in foam, as it were, at the foot. In one place, -near the cliff slope, a mighty plinth had been heaved on to its side, -and I saw the mould on the under surface of it yet grooved with the -tracks of slugs and beetles. It had sunk, with the mass of masonry -cemented to it, two-thirds of its breadth into the earth, and all -about the ground was strangely wryed, and distorted, and cracked, and -bubbled up into mounds, as if here the underheaval had made itself -peculiarly felt. I was gazing on it half-fascinated, when, happening -to raise my eyes, I started to see other regarding me fixedly from a -face which seemed to have sprouted from the earth. - -I gave a little cry and uttered Mr. Rampick’s name. At the word, the -man himself rose to his height, from the position in which it appeared -he had been crouching, and ascended the last steps of a cliff pathway, -of the existence of which I had not known. He came up to me, rubbing -the back of his bony hand across his mouth. - -“Come to see _fur_ yourself, sir?” he said, in his breathless, fawning -way. - -“Yes,” I answered. “It was here, wasn’t it?” - -He stamped with his great foot. - -“Here, or hereabouts,” he said, “they lays under--_as_ supposed--each -with his brace o’ runlets.” - -It was a fearful but thrilling thought. - -“Why don’t they dig for them?” I whispered. - -He gazed at me a moment, breathing hard. His eyes seemed blacker, the -rims round them more livid than I had yet noticed. - -“What!” he cried, so hoarsely that his voice cracked. “Displace these -here sacred ruins _fur_ the likes of they! The Lord, sir--begging -_your_ pardon--set His own trap for them _in_ His own way; and it -been’t fur us to rise His dead. _May_ I make so bold to axe _if_ your -uncle knows you’re out?” - -I felt the insolence of the question, but was too young to resent it. - -“No!” I exclaimed, surprised. - -“Ah!” he said. “I lay he won’t be best pleased, sir, _with_ humility. -This here hill, sir, _if_ all what’s said is Gospel true--is risky -ground to walk fur them as knows it not, nor its toppling stones, sir, -_nor_ its hidden abscesses. I’d go home, sir, _if_ I was you, with -favour, sir.” - -I was offended, but a little frightened also. Blushing scarlet, I -turned away, without a word, and ran down the slope homewards. - -I told Uncle Jenico of my adventure and encounter. To my further -surprise he commended Mr. Rampick’s warning. - -“What should I do, if anything happened to you, Richard, when I was -not by?” he pleaded. - -There was a note of emotion in his voice which touched me, and I -promised I would never seek the Mitre again out of his company. I -meant it when I said it; but, alas! the venturesomeness of youth led -me later on, I am ashamed to confess, to disregard my promise. - -That was not till long after, however; and in the meanwhile the -weather remaining fine, as I have said, we had plenty of opportunity -for exploring the district. Not a day was allowed to pass, moreover, -without our investigating at least once in the twelve hours, a section -of the coast. Uncle Jenico would prod all the way, with his thick -stick, into the moraine of shingle which ran along the shore above the -high tide mark. At these times he would be very absent-minded, -answering my questions at random, and I knew that he had Morant and -his golden bushels in his thoughts. He never found anything, however, -and each evening would look up at the sky and predict stormy weather -with a sham deprecation of the inconvenience it would be to us. - -But at last the weather really did break, and dark evening settled in, -with a high wind and rising sea. It blew a gale all night and -throughout the following day, and Uncle Jenico bemoaned our detention -in the house with a gratified face. - -It was not until the second morning that it had cleared sufficiently -to enable us to go out, which we did immediately after breakfast. The -sun was blinking waterily, and the surf pounding yellow as we came -down to the beach; but the wind had fallen and the rain ceased, which -was enough for us. - -Uncle Jenico, with his blue coat fastened tightly across his chest, -was looking extraordinarily swollen, I thought, until the reason was -explained to me. We had not gone far, when--first glancing all about -him with an air of twinkling mystery--he cautiously unbuttoned, and -revealed, neatly folded upon his chest, a little bushel sack such as -they use for potatoes. - -“Hush!” he whispered, though not a soul was in sight; “the difficulty -will be to avoid observation when we bring it back full. I dare say -they’re honest here, Richard; but it’s a wrong business principle to -presume upon a sentiment. We must dine and sup out--I’ve brought some -sandwiches with me, and Mr. Sant will excuse you for once--and return -with our booty after dark.” - -“Do you expect to fill _that_, Uncle?” I said, aghast for all my -infancy. - -“Well,” he answered, laughing joyously but privately, “I hope not -_quite_, or it would puzzle us to carry it. But, in common wisdom we -must make the best we can of this rare opportunity.” - -He hung the sack over his arm, and we started off. The storm had -certainly overturned the shingle, and scattered much of it abroad in a -tangle of seaweed and dead dog-fish. For hours we hunted on, groping -sedulously among the litter; and at last, late in the afternoon, we -found a penny. At least, _I_ was convinced it was one, being -intimately acquainted, like most boys, with the coin. But Uncle Jenico -would not hear of it. He was shaking with excitement as he examined -it. It was so rubbed by the action of the waves as to exhibit nothing -but a near-obliterated bust, which I was sure was that of our late -lamented King. My uncle, however, pointed out to me distinct traces, -though I could not see them, of a Latin inscription, and was jubilant -over the find. It did not make much impression on the sack, it is -true; but he was careful to point out to me that the value of a -nugget, such as it would take two men to carry, might all be contained -in a diamond which one could slip into one’s waistcoat pocket. It was -not so much quantity we needed, he said, as quality; and he was quite -satisfied, entirely so, with the result of our day’s exploration. - -I was glad of this, at least, being dog-tired long before the -sun-setting, as it justified us in going home to supper. But my faith -in Morant, I am afraid, was already sadly shaken. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - HARRY HARRIER. - -It was that obnoxious penny, I believe, which was responsible for my -uncle’s continued pursuit of his new Lobby, until the hobby itself -became an obsession. If we had come home that first day empty-handed, -I have little doubt but that his baulked imagination would have found -itself some other and more practical outlet. As it was, the discovery -was held by him to justify every proverb which values itself upon -small beginnings. He was so little cast down by its meagreness, that -there was no limit to the golden dreams of which he made it the basis. -Most crazes, I fancy, are so built upon a pennyworth of fact. - -He did not take out the sack again, but replaced it by a sponge-bag, -and the bag, later, by a stout leathern purse. Finally, he decided -that his trouser-pockets would serve all our needs, with the -additional advantage that our hands would be freer thereby, and the -risk of comment on our proceedings avoided. It may have been, for it -had certainly little to feed upon. During those early weeks, beyond -some scraps of old iron, we found nothing. - -At first, it must be said, Uncle Jenico was not so entirely possessed -by his infatuation, but he found time to experiment in other -directions. For days he made our lodgings almost uninhabitable by -boiling and decomposing seaweed, until Mrs. Puddephatt complained that -her reputation was suffering by the incessant “hodour of ’ot putrid -fish” which emanated from her premises. - -The patent, upon which he had expected to realize, turned out, after -all, a disappointment, and had never, it appeared, been regarded as -other than a joke by the man who, he had supposed, had been going to -buy it. He was a little disconsolate at first, but soon brightened up -when he thought of the potential riches lying under the shingle. - -“_We’ll_ laugh at ’em all by-and-by, Richard,” he said. “What a joke -it’ll be when we’ve got our own capital to work upon, and these -ninnies find out the good things they’ve missed. But we won’t be -relentless, my boy, and disinherit the honest labourer because of the -shortsightedness of his employer. Work for the good of mankind, -remember, and you work for your own.” - -Fine weather, at this time, made him thoughtful and restless. It was -only when the wind blew and the waves rose that he cheered up and -became excited like a seagull. Then he would laugh aloud, and button -up his coat and, telling me to follow him when my lesson was over, -limp off to the beach, and there untiringly weave his ropes of sand, -growing more and more absorbed in his task the faster it melted -beneath his hands. The coins were there, he was convinced; and it only -needed patience and luck (and he plumed himself upon his being rather -a spoilt child of the latter) to hit upon the deposits. - -In the meanwhile I was going to my daily lesson, and getting absorbed -in my own way. Mr. Sant was a delectable tutor, inspiring and -invigorating, and by-and-by, unconsciously to me, my hour extended -itself to two, and sometimes more. So months passed, and then a year, -and I was nine. - -One morning I was on my way to the rectory when I made a notable -acquaintance. I had to pass, on my setting out, the new school, which -was now in full activity, and battling its first successful steps in -the moral and intellectual reformation of infant Dunberry. The -children were generally trooping to the bell-call as I started, and I -have no doubt that the sense of superiority my consciousness of -private tuition gave me made itself apparent to some of them in my air -and demeanour. - -A little beyond the Playstow the road to the rectory, and to the Court -on the hill, ran up obliquely through the village side, passing very -soon into privacy and loneliness. I had almost reached the rectory -palings when I saw a boy start out, at sight of me, from the shadow of -them and come swiftly on, as if to accost me while yet short of -shelter. He was about my own age or a little older, and had a round, -freckled face, with dark red hair curled as tight as astrakhan, and a -very fat little pug-nose. He was dressed in a brown velveteen jacket -and strong corduroy breeches and leathern gaiters, and he looked what, -in fact, he was, a miniature gamekeeper. I knew him well enough by -sight, having passed him for the last two or three weeks near the -school-house, and always, I verily believe, with an odd little tremor -of foreboding in my inside. He had proved, on inquiry, to be the only -child of Harrier, the squire’s gamekeeper, from whom, and that only on -his master’s initiative, a scowling consent to his son’s attending the -new school had been wrung by Mr. Sant. But the boy came, though near -as rebellious as his father, and had even, until this morning, arrived -punctual. - -Now he advanced, swaggering and whistling, with his hands in his -breeches’ pockets, and a fine air of abstraction. I tried to dodge -him, but for all that, in spite of his pretended preoccupation, he -brought his shoulder smack against mine with a force that knocked me -sprawling, and, from the mere pain of it, drove the angry tears to my -eyes. - -He wheeled round at once, as I gathered myself up, with a mock apology -so impudent that I longed to hit him, but was deterred by the front he -showed me. He stood square, balancing on his heels, as tight-knit a -young mischief as health and muscle could produce. - -“Mighty!” he said, with a pretence of being scared. “What I done, Lor? -Blest if I ain’t knocked into the dirt the young gen’leman what treats -we for sich!” - -Then my uneasy consciousness understood the nature of this -retaliation. - -“You did it on purpose,” I said sullenly, trying not to whimper as I -dusted myself. - -“_Me_!” he cried, in beautiful astonishment. “Why, howsomever can you -charge it to me, master, walking with your nose in the air?” - -“It’s you that has your nose in the air,” I retaliated malevolently. - -He flushed through his tan, and squared up to me. - -“Say that agen!” he hissed, lifting his lip like a weasel. - -“Once is enough,” I answered. - -He danced about me, making play in the air with his fists. - -“Is it!” he gasped, spasmodic. “O yus, o’ course!--I’ll larn you--you -dursen’t--foonk!--private poople--yah!--take your lickun, then!” - -Something must have stirred in the garden at the moment, for he -suddenly flounced round and off, his mouth drawn down contemptuous, -and his chin stuck out. But I had not done with him by any means. - -Mr. Sant received me that morning, I thought, oddly, and made no -allusion to my battered appearance. Neither did I, at which, perhaps, -he cleared a little. - -The next morning Harry Harrier--for such was the young sportsman’s -name--met me as before. I gave him the path, though with anger in my -heart; and he openly jeered at me as he went by. The following day it -was the same, and for many days after. He would have risked, I -believe, ten times the punishment he deserved, and got, for being -late, rather than baulk himself of this recurrent treat. Presently he -altered his tactics in such a way as to eat his cake and have it, so -to speak. He did not pass me one day at the usual hour, and I confess -I breathed relief, for all my own inefficiency was gall to me. Mr. -Sant’s manner, as was usual now, was chilling almost to repulsion. I -was very unhappy. I had grown to brood on my grievance until it almost -choked me. Dunberry was becoming to me a miserable Siberia, and I -longed to be out of it, and hinted as much to my uncle. But, to my -dejection, he would not understand--could not, perhaps, as pride had -always prevented me from revealing my difficulty to him or to any of -my real friends. Moreover, the picking-up of some trumpery oddments on -the beach had by now established him unshakably in his craze, which -had been further confirmed by the action of certain unscrupulous -Dunberryites in palming off on him some faked-up coins, which I could -have sworn had never been minted out of my own generation. - -The relief I enjoyed on this particular morning was, however, -delusive. The cunning little gamekeeper had got himself credited with -punctuality, only that he might descend upon me on his return journey -as I left the rectory. Nor was this the worst; for he came reinforced -by half a dozen schoolfellows, the dirty little parasites of his -corduroy lordship. I found them awaiting me at a quiet turn of the -road, and, before I knew it, was being hustled and insulted. I pushed -my way through, however, with a lump swelling in my throat, and was -trying to stifle the inclination to run, when a cry from Harrier -brought me to the roundabout with a scarlet face. - -“Cowardy-cowardy-custard! Dursen’t peach to old Crazy, what broke his -leg a-kicking of yer!” - -I rushed back and faced him. - -“He broke his leg falling from a parryshoot. He isn’t crazy. I’m not -such a coward as you!” I blazed out in a breath. I was bristling and -tingling all over. The worm had turned at last. - -Harry Harrier, whistling softly, took his hands from his pockets. - -“Yus?” he said. “Anythink else?” - -“You’re a liar!” I answered, boiling; “you’re a coward and liar!” - -I was down and up again in a moment, and rushing blindly at him with a -cut lip and bloody mouth. He kept quite cool, and met me over and over -again with stunning blows. I didn’t care. I hardly felt them in my -rage; my long pent-up feelings had burst their bonds and I was quite -beside myself. In the midst I was caught in the leash of a sinewy hand -and torn away. For some moments I fought and screamed in my madness; -then suddenly desisted, gasping and trembling all over. Red seemed to -clear from my eyes, and I saw. The parasites were fled; Harry Harrier -stood opposite me, hanging his head and his twitching hands; and in -possession of us both was Mr. Sant. - -A little silence followed; then suddenly the clergyman released me and -stepped aside. - -“You’re a strong boy, Harrier,” he said, quietly. “You’ve had the -advantage of some training, too. This was hardly brave.” - -“He called me a coward, sir,” muttered the boy. - -“You’ve got to prove he was wrong, then.” - -Harrier twitched his shoulders, and gave a defiant upward look. - -“What!” said Mr. Sant. “Do you call it proving it to attack him six to -one?” - -“I takes no count of that raff, sir,” said the boy. “’Twas him and me -fought.” - -“But you used them to provoke him--not content with insulting him -yourself day by day as he came to his lesson. Yes; I know.” - -I looked up amazed, and then down again. Certain tell-tale rustlings -that had reached my ears occasionally from the back of the rectory -palings occurred to me, so that I hung my head with shame. - -“Well, your reverence,” said the boy, rather insolently, “pay me, and -get it over. I takes my capers with my mutton.” - -“I shall pay you, sir,” said Mr. Sant, with, I could have thought, the -ghost of a grin, “as one gentleman pays another. You think, perhaps, -that Master Bowen here has told of your bullying him. He has not -breathed a word about it to anybody. Now that, I think, shows him to -be the better man of the two.” - -The surprise, the gratification were so great, I could have cried out -to him like a silly girl. - -The young gamekeeper grinned, incredulous and sarcastic. - -“You think not?” said Mr. Sant. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to -do--I’m going to back _my_ man to whop you by-and-by.” - -The boy looked up at him, breathless now. - -“You’ve all the advantage at present, you know,” went on the -clergyman. “You’ve got constitution, muscle, and a little of the -science--not so much as you think, but still a little. Now Master -Bowen isn’t your equal in any of these, as I suspect you knew, or you -wouldn’t have attacked him.” - -“I would!” said the boy, furiously. - -“Well,” said Mr. Sant, smiling, “I’ll take your word for it, because I -believe, after all, it’s an honest word. But the point is this. Muscle -and constitution are slow growers, and while my man was training to -improve his, you could be improving yours. Science, on the other hand, -can be taught, and I mean to teach him science until I consider he’s -your equal and better. When that comes about you shall fight again, -and I’ll umpire. Do you agree?” - -“_Don’t_ I!” said the boy. - -“Very well. Only I must have an understanding. You must leave him -unmolested in the mean time.” - -“I’ll do it!” cried the lad. “I’ll do more. I’ll fight any one as -putts a finger on un.” - -“The right spirit, that,” said Mr. Sant, with an approving face. -“We’ll agree to decide it, then--in a month’s time, say? I’d keep it -to myself if I were you. Good morning!” - -The boy pulled his forelock, hesitated, mumbled with a blush and grin, -“You’re a gen’leman, sir,” and casting a saucy, triumphant glance at -me, retreated. Simultaneously, Mr. Sant took me by the shoulder, and, -hurrying me back to the rectory study, procured cold water and a -sponge, and shut himself in with me. - -I felt half stupefied between the blows I had received and the -prospect of others yet to come, in the matter of which, it appeared, I -was to be allowed no choice. But there I was wrong. Mr. Sant, as he -sponged with great consideration my swollen places, took up the tale -at once. - -“Now, Richard,” he said, “this is going to be, I think, the first -great test of your life. You can refuse it if you like, without any -loss of honour. You were bullied by a stronger boy, and you endured -your ill-treatment without telling tales. That was to be a gentleman. -You suffered insult--a little too long, perhaps--and only resented it -when directed against some one whom you very rightly love and respect. -Well, that was again to be a gentleman.” - -I flushed crimson with pleasure, and he mopped hard away, talking all -the time. - -“You heard the engagement I made for you? Well, I tell you, you can -decline quite honourably to stand by it. If you do, don’t think I -shall blame you. On the contrary, I will see that an effective end is -put to this tyranny. You have proved yourself, and that is enough. -Now, if you would like me to state the facts to your uncle, I will do -so at once.” - -“Yes, please,” I stuttered through the sponge. - -“Very well,” he answered, but dryly, I thought. “I could have trained -you, perhaps, to stand up to this young bruiser; but without doubt you -choose the Christian part. I will speak to Mr. Paxton.” - -“Please, sir,” I said, “I don’t think he’d understand why I’ve _got_ -to fight, unless you told him.” - -His hand quite bumped my poor nose with the start he gave. - -“You want it to come off, then, Richard? This is a little shocking, -I’m afraid; but perhaps I can’t altogether blame you. He’s a young -Samson, mind.” - -“You said, sir, that science----” I began, but he plugged my mouth -hastily, and gave me no opportunity to speak more till he had cleaned -my wounds to his satisfaction. Then he put me up between his knees -and, while dabbing my face spasmodically with a towel, recited to me -the fable of the brass and the earthenware pots. - -“The brass pot, you see, was the gentleman,” he said. “He illustrated -the Christian science of self-defence. He didn’t invite an encounter; -but, when it was forced upon him, his art got the better of the -coarser clay.” - -He stretched out my arms and pinched their muscles. - -“Well enough,” he said; “but that little Antaeus owes his to his -mother earth. He could lick you with one hand, Dicky--easy, he could. -Aren’t you afraid?” - -“Yes, I am,” I said, honestly. - -He nodded approvingly. - -“Real courage, Dicky, doesn’t mean not being afraid. We must all be -afraid sometimes, when we are called upon to fight men or animals who -are much stronger and fiercer than we are. But when we know that wrong -or unjust things are being done to us by people who do these things -just _because_ they are stronger, then, if we fight them in spite of -our being afraid, that is the _real_ courage. On the other hand, it -isn’t brave to force people to fight who we know are much weaker than -we are. But when God has given us good health and strong arms, it is -noble to use them to help people who are weaker than we are, and to -punish the bullies who would take advantage of their weakness. That’s -what it is makes a true gentleman--not riches, nor titles, nor having -a tutor instead of a public teacher. The little boy who is just, and -very truthful, and who never does anything that he would be ashamed of -good people knowing, is on the way to be a gentleman, whether he lives -in a palace or a cottage. But if, added to these, he trains all his -faculties to oblige other people to repay him the truth and justice -and honour which he gives them, then he is a complete gentleman -already.” - -He broke off to feel me all up and down. - -“There’s good material here,” he said; “very good. We’ll use it to -counterbalance brute strength. That’s the fine moral of boxing, little -man--to see that the weak don’t go to the wall. Now, shall I confess a -secret? I love Harry Harrier pretty equal with you, sir. He’s got the -makings of a gentleman--my sort--in him; only no amount of persuasion -from me will educate him like a scientific licking from one less than -his own size. You don’t see that, perhaps; but, all the same, I look -to you to knock him into my fold for me. You are the Church’s -champion, Richard, and you shall gain me a new convert, or I’ll never -put faith in the gloves again. Now come along with me home.” - -Uncle Jenico received us with surprise, and some consternation over my -appearance; nor did the recital of the affray much reassure him. Still -more was he confounded by the rector’s frank avowal of his object in -approaching him. - -“He is a mere child, sir,” said my uncle. - -“‘The childhood shows the man,’” quoted the other. - -“To be sure. But, as he isn’t going to be a prize-fighter----” - -“Every true Christian, sir, is a prize-fighter. He champions the right -in order to win heaven.” - -“Well, where was the right here?” - -“I regret to have to confess, sir, in an insulting expression about -you, which he very properly resented.” - -“_Me_!” cried my uncle, amazed. Then suddenly he stumped across to -where I stood, and patted my shoulder rather tremulously. “Well, -well,” he said; “no doubt I’m a funny old fellow. So you stood up for -old Uncle Jenico, Dicky?” - -His voice shook a little. I wriggled and flushed up crimson. - -“It was a lie!” I cried, choking; “and I’m going to fight him and lick -him for it.” - -Mr. Sant struck in. - -“Broughton rules, sir, I pledge my word.” - -“Eh?” said my uncle. “Who’s Broughton, and what does he rule?” - -“I mean,” said Mr. Sant, “this little affair shall be conducted -strictly according to the regulations of Broughton, the famous boxer.” - -“O!” exclaimed Uncle Jenico, palpably misled by the last word, and -proportionately relieved. “O, to be sure! ‘Mufflers,’ you call ’em, I -think?” - -“Yes, yes!” said Mr. Sant, hastily. “A contest of science, sir; no -vulgar hammering;” and he repeated, with warm conviction, his little -dissertation on the true moral courage. - -“If Richard, sir, don’t assert himself at the outset,” he ended with, -“I won’t answer for his life here remaining endurable.” - -Perhaps this prospect of our moral banishment clinched the matter with -Uncle Jenico, whose attachment to the place was becoming quite morbid. -He stipulated only that the umpire should stop the fight the moment it -might appear I was getting the worst of it. More or less satisfied on -this point, he rubbed his hands, and rallied me on being the young -gamecock I was. - -“I’ve given some thought, myself, to a new boxing-glove,” he -confessed; “one with a little gong inside to record the hits, you -know.” - -Mr. Sant lost no time in taking me in hand. He fashioned me a little -pair of gloves out of some old ones of his own, and gave me half an -hour’s exercise with them every day after lessons. I am not going to -record the process. The result was the important thing. - -During all this interval, with the single exception of the morning -following that of my encounter with Harry Harrier, I was left in peace -by the village boys. On that morning, however, I again found myself in -the midst of a little mob of them, who, emboldened by yesterday’s -sport, were come to waylay me after school hours. I was not yet so -proficient as to regard the situation with equanimity; when, behold! -my enemy resolved it for me. He appeared suddenly in the midst, his -knees and elbows in a lively state of agitation. One or two fell away, -protesting, their hands caressing their injured parts. - -“Where be a coomen, ’ar-ree!” expostulated one boy, holding his palm -to his ear. - -“Mighty!” exclaimed the young ruffler; “bain’t the road free to none -but yourself, Jarge? Here be a yoong gen’lman waiting to pass, now.” - -They took it as aimed at me, and hedged in again. He clawed two by the -napes of their necks, and cracking their heads comfortably together, -flung both aside. His intentions were quite unmistakable, and his -strength a thing to regard. I was painfully conscious of it as I went -through the sullen lane the others, discomfited, made for me; but I -plucked up courage, as I passed, to express my gratitude. - -“Thank you, Harry!” I said. - -He was after me in a moment. - -“It’s not a’going to make no differ’,” he whispered fiercely. “You -onderstand that?” - -“It shan’t, anyhow, till after the fight,” I answered back in his ear, -and nodded and ran on. - -At last the great day came. Mr. Sant, in order that my uncle might be -saved anxiety, and me the necessity of deception, had given me no -warning until the very moment was on me. He had manœuvred to hold me -a little longer than usual over my lessons; and suddenly returned to -me after a short absence from the room. - -“Dick,” he said, “Harrier’s waiting for you in the garden.” - -My heart gave a twist, and for a moment pulled the blood out of my -cheeks. Then I saw Mr. Sant looking at me, and was suddenly glowing -all over, as if after a cold douche. - -“For the right, Dicky!” he said. “To win your spurs in Christendom! -Remember what I’ve taught you, and keep your head.” - -It was all very well to say so, with that part of me like a bladder -full of hot air. But I followed him stoutly, trusting to the occasion -to inspire me with all the science which, for the moment, had clean -deserted me. - -There was a little plat of lawn at the back, very snug and private -behind some trees; and here we found my adversary waiting, in charge -of Jacob, the gardener, a grizzled, comfortable old fellow in complete -Christian subjection to his master. Jacob was to second Harry, and Mr. -Sant me. The old fellow grinned and ducked as we appeared. There were -no other witnesses. - -“Now,” said Mr. Sant, “when I say ‘Go!’ go; when I call ‘Time!’ stop.” - -He fell back with the words, and we stood facing one another. I was -utterly bemused, at that instant, as to the processes by which I had -reached this situation. I could only grasp the one fact that I was put -up to batter, if I could (which seemed ridiculous), this confident, -taut little figure in the shirt and corduroy smalls and gaiters, who -held out, as if for my inspection, two bare brown arms, made all of -bone and whipcord; and that I must proceed to _try_ to do this, -without any present quarrel--but rather the reverse--to stimulate me. -It was so different to the circumstances of that other mad contest. I -could have laughed; I---- - -“Go!” said Mr. Sant. - -Something cracked on my forehead, and I fell. - -“Time!” cried Mr. Sant. - -He pulled me to my feet. - -“Get your wits, Dicky,” he said. - -I had got them. The bladder seemed to have burst, and let out all the -hot air. I was quite cool, now, and pretty savage over this treatment. - -“All right, sir,” I said; and I think he understood. He kept me -simmering, however, for the regulation three minutes. - -I came up to time now, Broughton’s commendable pupil. The first round -had been, what we call in cricket, a trial ball. This that followed -was the game--muscle and a little science against science and a little -muscle. The brass pot, I am happy to say, prevailed, and sent the -earthenware spinning with a crack on its stubborn little nose. Jacob -mopped the vanquished, who could hardly be kept still to endure it. As -for me, I was cockahoop, crowing inside and out. My second laughed, -and let me go on, warning me only that the battle wasn’t won. - -It was not, indeed. Our bloods were up, and the next round was a hot -test of our qualities. It was give and take, and take and give; until, -lunging under a loose defence, Harry hit me in the wind, and, while I -was gasping and staggering, levelled me to the ground with a blow on -my mouth. He was mad by now, and was rushing to pummel me, prostrate -as I was, when Jacob, with a howl, clutched him and bore him -struggling away. - -“Law, ye little warmint!” cried the old man. - -“No more of that, Harrier!” said Mr. Sant, from where he was kneeling, -nursing and reviving me; “or I take my man away. To hit one that’s -down, sir! That’s neither Christian nor professional.” - -Then he whispered in my ear, “Three minutes, Dicky! Can you do it? -else I’m bound in honour to throw up the sponge.” - -There was an agitation in his voice which he tried vainly to control. -I made a desperate effort, and rose as he began to count. I felt a -little sick and wild; but the lesson of over-confidence had gone home. -This time I played warily, tiring out my adversary. At last the moment -came. He struck out furiously, missed, and, as he recovered his guard, -I hit him with all my strength between the eyes. He staggered, gave a -little cry, and, quite blinded for the moment, began to grope -aimlessly with his fists. - -“Noo, sir!” howled old Jacob, excited (I am afraid he was an -unsympathetic second); “noo, sir’s your time. Walk in and finish en!” - -“I won’t,” I cried. “It isn’t fair. He can’t see.” - -Trying to mark me by my voice, the boy let out a furious blow, and, as -his fist whizzed near me, I caught and clutched it in my own. - -“Harry!” I said hurriedly, “let’s be friends!” - -He tore his hand away, stood with his face quivering a moment, then -all of a sudden fell upon his knees, and, putting his arm across his -eyes, began to sob as if his heart were broken. - -A silence and embarrassment fell upon us all. Then Mr. Sant walked -over to the boy and addressed some words to him. He turned a deaf ear, -repulsing him. - -“You have fought like a man,” said the clergyman. “Come, take your -beating like one.” - -The lad started and looked up. He could see again now, but -glimmeringly. - -“Be the three minnuts past?” he said. - -“I’m afraid so,” said the other. - -The boy got to his feet, sniffing, and, without uttering a word, began -rolling down and buttoning his shirt sleeves. - -“There’s a good hot dinner waiting for you inside,” said Mr. Sant. -“Come now, and do the man’s part by it and by us!” - -Still he would not speak; but shook his head sullenly, and, fetching -his coat and cap, walked off. - -“Humoursome, humoursome!” said old Jacob. “Let en go for a warmint.” - -“No,” said Mr. Sant, rather wistfully. “He’s got the stuff in him. -We’ll have him on our side yet, Richard.” - - - - - CHAPTER X. - FRIENDS AT LAST. - -When I had been washed, and my cuts and bruises salved, Mr. Sant -took me in to dinner, having already sent a message to my uncle that I -should be late. I was horribly stiff, with blubber lips, and knobs and -swellings everywhere; yet I would not for the world have missed one -pang which my jaws suffered in eating. For was not each twinge an -earnest to me that I was redeemed in my own eyes? The penance was as -gratifying as, I think, a Catholic’s must be after confession and -absolution given. - -Before we were well finished Uncle Jenico came in, a little flurried -and apologetic over his intrusion. He had guessed pretty well the -reason of my detention, and his anxiety would not let him rest. His -hands trembled as he adjusted his spectacles to look at me, and -removed and wiped them, and put them on again for a second scrutiny. - -“So you have conquered?” he said, “My poor boy; my poor, dear boy! Why -I had no idea boxing punished so. You should not have minded what they -said about me, Richard--a tough old rascal, and ready to take it all -in the day’s luck.” - -“I don’t think Richard will agree with you, sir,” said Mr. Sant. “He -has won his spurs, and a convert, I hope. He has fought like a -gentleman and a Christian--by George, sir, it was poor Broughton and -the Norwich butcher over again--and you, I am sure, are as proud of -him as I am.” - -“Eh?” said my uncle, half laughing and half crying; and then falling -suddenly grave. “If it’s to inculcate respect--the stitch in time, you -know--certainly. But I can’t help wondering, if this is the victor, -what is the state of the vanquished?” - -“A state of grace, I hope,” said the clergyman, smiling. “But it’s a -very proper reflection, sir, and one which, I am sure, Richard will -take to heart.” - -The reminder, nevertheless, was not out of place. It is well at the -feast of triumph to remember who pays the cost. I had been -self-glorifying a little overmuch; and here, of a sudden, was the -picture before me of my beaten enemy slinking away to hide his -battered face, at the very moment that I was crowing to everybody to -come and look at mine. Uncle Jenico was the true gentleman among us -all; and it was he who had been insulted. - -I soon mended of my knocks, and the very next day was ruffling it to -my lessons with a new self-confidence that made nothing of possessing -the world. Dunberry was no longer a Siberia to me, but a conquered -country full of breezy possibilities. I should have welcomed the -prospect of an attack; but no one interfered with me. On the contrary, -awed and covert glances greeted me on my way past the school. I -dropped a book. An obsequious little courtier scurried to pick it up -for me. The news of the fight had got abroad, it was evident, and -Harry was no longer the cock of the walk. From this moment, with other -than the youth of Dunberry, I am afraid, my position was secured. - -I hope I took no base advantage of the knowledge; yet I won’t say but -I might have if Mr. Sant had not been at my back to prevent it. - -“Don’t forget you fought for a principle,” he would remind me. “It’s -no manner of Christian use to turn out a bully that you may usurp his -place.” - -To prove to me that boxing was not the whole duty of a gentleman, and -to school me from presuming on any idea of indulgence because of my -victory, he rather put the screw on in my education, and for a time -was something of a martinet on questions of study and discipline. I -was hurt, and a little bit rebellious at first; but soon, having a -fair reason of my own, came to recognize his consistency. - -During this time, and for some weeks after the fight, I saw next to -nothing of Harry Harrier. He kept out of my way, sulking and grieving, -though he attended school--with phenomenal punctuality, too, I -believe--regularly. His father, I heard from old Jacob, had been very -savage over his beating, and had dressed him well for it. I was -furious when I was told, and wanted Mr. Sant to complain to the -Squire; but, before he could do so, something happened which made any -complaint futile. A new steward, a Draco of a man, was appointed to -the Court, and one day, shortly after his arrival, lo and behold! -there was the gamekeeper handcuffed, and being carried off to Ipswich -gaol in a tax-cart by the officers of the law. It had been discovered -that for years he had been in collusion with a gang of poachers, and -in the end he had been watched, and caught _in flagranti delicto_. His -wife followed him to the county town, and devoted most of her savings, -poor woman, to his defence, but without avail. He was convicted and -transported, and I may as well say at once that that was the end of -him so far as his family was concerned, for he never turned up again. -While the trial was pending, Harry--it is not, under all the -circumstances, to be wondered at--gave the schoolhouse a wide berth; -but, after his father had been sentenced and their home broken up, to -the surprise of every one he put in an appearance there again, coming -dogged and punctual to a task which must have grown nothing less than -a perpetual ordeal to him. We did not, in truth, know the strength of -will of the desperate humbled little spirit--not any of us, that is to -say, but Mr. Sant. _He_ had gauged it, I am sure; and, having set his -heart on the boy’s reclamation, was watching with an anxious interest -the development of the odd little drama which he had helped to -engineer. He visited, of course, in virtue of his office, the -gamekeeper’s unhappy wife, who had been forced to betake herself to a -mean little tenement in the village, where she eked out the small -means remaining to her by washing for the rectory; and though, as yet, -the son would hardly notice or be civil to him, the mother did not -fail to acquaint him, with many fond tears, of her poor, wild little -fellow’s real love and resolution, and of the courage which was -determining him to train himself to take the place of the breadwinner -they had lost. All of which, I knew, made Mr. Sant the more eager to -have the lad recognize him for a friend; only pride stood in the way. -For, the truth is, poor Harry’s prestige was gone down to zero. Always -owing in some part to the local reputation of his father for a bully -and rowdy, the removal of that gentleman had finished what my victory -had begun. And now it was the case of the sick lion. The cowardly -little jackals who had formerly cringed to him, egged on by their more -cowardly elders taunted him with his disgrace. If he retaliated, they -overwhelmed him with numbers, or ran, squealing injured righteousness, -to appeal against him to their parents. His heart, swelling in his -plucky little breast, must often have had a business of it not to let -loose the tears; but he had an indomitable soul, and only time and -tact could find the way into it. - -One day Mr. Sant and I, when walking together, came unnoticed upon the -rear of such a scene. The victim moved on in front, his head hanging a -little, though he would not force his pace an inch to accommodate his -tormentors, who followed behind, at a safe distance, hooting and -jeering at him. - -“OO stole the pawtridges! When did ’ee last ’ear from the ’ulks! Why -don’t ’ee git your mawther to wash your dirty linen, ’ar-ree?” and -such-like insults they bawled. - -I burned with indignation, and was running to retaliate on my enemy by -helping him as he had once helped me, when Mr. Sant seized me with a -determined hand, and bent to whisper in my ear-- - -“He will hate you, if you do. Leave him to fight his own battles.” - -As he spoke the little wretches let fly a shower of small missiles, -and a stone struck the boy smartly on the neck. He leapt about at -once, and came rushing back with clenched fists and a blazing face. -The mob dispersed before his onset; but he cut off one panic-stricken -unit of it, and smote the lubberly coward with a thorny crash into the -hedge. His eyes looked red, his breast was heaving stormily; he would -have done some evil, I think, had not Mr. Sant run and put himself -between. Then he backed away, without a word; but his cheeks were -quite white now, and the wings of his nostrils going like a little -winded horse’s. - -Consternation held the scattered enemy. They stood each where he had -been halted by the unexpected vision of their rector and me. The -assaulted one, sitting on spikes, stuffed his face into his elbow and -boo-hoo’d from stentorian lungs. Mr. Sant smiled with rather an ugly -look. - -“Blubber away, Derrick,” he said. “You’ve been well served for a dirty -act.” Then he scowled abroad. “Are you English boys, to kick a downed -one! Not one of you, cowards, but if he passed this Harrier alone -would hug his fists in his pockets! It is no shame of his, but yours. -To bait him ten to one--O! what fine courageous fellows! But I’ll have -no more of it; d’ye hear? I’ll have no more of it!” - -He stamped, in a little access of passion, and again turned sharply on -the fallen. - -“Get up!” he said. - -His tone was so peremptory that the boy rose, snuffling and wiping his -eyes with his cuff. - -“It was you threw the stone,” said Mr. Sant. “I saw you. Very well, -then, it’s got to be one of two things: fight, or put your tail -between your legs and run. Quick now! Which is it to be?” - -Derrick did not move, but raised his wail to a pitch so artificially -dismal that I had to laugh. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Sant, still very grim for his part, and snapped -himself round. “He means fight, Harrier.” - -If he did, the battle he contemplated was a Battle of the Spurs. -Clapping his hand to the thorns in him, and too frightened now to -remember to cry, he took to his heels and, turning a corner, was out -of sight in a moment. His answer to the resolution claimed for him was -so ludicrous that even his little abettors were set off chuckling. - -I was looking across at Harry, and saw his face, too, relax and -lighten. Drawn by its expression, I walked up to him, with my hand -held out. - -“Why won’t you, Harry?” I said. - -He stared at me, but made no response. - -“We knew you could look after yourself,” I went on, “and--and I wasn’t -going to interfere; at least--I mean--why won’t you let us stand up -for one another, Harry?” I ended, with a burst and a blush. - -His face, too, was very red again, and I could see his lips were -trembling. Pride and gratitude were fighting within him for mastery; -but the former--still too hot with recent suffering to -surrender--remained the more stubborn of the two. While my hand was -yet held out, he turned his back on me, on us all, and walked off -erect. - -I was bitterly hurt and chagrined. I felt that I had done the handsome -thing by a boor, and had been meetly rebuffed for my condescension. I -came back to Mr. Sant, swelling with indignation. He understood at a -glance. - -“Give him time, Dick,” he said quietly; “give him time.” - -“He shall have all the time he likes, sir,” I said, “before _I_ meddle -with him again.” - -He did not answer, which was perhaps wise; and we continued our walk. -But thenceforth my heart was darkened to my unchivalrous foe, and when -we passed in the street I ignored him. - -My studied indifference had not, however, the effect of making him -avoid me. On the contrary, he seemed rather to resume his earlier -practice, going out of his way to get in mine, and strutting by -whistling to show his unconsciousness of my neighbourhood. Yet all the -time, I knew, he was never more in need of a friend. Mr. Sant’s -protest, followed by a public rebuke in the school, had put an end to -the active bullying; but, to compensate themselves for this -deprivation, his companions had, by tacit agreement, sent poor Harry -to perpetual Coventry. He was disclaimed and excluded from all games -and conversation; isolated in the midst of the others’ merriment. What -this meant to the bright fallen little spirit only Lucifer himself, -perhaps, could say; and only Lucifer himself, perhaps, so endure with -unlowered crest while the iron ate into his soul. But, in justice to -myself, I could make no further overtures where my every advance was -wilfully misunderstood. - -So the year went its course without any reconciliation between us; and -early in November fell a hard frost, with snow that seemed disposed to -stop. Awaking one morning, we saw the whole land locked in white under -a stiff leaden canopy, as if sea and sky had changed places. The -desolation of this remote coast winter-bound it is impossible to -describe. We seemed as cut off from the world as Esquimaux; and Uncle -Jenico, who had never conceived such a situation, stood aghast before -the prospect of a beach ankle-deep in snow. So we found it. The golden -sand was all replaced by dazzling silver, into which the surf, so -spotless in summer, thrust tongues of a bilious yellow. The sea, from -being sportive with weak stomachs, looked sick unto death itself; and -the wind in one’s teeth was like a file sharpening a saw. And all this -lifelessness cemented itself day by day, until it seemed that we could -never emerge again from the depths of winter into which we had fallen. - -One afternoon I was loitering very dismal, and quite alone as I -thought, near the foot of Dunberry Gap, when a snowball took me full -on the back of the head and knocked my cap off. I was stooping to pick -it up, when another came splosh in my face, blinding, and half -suffocating me. I staggered to my feet, gasping, only to find myself -the butt of a couple of snow forts, between whose fires I had -unconsciously strayed. A row of little heads was sprung up on either -side, and I was being well pounded before I could collect my wits. - -I must premise that at this time my empire was much fallen from its -former greatness. Never having confirmed it by a second achievement, -it had gradually lost the best of its credit, and, though I was still -respected by the unit, there was a psychologic point in the -association of units beyond which my reputation was coming to be held -cheap. I was learning, in fact, the universal truth that to rest on -one’s laurels is to resume them, in case of emergency, in a lamentably -squashed condition. - -Now, with half the breath knocked out of my body and my arm protecting -my face, I tried to struggle out of the line of fire, only to find the -opposing forces basely combining to pelt me into helplessness. I made -some show of retaliating; but what was one against twenty? In the -midst, I looked up the Gap, my one way of retreat, and there, standing -halfway down, watching the fray, was Harry Harrier. I was smarting all -over, with rills of melted snow running down my neck, and still the -bombardment took me without mercy. - -“Harry!” I cried. “Come and help me!” - -The appeal did at a stroke what months of propitiation would have -missed. It put him right with himself once more. Like a young deer he -came leaping down, stooping and gathering ammunition as he approached. -The shower ceased on the instant; the craven enemy retreated pell-mell -to its double lines of shelter. - -“Are you ready, sir?” said Harry, excitedly. “Git your wind and coom -on. We’ll drive en out of one o’ them places, and take cover there -ourselves.” - -He was eagerly gathering and piling the snow as he spoke. In a minute -I was myself again, and burning for reprisals. Each of us well armed, -we charged upon the left-hand position, which seemed the more -accessible of the two, and carried it by storm against a faint show of -resistance. The garrison shot out and fled, encountering a volley from -the opposing force, while we peppered it in the rear. Our victory was -complete. As we sank back, breathed but glowing, I looked Harry -silently in the face and held out my hand for the last time. He took -it in his own, hanging his silly head; but the nip he gave it felt -like a winch’s. - -“That’s all right, then,” said I. “It’s pax between us, ain’t it, you -old fool?” - -He nodded. A long silence fell between us, and I began to whistle. -Suddenly he looked up shyly, but his eyes were quick with curiosity. - -“I say,” he said, “what’s a parryshoot?” - -The problem had evidently haunted him ever since I had told him that -my uncle had fallen from one. - -“Well, what do you think?” says I. - -“I dunno,” he answered carelessly. “Thought, maybe, ’twas one o’ them -things that shoots the malt refuge out of brewhouses.” - -I sniggered with laughter. Fancy Uncle Jenico having been shot out of -a brewery! - -“It’s an umbrella,” I said; “a thing that you jump into the air with -off a cliff, and come down without hurting yourself.” - -“Mighty!” he cried, all excitement. “Is it reelly? Let’s make one--and -try it first on that Derrick,” he added, with commendable foresight. - -My heart crowed at the idea. We discussed it for many minutes. In the -midst we heard a sound of distant jeering, and cautiously raised our -heads above the snow rampart. The whole body of our enemies was in -full retreat, and already nearing the top of the Gap. We were left -alone, sole inseparable masters of the field. It was the happiest omen -of what was to be. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - MISCHIEF OF SORTS. - -I came in all glowing to Mr. Sant, who greeted my good news with a -sigh of such relief that one could have thought a nightmare had rolled -off his chest. - -“We have him,” he said gleefully. “You did very well, Dick; better -than I could have told you. And now--h’m!” - -He fell into a fit of abstraction, the fruits of which did not appear -till the following day. Then, as I was leaving him after lessons, he -detained me a moment. - -“Are you going to meet him?” he asked. - -“Yes, if he will,” I answered. - -“Then,” he said, “tell him that if he likes, and can obtain his -mother’s consent, he can come here with you for the future instead of -going to school.” - -I could only breathe a great round “O!” of rapture. - -“Yes,” said Mr. Sant, between relish and severity; “I cannot have so -promising a spirit warped by a sense of injustice. He has grit--I must -put my foot down--he--yes, tell him I will undertake his education, if -he is willing.” - -I ran off, big with the delight of my mission; and, sure enough, met -Harry loitering near the Playstow by the way I should come, though he -would not let me suppose it was intentional. His freckled face flushed -as he spied me, and he grinned. There was already observable towards -him an attitude of increased respect on the part of some of his -schoolfellows who played near. - -“Mighty!” he exclaimed, as I accosted him, “Who’d ever a-thought o’ -meeting _you_ here!” - -“Harry!” I whispered, too eager to get him away to feel any -embarrassment. “Come with me. I’ve got something to tell you.” - -He came, looking both pleased and curious, but still with a certain -half-defiant swagger. - -“Tell away,” he said; “I’m listening;” and he began to whistle. - -“Mr. Sant,” I said, “wants you to chuck up the old school and come and -be his pupil with me, if you and your mother’s willing.” - -He was fairly hipped. He stopped whistling, and rubbed his round nose -till it shone; then suddenly halted, in a quiet place, and stared at -me. - -“Was it you axed him that?” he said. - -“No, indeed.” - -“Honour bright?” - -“Of course. Why should I lie, you old stoopid?” - -He tried to whistle again, and broke down. I didn’t know the depths of -the little soul, nor what it had endured. - -“I dunno,” he said, hesitating, and with a curious husky sound in his -voice, “as--if it had been--I could a-brought myself to it. Now----” - -He held out his hand quickly, and his eyes were shining. - -“Ef you’ll let me be your friend, master, I’ll swear to be yours--till -death do me part--and so help me God!” - -We shook hands firmly on it. “Only,” I said, “I’m Dick to you, you -know, just as you are Harry to me.” - -“I’ll get used to it in time,” he answered; and so the compact was -made, and I am sure we had none of us reason to regret it. - -He was a pretty untamed colt at first, with a little of the savage -lingering about him. But he was wonderfully sensitive and intelligent, -and soon got, under Mr. Sant’s vigorous and manful tuition, not only -to cultivate the graces of a scholar and the muscles of an athlete, -but to understand those right principles of a gentleman, which are to -temper natural combativeness with consideration for others. In this -respect, no doubt, his misfortunes had helped to shape him; but I am -not going to moralise over the result, which I dare say not one boy in -a thousand, coming from such a stock, would have effected. Harry -seemed to have inherited all the hardihood, with none of the -brutality, of his father; and, for the rest, we became inseparable -chums, who, so combined, were a match for any puling forces the -village could bring against us. - -Mischief? Of course, we were always in it. One of our first escapades -was to make a parachute out of Uncle Jenico’s big sun umbrella, and, -having beguiled Derrick to the cliff edge by the Gap, tie his wrists -to the handle and push him over. We might have killed him; only we -didn’t. He fell into a snow-drift, with no more hurt than to rasp his -nose on the broken ice. But he smashed the umbrella, for which Mr. -Sant made us pay with extra lines. - -We scoured the coast together, and were for ever, forgetting my -embargo, prowling about the Mitre, dislodging bits of the ruin and -imperilling our precious necks. On such occasions Rampick was always -our self-elected policeman, watching us and warning us away. Singly, I -think, we had an awe of this great sinister hulk of a creature, -though, together, we flouted him a good deal, resenting his -interference. But he was a pet of Mr. Sant’s, which made any open -affront from us difficult. - -Harry, by virtue of his training, knew a heap about animals. I am -afraid we snared, in our time, more than one of the Squire’s rabbits, -fixing loops of copper wire in the runs under the hedgerows. The -“kill” went to Mrs. Harrier, whose poverty I used for salve to my -conscience, and whose rather weak fondness accepted the tribute with -some nervous deprecation. But it was not long before our mighty -reverence for Mr. Sant, both as a gentleman and a sportsman, cured us -of this temporary obliquity. A poacher gives no “law” to the game he -kills; a gentleman does; we gave no “law”; _ergo_ we were poachers, -_ergo_ we were not gentlemen. The revelation came upon us one day when -our tutor was illustrating some forgotten parable. “The man of -honour,” said he, “the God’s gentleman, don’t bet on a certainty, or -run his fox with a line tied to his tail, or kill a disarmed enemy, or -shoot his pheasant sitting. He sports for the glory of the battle, the -test between skill and skill.” - -Harry and I looked at one another, and then down. After lessons he -addressed me rather resentfully-- - -“It’s all very well for you, as was brought up to it.” - -“What do you mean?” I answered; “that you ain’t going to take the -hint?” - -“If ever I snare another,” he said, growling, “may I be shot myself -and nailed to a barn door!” - -“Well, then,” I said, “for all my being brought up to it, as you call -it, you’re the better gentleman, because I was still in two minds -about giving it up, it was such fun.” - -“You’ll have to,” he said. He was grown more loyal even than I to Mr. -Sant. - -“O! shall I?” I retorted. “Who’s going to make me?” - -We were both bristling for a moment. Then Harry chuckled. - -“Guess you won’t catch a-many without me to help you, anyhow,” he -said; which was so disgustingly true that I had to laugh in my turn. - -Before this moral reformation occurred, however, we made some -thrilling captures. One day it was a hare, which Harry caught in the -most wonderful way with his hands alone. We were crossing an open -space between two copses, when he suddenly threw down his hat in the -snow, bidding me at the same time to take no notice, but walk on with -him as if unconcerned. There were tufts of gorse and withered bracken -projecting all over the clearing. We advanced briskly a short -distance, then quickly wheeled and came back, making a crooked line -for the hat. As we neared it, Harry, as swift as thought, swerved -aside to a patch of red dead fern and bramble, and, plunging down his -hand, brought up what looked like a mat of leaves and snow. But it was -a hare, which in that unerring swoop he had clutched behind the poll; -and before the startled creature could shriek or struggle, he had -seized its hind legs in his other hand, stretched its body, and -cracked its neck upon his knee. I could not have imagined such -quickness of eye and action. It could only be done, he told me, in -cold weather, when the frost gets in the animals’ brains and makes -them stupid. They are sort of fascinated by the hat thrown down, -watching for it to move; and when the steps return, finding -themselves, as it were, between two fires, they can think of nothing -but to crouch close. I have seen Harry bring out rats from a rick in -the same way. It was just a question of unwincing nerve; but I never -had the courage to try it myself. They say that if one has the -resolution to hold one’s hand unmoved to a snapping dog, the beast’s -teeth will close on it without inflicting an injury. It may be true; -only the first time I put it to the test will be in boxing-gloves. - -A more legitimate poaching of ours--but that was later, in the -spring--was on the preserves of a beautiful unfamiliar sea-bird, which -came nesting upon our coasts, driven there by storms probably. We were -on the Mitre one day, when we saw it fly out from the top of the -Abbot’s well, and swoop down upon the shore, where, no one being by, -it gorged itself on a heap of dead dog-fish. We immediately fell flat -on the cliff edge to watch for its return. The broken top of the well -was perhaps thirty feet below us, but the ground sloping obtusely from -where we lay, prevented us from seeing far into it. Presently the bird -came back and settled on the rim, so that we could mark it plainly. It -was gull-shaped, but unlike any of the species we -knew--white-waistcoated, yellow-beaked, and a tender ash colour on the -wings--a St. Kilda’s petrel, in fact, we came to learn, which had -likely been driven down from the Orkneys. It hopped into the well and -disappeared. - -“Mighty!” said Harry. “It’s got its nest there, I do believe.” - -By-and-by the mother bird showed herself, and the fact was virtually -settled. Then there was nothing for it but to climb the well and see. -Harry accomplished it somehow, when the village was at dinner and the -beach deserted. He got up, claw and toe (the well inclined a little -outwards from the land), and availing himself of every hole and -projection reached the top and sprawled over the edge, so that I could -see nothing but his legs waving in the air. The birds shot out, and -wheeled screaming about him. I heard him utter a cry; and then he -emerged and descended with a very blank face, coming down the last -yard or two with a run. His hands were barked and bloody, and the -right one smeared with an orange slime. - -“There was one egg,” he said, “white and a whopper; but it just broke -to pieces when I clawed it.” - -It was a pity we had not left it alone, for, as it turned out, the -bird was a rarity on our coasts, and, laying as it does only a single -egg, would not likely outstay so cruel a welcome. Which, indeed, -proved to be the case; and the only reward we got for our venture was -the knowledge that the well was choked with sand to near its top, a -discovery which dissipated for ever some long-cherished dreams of ours -as to the ineffable secrets it would reveal if once surmounted and -looked down into. - -During all this time, I am afraid, I neglected Uncle Jenico a good -deal. He was so sweet and kind, he made no complaint, but only -rejoiced that I had found a companion more suited than he to my years. - -“He’s a fine boy, Richard,” he would say; “a fine promising boy. And -if he reconciles you to staying here----” - -“Do _you_ want to leave Dunberry, uncle?” - -Then he would look at me wistfully. - -“I, my dear? No, no; I am content, if you are. We are doing -wonderfully well. It’s a place of really extraordinary possibilities. -Do you know, Richard, I shouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be -our promised land, after all. The extent of coast to be explored makes -it a little tiring sometimes, but that’s a trifle. We can’t expect to -find all Tom Tiddler’s ground in an acre or so, can we?” - -That should have been a jog to my conscience; but youth, I fear, is -selfish. A dull day’s hunt with Uncle Jenico through the shingle had -come to show very blank by contrast with the exciting adventures -contrived by Harry and me. So I kept my deaf side to the calls of -duty, and Uncle Jenico pursued his hobby alone. - -During the continuance of the frost he had, however, to divert his -imagination into other channels, as the beach was impracticable; and -really, I think, the distraction did him no harm. Being confined much -to the house, he turned his thoughts to an old invention of his for -cleaning chimneys, with which he had competed ages ago for a prize -offered by a syndicate of anti-climbing-boy philanthropists. I am -sure, if simplicity and economy counted for anything, Uncle Jenico -ought easily to have come out first; but it was the usual story of -showiness being preferred to plain utility. The contrivance was -homeliness itself; just a huge compressible ball of wool, attached -through its centre to the middle of a cord of indefinite length; and -the only objection to it--which was, after all, an extremely idle -one--was that it required two operators, one to stand on the roof, and -the other on the hearth below. But, once they were in a position, the -task was a pastime rather than a labour. The top-sawyer, so to speak, -lowered one end of the cord, weighted, down the flue; his companion -seized it, and between them they worked the ball up and down till -every particle of soot was dislodged. Could anything be more obvious? -And yet the committee rejected it! Well, all I can say is that Harry -and I proved its efficacy beyond a doubt; though, of course, Mrs. -Puddephatt, while she benefited by it, was sarcastic about an -invention which had failed to recommend itself to the particularity of -London. - -“It _may_ be all right,” she would say; “and so may the himage of a -piece of fat pork pulled up and down one’s throat with a string, -which, I am told, is hemployed at sea to encourage ’eaving. At the -same time, sir, I may venture to remark, that there are remedies known -to Londoners to be worse than their diseases.” - -Uncle Jenico, in the first instance, secretly inveigled Fancy-Maria -into helping him in his experiment. The parlour fire was extinguished, -and the worthy girl despatched to the roof through a trap-door, where -she performed her share of the task with such inflexible tenacity that -when my uncle tugged at his end of the cord, which she had dutifully -lowered, he pulled her head into the chimney, and would have ended by -drawing her bodily down, I believe, if her gasps and chokings reaching -him below had not warned him in time. Then he slackened his hold, and -commended her excess of loyalty and instructed her further; but in the -end she descended from the roof an absolute negress, and for days -afterwards shed soot from her boots and sneezed it from her hair in -little clouds that flavoured everything. - -Subsequently, Harry and I were taken into his confidence and made his -operators, much to our gratification. Climbing-boys, indeed! It was -become a luxury to be a sweep, thanks to Uncle Jenico; and the world -called him a crank! Every one but himself might profit by his -inventions. Certainly Harry and I did. We polished every flue in Mrs. -Puddephatt’s house as clean as a whistle, and, until we tired of the -sport, whatever other chimneys in the village the housewives would lay -open to us. And it was only when we took to angling with the great -sooty ball over parapets for unsuspecting faces pausing below, that -Mr. Sant, giving ear to furious complaints, stepped in with his -authority, and put an end to the game. - -So, on us, black and joyous and inseparable, I will let down the -act-drop of our little stage, to raise it on a later development of -the drama I set out to record. - - END OF PART I. - - - - - PART II. - - CHAPTER I. - THE BADGER. - -It is with an odd sense of nervousness, and almost of oppression, -that I open upon the second act of my story. In the first, the -schoolboy, with his “shining morning face” and serene -irresponsibility, had it all his own way. Now--an interval of five -years having been supposed, as the play-bills say, to elapse--the -“shining morning face” shows a little sobered, a little greyer in the -dawn of manhood, like a young moon in the dawn of day. We have not -eschewed adventure, Harry and I; only the spirit of it in us is -beginning to be tempered with a sense of moral obligations. We are -indulgent to the flippancies of youth but in so far as they do not -venture to presume upon our patronage. Only when alone together do we -relax our vigilance in the matter of what is due to ourselves and our -extremely incipient moustaches. - -Harry, in short, takes up the tale at sixteen, and I at a few months -younger. The interval had served to shape us, I do believe, after a -manly enough model. We might have been “oppidans”--to put an extreme -case--at Eton, and had our characters stiffened, like cream, by -whipping, and have coursed hares, and drunk small-beer at the -Christopher, and enjoyed all the other social and educational -advantages which, according to the evidence put before the late -Commission, [_Reported in 1864._] are peculiar to this seminary of the -gods, and not found in its Provost such a leader, counsellor and noble -confidant as little remote Dunberry was able to furnish us with in the -person of Mr. Sant. And this I say in no Pharisaic spirit of -self-satisfaction, but simply as a testimony to the qualities of this -prince among tutors, whom we loved and respected with the best reason -in the world. - -Not much had figured to us, perhaps, during these five years except -the shapes of romance with which strong young souls can always people -a desert. We had put on mind and muscle. We could run, swim, fight, -eat anything that was set before us, and want more. Our excursions -were further afield; our walks more extended along the road to -Parnassus. We were very fine fellows, no doubt, in our own opinions; -and our voices were beginning to growl handsomely. - -Harry had, for his part, developed into a shapely, fearless young -figure, with a good manner of speech and a great attachment to my -uncle. He had, moreover, developed a decided bent towards mechanics, -and went now on two days in the week to a technical school in -Yokestone, making the journey to and from on foot, and sleeping each -night with a cousin of his mother’s, who owned a small foundry there, -and who, since the boy’s proof of himself, had taken a practical -interest in his welfare. The periodic partings were without savour to -us, had it not been that to them the periodic reunions supplied the -salt. But no doubt they were helpful in giving us opportunity for a -more individually independent growth; and certainly during them “Coke -upon Littleton” (for Mr. Sant was training me with an eye to the Law) -secured my less divided attention. - -As to Dunberry itself and its familiar figures, there was little -change to be noted. On the one side there was the ripening of the -young fruit towards maturity; on the other, a little whiter growth of -lichen on the decaying branches. Uncle Jenico must count among the -latter; though surely no tree past fruiting ever retained more -unimpaired the sweetness of its sap. He had collected during this -period enough antiquities to furnish out an old rag, bone, and iron -shop; and, indeed, I am afraid the bulk of his stock was not suited to -a much more exclusive repository. There was little which, provided it -was gathered from the beach and had once been a part of something -living or manufactured, he would not give a place in it. His -veneration for rust was the most artless thing. An object had only to -be corroded with it, to figure in his eyes for an assured antique. In -this way he amassed great quantities of bolts, links, sheet-iron -fragments, and other rarities, to most of which he assigned a use and -period, which, I am convinced, had never been theirs. There was, for -instance, a breastplate of the Renaissance era, which I do believe had -never been anything but a dish-cover of our own. There was an iron -skull-cap, or morion, of Edward the First’s time, which I will swear -was nothing but a saucepan without its handle; the handle itself, -indeed, being found near the same spot a few days later, and -catalogued for the head of a boar spear. Part of a whale’s under jaw, -much decayed, figured for the prow of a Viking ship; and divers teeth, -mostly, I think, horses’, for the grinders of prehistoric monsters. -There were some bronze coins certainly--none too many--whose value was -conjectural, and whose legends were largely undecipherable. Uncle -Jenico would never submit these, the cream of his collection, to -expert criticism. He hugged them as a miser hugs his gold, but with a -diviner intent. I alone was permitted to gloat with him over the -hoard. - -“There’s your jointure, Dicky,” he would say. “Look at it accumulating -for you, without an effort of its own, at compound interest. There’s -no trustee like a collector who knows his business. You may turn over -current money to increase it; but the more you leave that alone the -better you’ll realize on it some day. The antiquity market is always a -rising one. Every year adds its interest to it. We won’t touch the -principal yet--not till you come of age. Then we’ll put it up, my -boy--then we’ll put it up; and you shall eat your dinners, and follow -in your dear father’s footsteps, and have chambers in Fountain Court -itself.” - -Did he have a real faith in this picture? He had a faith in having a -faith in it, anyhow. Yet sometimes I could not help thinking he shrunk -from that same test of criticism; from the conceivable discovery that -he had wasted all these years of his life on a fond chimera. I am glad -that in the end the test was never forced; that circumstances came to -lay for ever the necessity of it, and in a way than which none other -could have delighted him better. For I believe a realization of the -truth would have broken his kind, unselfish heart. - -He had not during this time altogether eschewed his former habits and -enthusiasms. Periodic inventions of purely local inspiration marked -it. He designed a respirator to be lined with porous shavings of -driftwood, so that the asthmatic merchant might inhale ozone in the -thickest fogs of Lombard Street. He planned a boat to be steered from -the front by means of a rudder which was merely a jointed elongation -of the prow, or false beak hinging to the neck, like a fish’s head and -gills: a splendid conception, seeing how the steersman would be also -the look-out, and the crew aft suffer no more responsibility than -passengers in a train. - -Other happy notions of his were “the luminous angler,” a hook rubbed -with phosphorus for night fishing; a scheme for pickling sandhoppers; -and an uncapsizable boat, the buoyant principle whereof was an armour -of light iron pipings, each tube of which was to be divided into a -number of little water-tight compartments. - -None of these was ever, to my knowledge, put to the actual test, so -pledged is our conservatism to run in a circle. The old stern-steerer -was good enough for our fathers, and were we to be more exacting than -they, who stand to us for all holy prescription? No inspired inventor -ever yet profited by his inspiration; nor did his descendants find -that inspiration marketable until it was mellowed to a tradition. For -which reason Uncle Jenico had to be content, like the magnanimous soul -he was, with planting for the generations to come. - -He never dreamt now, more than I, of leaving the village in which -circumstance had laid us to take root. Aliens at first, we were become -of the soil, and bound to it by many ties of interest and affection. -As to the place itself, Mr. Sant’s hopes of seasonable visitors, of -whom we had been welcomed for the pioneers, were doomed to -non-fulfilment. Whether it was its isolation, its shocking -primitiveness in those days of antimacassars and the social -proprieties, or perhaps its rather forbidding reputation for -inhospitality, which kept strangers away, I do not know; but in any -case they came rarely, and then only as birds of passage. I think it, -at least, quite likely that the third consideration was most -operative. Dunberry, before the days of Mr. Sant, had borne, it must -be confessed, a sinister notoriety--a name for determined and -organized smuggling. Visitors then were neither desired nor welcomed, -the whole native population, or at least with few exceptions, forming -a lawless confederacy for the disposal of contraband. But after the -earthquake (or what was generally cited for such, and by many, I am -persuaded, who knew better, though it made no difference in the -moral), things should have been otherwise, when the new rector, using -its opportunity to reclaim his wayward flock to godliness, sought to -compensate by legitimate trade for the lost wages of sin. But it is -easier to cure the itch than to convince others of your patient’s -recovered cleanness. And so Dunberry reformed had still to suffer the -penalty of Dunberry unregenerate. Visitors came not to it, and it was -in the position of having dropped the carnal substance for the moral -shadow. And what made it worse was that the Excise, unpersuaded of its -reclamation, chose this very penitential time to dump down a -coastguard station on the cliffs a mile south, and so knocked on the -head for ever any possibility of its relapse into the old prosperous -condition. - -The blow fell in the second year of our stay; and from it dated, I -think, the final demoralisation of the ancient order, of which Rampick -might be considered the prominent expression. This man deteriorated -thenceforth year by year, recognizing, I suppose, the practical -uselessness of his hypocrisy. His gradual self-revelation was a real -grief to Mr. Sant, whose worldly common sense was not always proof -against his missionary zeal. He had the pain to see this cherished -convert of his sink into an idle, drunken loafer, with a heart -poisoned with a shapeless black resentment against all whom he chose -to consider were in any way responsible for his ruin; amongst whom he -included, for some unaccountable reason, my uncle and me, and in only -less degree, the dear clergyman himself. But bankruptcy knows no -reason. - -At the date at which I reopen my story, Joel Rampick was a shambling, -degraded, evil-looking man, half crazed between drink and his sense of -injury; full of suppressed snarlings and mutterings; still, as of old, -the watchful spirit of the ruins on the hill; still, as of old, -policing Harry and me, though secretly rabid now in his impotency to -control or terrify us; still, as of old, nevertheless, a hypocrite in -form, while he carried his heart on his tattered sleeve. And so, as a -main factor to be in the development of the strange drama, to the dark -accomplishment of which in this year of our opening manhood I have -been reluctantly leading, I reintroduce, and for the moment leave him. - - * * * * * * - -It was a wild, wet November, a season full of tempest and the promise -of it, when guns would boom beyond the fatal sandbanks, and sudden -rockets tear the sky; when the wives would gather a rich harvest of -driftwood, coming down in the morning to a prospect of frenzied -waters, and black spots of wreckage swooping in them like swallows -blown about a storm. Near the end of the month the winds quieted, and -one afternoon fell dead calm, so that Harry and I were moved to stroll -out after dark to stretch our long unexercised limbs. It was so -peaceful after the turmoil, that to enlarge our sense of -convalescence, we took the way of the lonely valley, and climbed the -Abbot’s Mitre. The moon was in its last quarter, and stooping towards -its rest in the earth like a bent and wearied old soul; an idle drift -or two of cloud pursued it, trying the effect of a star here and there -on its gauze, as it loitered; and not a sound broke the stillness but -the whispering chuckle of the small surf on the shingle below. - -We sat down on a block of stone in the midst of the huge and silent -congress of ruin. Here were ghostly corridors, which the sea still -mocked with an echo of monkish footsteps; pitch-black corners, where -the faint rustle of mortar falling might have been the muttering -whisper of the confessional; drifts of broken arches, -colossal-shouldered, heaven-supporting in their time, now bowed under -the weight of their hanging-gardens of ivy; shattered windows that -were without a purpose, like open gates set up in a desert. Dim and -tragic in the moonlight, they stood around us, a spectral deputation -of giants, making its unearthly appeal for some human redress or -sympathy. They seemed to hem us in, to throng closer and closer. An -odd nightmare mood possessed me. I shivered, and stamped on the -ground. - -“Harry,” I said, with a nervous giggle; “supposing these smuggler -chaps down here ever _walk_!” - -With my very words he started, and nipped my arm like a vice. - -“Look!” he whispered thickly, and pointed. - -Out from the blackness of the overturned plinth hard by slipped a grey -shadow, a thing that might have been a dog, but was not. - -“O!” I shuddered, falling against my friend. “Let’s get away--Harry! -at the back here.” - -The sound of my voice, little though it was, appeared to startle the -creature. It turned, paused as if regarding us, seemed to be coming -our way, and vanished again into the glooms from which it had emerged. -I had had a dreadful moment; and so it was with a sense of outrage -that I heard Harry laugh out as he sprang to his feet. - -“O!” he cried, skipping and sniggering before me; “to see it come so -pat, and hear his tone change. Wasn’t it beautiful? And him not to -know a bogey from a badger! O, Master Dicky, really!” - -“A badger!” I echoed awfully. Then recovered myself and added with a -rather agitated laugh; “Well, don’t pretend you weren’t startled -yourself at first.” - -“I?” he exclaimed. “Why, you old donkey, I brought you up here on -purpose, on the chance of seeing it.” - -“Bosh!” I snapped. - -“Very well,” he said. “I’ll show you its tracks in the mud to-morrow, -if you don’t believe me. I guessed it was somewhere in the hill, and -now I know.” - -“Did you?” I said resentfully. “Then I’d rather you played the fool -with me by day.” - -“Played!” said he; “what have I played? ’Twas you began with your -ghosts and things. Besides, any fool knows that badgers only _walk_ at -night.” - -He sniggered again; then, seeing that I was hurt, took my arm in his, -and patted me down. - -“It’s really rather a start, though,” said he--“I mean the thing being -here at all; because they live in woods, you know. But I’ll tell you -what I make of it; that it was driven down by those burnings” (it had -been a very hot summer, with two fires, destroying some acres, up in -the Court woods) “to get near the water. Anyhow, I spotted its tracks -in the soft ground here some days ago, and made up my mind to run it -to earth. We’ll come up to-morrow and have a look by daylight.” - -We did as he proposed, and found, amongst the bramble and other -vegetable and miscellaneous litter which choked the neighbourhood of -the great tumbled mass of masonry, indubitable signs of a passage -leading to the creature’s earth. - -“Don’t say anything about it,” said Harry, desisting, excited, from -his examination; “and we’ll just have a try to dig it out some day. -Wonder if it could tell us anything about the earthquake?” - -He was staring at me, and I at him. - -“Harry,” I whispered, thrilling all through; “supposing there’s a way -down after all!” - -“Don’t _you_--believe it, sir,” said Rampick’s breathless voice. - -The man had, after his customary fashion, come softly upon us from -some hidden coign of espial. His hands were slouched in his pockets, -and he mumbled a little black clay pipe, shaped like a death’s head, -between his teeth. - -“I wouldn’t think--_if_ I were you,” he went on, “_fur_ to pry into -the Lord’s secrets. Let the grave keep its own--_per_vided I may be so -bold.” - -“I wish _you_ wouldn’t pry into our secrets, Mr. Rampick,” said Harry, -loftily. “It’s got to be rather a nuisance this, you know.” - -The ex-smuggler snatched his pipe from his lips, and seemed for an -instant as if he were about to dash it to the ground in a fury. But he -recovered himself, and pretended only to be shaking out the ashes -before he returned the cutty to his mouth. - -“Secrets?” said he. “Why, you makes me laugh to talk of having secrets -here!” - -He broke off, restless in a shaking way to get his pipe to draw; then -turned suddenly upon me. - -“_You’re_ a gen’leman, sir,” he said, “and should know better--nor to -meddle _in_ things what don’t concarn you. The Lord has putt His seal -on this here hill: _you_ let it alone--_if_ I may make free to be His -mouthpiece, like Ezekiel what was told to warn the evil doers that -they come not to grief--_and_ die.” - -I laughed. - -“O, you flatter yourself, Mr. Rampick!” I said. “You aren’t a bit like -Ezekiel.” - -He stood regarding me, half perplexed, half malignant, for a minute; -then settled himself down on a stone and smoked away, silent, his eyes -staring and full of a vicious resolution. - -“Come on, Dick,” said Harry, seeing it obvious that the man meant to -outstay us, and took my arm and walked me off. - -“But we’ll have the badger, nevertheless,” he said, when we were out -of hearing, “and in spite of that sot. Can’t make him out, can you? -Should have thought he’d have welcomed the chance of recovering some -of his old brandy tubs.” - - - - - CHAPTER II. - THE GREAT STORM. - -“Which it’s well known that ’ope deferred maketh a cat sick,” said -Mrs. Puddephatt, with unintentional irreverence, referring to my -report to my uncle of our late meeting with Mr. Rampick. She was by -this time quite in the family confidence. “Bless you, Master Richard,” -said she, “it’s not the Lord’s secret the man’s so keerful of; it’s -’is hown, living all these years on the ’opes of salvidge from the -’ill, and jealous of hothers steppin’ hin and anticepting of ’im.” - -Uncle Jenico laughed. - -“You’re still as sceptical as ever about the earthquake, Mrs. -Puddephatt,” said he. “Now, it occurs to me, if the hill was, as you -suppose, a rendezvous for smugglers, who by some folly entombed -themselves therein, why wasn’t the whole village plunged immediately -into mourning for the loss at a blow of so many fathers and brothers?” - -Mrs. Puddephatt, standing with folded arms and a bleak, patient smile, -awaited his good pleasure to answer. - -“Hev you adone, sir?” she now demanded. “Don’t let me hinterrupt you -before you’ve got it hall hout.” - -“Thank you,” said Uncle Jenico, a little abashed. “I think there’s -nothing more.” - -“Ho!” said the lady, drawing in a sharp breath. “Then let me hexpress -at once, sir, before more’s said, my hobligation for your supposing as -I’m supposing.” - -“I admit it was unpardonable,” answered my uncle, with a beaming but -rather frightened smile. “I should have understood, of course, that -you have warrant for your smugglers.” - -“Not _my_ smugglers, sir,” she said, “begging _your_ pardon. Faults -there may be in my pronounciation; but ’awking and spitting in his -langwidge was never yet, so far as I know, laid to the charge of a -Londoner.” - -“My dear soul!” began Uncle Jenico. But she interrupted him-- - -“No, sir; nor to hend the names of his towns with a hoath, which it is -not permitted to a lady’s lips to pollute themselves with huttering.” - -“O, really, Mrs. Puddephatt, I don’t understand!” said my uncle in -despair. - -“I dare say not, sir,” went on the inexorable female. “But you must -excuse me if I draw the line at Hamster and Rotter.” - -“O!” said Uncle Jenico, gathering light through the gloom. “You mean -to imply that these smugglers were Dutchmen?” - -She condescended to smile a little, and, pursing her lips, nodded at -him with a very stiff neck. - -“Bein’, you see, a Londoner yourself, sir, to which a nod is as good -as a wink. It was Dutchmen what landed and stowed the stuff, and -Dunberry what distributed of it. They howned to no connection with one -another, and worked apart, which was their safety. Dunberry, bless -you, would be dreaming in their beds that hinnercent, while ’Olland -would be stuffing of the ’ill with contraband. Honly that Rampick was -the master sperrit and go-between; and now you knows the truth about -’im.” - -We both stared at her breathless. - -“Then,” said my uncle at last, “the unfortunate creatures caught up -there, if caught they were----” - -“Made no widders in Dunberry, sir,” she put in decisively. - -“God bless me!” said Uncle Jenico, much agitated. “Then Rampick----” - -He turned to me. - -“Don’t bait the man, Dick,” he said. “Remember, whoever’s to blame for -it, he’s half crazed by his misfortunes; and small wonder, when some -of us find it difficult to keep our heads in prosperity. Why, dear, -dear! It isn’t the part of luck to throw stones, and certainly not at -a dog in a trap. It’s like enough the poor creature’s dangerous. I -dare say _I_ should be if things had gone against me. Don’t bait him, -Dick. Give him a wide berth.” - -He had always been a little nervous about this fellow and our attitude -towards him. His appeal was, however, superfluous. The ex-smuggler was -not attractive; and Harry and I were certainly never the first to -invite collision with him. For, what with blight and rum and -sanctimony--which last, from being assumed for a disguise, had become -a half-demoniac possession in him--he was little better at this day -than a smouldering madman. Nevertheless, I tried loyally henceforth to -emulate Uncle Jenico’s better Christianity by making allowances for -the man because of his provocation. After all, calumny could visit him -with no more formidable charge than that of having been a successful -smuggler--a negative indictment even in these days. And perhaps, the -main impeachment admitted, Mrs. Puddephatt’s cockney perspicacity was -not so deadly a detective as she supposed. - -I took Mr. Sant and Harry, of course, into my confidence with regard -to our landlady’s story. It was little more than a confirmation to -them, if that were needed, that Rampick had been the head and front of -the old trade. But the Dutch part was news to us, and nothing less, I -do believe, to Mrs. Puddephatt herself, who, however she had become -acquainted with it, had acquired her knowledge recently, I am sure, or -she would not have omitted hitherto to impress us with it in her many -allusions to the “herthquake.” The rector, for his part, had -speculated, no doubt, like my uncle, upon the equanimity with which -the village had accepted the supposed visitation of God upon a number -of its bread-winners; but had never to this day, I think, in spite of -the respect in which he was held, succeeded in getting behind the -local _esprit de corps_ which hid the real truth from him. Now much -was explained--provided Mrs. Puddephatt had actually been permitted to -discover what had been kept from us--much, that is to say, except the -nature and cause of the catastrophe; and that, I supposed, we should -never find out. But there I was mistaken, as events will show. For -Destiny, having got her puppets at last into position, was even now -gathering the strings into her hands for the final “Dance of Death.” - -In the meanwhile, the last month of the year opened upon us with a -falling barometer and fresh menace of tempest, which it was not long -in justifying. The little calm had been but a breathing time, to -enable Winter to brace his muscles and fill out his lungs. It was on -the night of the fifteenth, I think, that the great storm which -followed, notable even on those coasts, rose to its height. The wind -came from the north-east, with a high tide, which, racing obliquely, -cut the cliffs like a guillotine. The whole village hummed and shook -with the roar of it. Not a chimney but was a screaming gullet into -which its breath was sucked like water. There were ricks scattered -like chaff on the uplands, and trees uprooted with mandrake groans of -agony. God knows, too, what the quicksands knew that night! When the -day broke the worst was already over, and the sea, scattered with the -bones of its prey, sullenly licking its jaws. Far on the drifts of the -Weary Sands gaped the ribs of a mammoth it had torn, the solitary -monument to its rage. The rest was matchwood. - -That same night Uncle Jenico and Harry and I were supping at the -rectory. The occasion is vivid in my memory because of a story which -Mr. Sant told us. After the meal we had drawn our chairs to the fire, -and moved, perhaps, by the unearthly racket overhead, were fallen upon -talk of the supernatural. The house lay so close-shut within trees -that the booming of the tempest came to us half muffled. In its -pauses, we could even hear the drip from broken gutters treading the -drive beneath, upon which the dining-room windows looked, with a sound -like stealthy footsteps. It brought to his mind, said Mr. Sant, a -legend he had once heard about a werewolf--the German vampire. These -creatures, men by day, but condemned, for their unspeakable crimes, to -become wolves with the going down of the sun, are like nothing mortal. -It is forbidden to notice, to pity, to sympathize with them in any -way. Whosoever does, yields himself to their thrall. - -One winter evening a peasant-woman, belated in the snow-bound woods, -was hurrying home, with her basket of provisions for the morrow over -her arm, when she heard a pattering behind her, and looking back, -there was a werewolf following. In the hunger of the miserable -creature’s face she saw an expression which haunted while it terrified -her. It was faintly suggestive of something, or somebody; but of what -or whom she could not tell. Yet the lost horror in it moved her in -spite of herself. Her pity mastered her fear. She took meat from her -basket and threw it back, conscious of her secret sin. “But who will -know!” she thought; “and I could not sleep without.” The creature -stopped to devour the morsel, which enabled the woman to escape and -reach her home in safety. But all the following day her deed dwelt -with her, so that towards evening, unable to bear her own sole -confidence any longer, she went down to the lonely church to confess -her sin and be absolved of it. She rang the little sacristy bell, and -summoned the solitary confesser. He came, and behind the bars heard -her avowal. Then, as listening to it he turned his face, she saw that -snap and change in the gloom. The eyes rounded, the brows puckered and -met, the jaw shot down and forth. Before her, glaring through the -bars, was the werewolf of the preceding night. It barked and snapped -at the grating which divided them, then dropped, and she heard it -issue forth and come pattering round to the side where---- - -We were never to know, for at that instant, weird and unearthly in a -pause of the storm, there rose a long melancholy bay outside the -window. We all fell like mutes, staring at one another; then, moved by -a single impulse, jumped to our feet and made for the front door. The -wind battled to crush us with it, driving us back as we raised the -latch, and so whipped our eyelashes and flared the lights in the hall -that for a minute we could do nothing. But when at last we emerged and -stood in the drive, not a living shape of any sort was to be -seen--only the tossed bushes and black tree trunks. - -“It must have been a wandering dog,” said Mr. Sant; “something -attracted by the light. Come in again, all of you.” - -But we would only re-enter to get our coats and caps for the homeward -march. Some growing sense of unbounded licence in the storm awed us, I -think, and drew us like cowed beasts to our lairs. - -As we butted through the darkness, a form detached itself from the -shadows in a deep part of the lane, and followed staggering and -hooting in our wake. It was Rampick, blazing drunk, and his maniac -laugh pursued my uncle and me long after we were housed and shuddering -between the sheets. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - OPEN SESAME. - -I had a vision sometimes of our tight little island lying on the sea -like a round of bread and butter on a plate, and the Angel of the -Storm amusing himself by biting patterns out of its edges. The coast -in our part of the world was particularly inviting to him, because, I -suppose, it was crumb, and not rocky with crust like other parts. -Anyhow he never flew near without setting his teeth in it somewhere, -and on this occasion to such gluttonous effect that he must have blown -himself out before he had fairly settled down to his meal. His attack -was as short as it was violent. For miles north and south the cliffs -had been torn and gulped--only the birds, mapping them from above, -could have said into what new fantastic outline. Landmarks were gone, -and little bays formed where had been promontories. Here and there a -fisherman’s boat had been licked out of its winter perch, that that -same angel might play bounce-ball with it on the cliffs until it was -broken to bits. The wreck and flotsam on the shore were indescribable; -and sad and ugly was the sight of more than one drowned mariner -entangled in them. I turn my memory gladly from such retrospects, to -concentrate it upon those features of the havoc which most concern -this history. - -Waterside folk are a strangely incurious and fatalistic race. Once -having satisfied themselves after a storm that their craft, disposed -here and there in winter quarters, are untouched, the changes wrought -on their sea-front interest them only in so far and so long as those -changes mean profitable wreckage. When that is all gathered, they -withdraw again to their winter burrows and winter occupations, and -leave the foreshore to its natural desolation. - -At least, that is what Dunberry did after the gale and within a couple -of days following it, than which no longer was needed, it appeared, to -secure any salvage worth the landing. For there is this characteristic -of great tempests, that from their destructive rage they yield a -poorer harvest of “whole grain,” so to speak, than do moderate ones. -The latter, maybe, deposit some literal pickings in the shape of -crates, barrels, seamen’s chests, etc., yet compact; the former for -the most part mere _disjecta membra_. It followed, therefore, that -when Harry and I next visited the beach--which, as it happened, he -having been away, and I confined to the house with a beastly cold, we -did not do until the afternoon of the third day succeeding that night -of uproar--we found we had the whole place virtually to ourselves. - -Uncle Jenico, who, from his anxious concern for me, had also kept at -home during the interval, came with us, full of suppressed eagerness -to glean the torn fields of shingle for relics. I think I only -realized the self-restraint which his affection must have imposed upon -him in those two days, when I saw the almost childish joy with which -he greeted the sight of the weedy litter strewn, as far as the eye -could reach, along the shore. - -“Why, Richard!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands, while his spectacles -seemed to twinkle again, “here’s a chance indeed! It’s an ill wind -that blows nobody---- Poor souls, poor souls! I feel like robbing the -grave to take such advantage of their misery.” - -His countenance fell a moment; but his mood was not proof against the -stupendous prospect. - -“The sea’s a pretty big grave, sir,” said Harry. “You might as well -have scruples about digging gold out of the earth, seeing we’re all -buried there.” - -“That’s true,” said Uncle Jenico, with serious delight. “That’s quite -true, my boy. I only hope I’ve not left it to too late.” - -This gave me a little qualm. - -“Shall I come with you, uncle?” I said. - -“No, Dicky,” he answered; “no, no, no. You and Harry amuse yourselves -as you will. I wouldn’t deny myself for anything the gratification of -the treat I’m going to bring you by-and-by. It’s selfish, no doubt; -but--but I’d rather be alone.” - -And he hobbled away, calling out to us not to let our expectations run -_too_ high, or he might be defrauded of his opportunity to surprise -us. - -“He’s a real trump,” said Harry. “I hope you think so, Dick.” - -“Of course I do,” I answered, rather testily, and began to whistle. - -“That’s all right, then,” said he. “And now let’s explore.” - -It was a fine, still afternoon, with the tide at quiet ebb, and a -touch of frost in the air. The sun, low down, burned like a winter -fire, and gleamed with a light of sadness on the ribs of the gaunt -wreck lying far away on the Weary Sands. She was visible only at low -water; at high being completely submerged. No one, so far as I knew, -had yet had the curiosity or venturesomeness to row out and -investigate the poor castaway. It was just plain to see, by the aid of -glasses, that she had broken her back on the drift, and that only her -stern half remained, wedged into the sand. But what her name or -condition Dunberry had not had the energy to inquire. - -We were standing at gaze at the foot of the Gap, and when Uncle Jenico -went north, we, in obedience to his wish to be left alone, turned our -faces down the coast. But we had not taken a score or so of steps when -we hooted out simultaneously over the sight that was suddenly revealed -to us. The storm had bolted a great hunk, good ten feet through at its -thickest, of the Mitre, obliterating the already half-effaced step-way -by which Rampick had been wont to ascend, and laying bare, high up in -the cliff, a mass of broken masonry. From the character of this last -it was evident at a glance what had happened. The seaward limit to the -crypts of the old abbey had been shorn through, and the extreme -vaulting of that ancient underworld exposed. Nor was this all. The -well, now thus further isolated from the hill which had once contained -it, was grown, from the washing away of the sand at its base, an -apparent five feet or so taller, and was leaning outwards at a -distinctly acuter and more ominous angle with the shore. - -We stood excited a moment, then, without a word, raced to get a closer -view. The wrack and downfall, as we looked up at their traces, must -have been stupendous; yet so great had been the pulverising force of -the waves, the mighty silt from them, except for a few tumbled blocks -of stone, was all dispersed and distributed about the shore below, so -that a new cliff face, clear of ruin, went up in a pretty clean sweep -from beach to summit sixty feet above. From the lower curve of this, -where it ran out and down into the sand, the well projected, not ten -feet above us, like a little tower of Pisa; and yet thirty feet -higher, at a point in the hill face about on a level with the well -top, gaped the jagged ruin of masonry which the storm had laid bare. - -“Dick!” whispered Harry--“Dick!” (He was gulping and gripping my arm -hard, as he stared up.) “Supposing we could climb to there and look -in!” - -“Yes!” I choked back. I knew what was in his mind; and the thought -fascinated while it frightened me horribly. - -“I’ve never seen a Dutchman,” he said. “Mrs. Puddephatt, she--it would -be fun to find out the truth. What are they like?” - -“I don’t know,” I answered, shivering. “They wear lots of breeches, I -believe. But it’s no good. The place is all choked up. You can see for -yourself.” - -There was no apparent entrance that way, indeed. The contour of the -vaulting was roughly discernible, it is true, but so stopped with mud -and _débris_ as to offer no visible passage. - -“Besides,” I went on, swallowing fast and trying to escape from the -fluttering spell the mere suggestion had laid upon me,--“whether it -was an earthquake or gunpowder, it’s all the same. It must be just all -squash and ruin inside; and--and the things----” I stuck, feeling that -I dare not speculate further. - -Harry released my arm, and for some time looked down, making -thoughtful patterns with his foot in the sand. - -“Well, I don’t know,” he said, raising his face suddenly. “But I’d -mighty like to see.” - -We were both rather silent for the rest of the afternoon; and, though -we neither of us alluded to the subject for a day or two afterwards, -it was evident it stood between us. We avoided the spot, too; until -one evening a long ramble brought us back by the shore past it. Then, -by a common impulse, we stopped, and stood gaping silent up once more. -The light from the sinking sun smote level upon the face of the cliff, -so that it stood out as bright as a grate back. Its surface, quite -dried from the tempest, reflected no glaze of water. The rivulets of -mud, which had flowed over and sealed the scar of ruin above, were -hardened like plaster, though shrinkage had opened black fissures in -them here and there. - -Harry, softly whistling, left me suddenly, and, with his hands in his -pockets, toiled indifferently up the slope to the well foot. Here, -still whistling, he began kicking round the base; but in a moment -desisted and called to me. I went up, and he fell upon his knees, and -set to scraping with his fingers. - -“See?” he said, stopping. - -“No; what?” I answered. - -“Why, look, you bat!” said he. “Nothing under; nothing deeper. Here’s -the last bottom course of the thing; the foundation stones, or I’m -a----” - -He checked himself, grinning. - -“I was going to say ‘Dutchman,’” said he; “and, for all we know, they -may be listening up there.” - -“O, don’t be a beast!” I exclaimed, with a wriggle of discomfort. - -He chuckled again. - -“Well, anyhow,” he said, “here’s the old well just standing on its -end, like a drain-pipe with a tilt to it. If we brought spades and dug -away underneath on the outside, it would fall--and on the top of us, -too; but that’s a detail. Wonder the storm didn’t finish it, don’t -you? Must have come pretty near to.” - -As he spoke, staring up at me, he suddenly uttered a soft exclamation, -and scrambling to his feet, pulled at my arm. - -“Look there!” he whispered. “Don’t move!” - -I followed the direction of his hand, which was pointing to the scar -in the cliff-face above. I could see nothing. - -“Hush, you old fool!” he said impatiently. “Keep quiet!” - -I did not stir; till, at the end of a long interval, something made me -start involuntarily. It was a wink--a flutter--a motion of some sort, -I knew not what, on the hill front. - -“Did you see?” whispered Harry. - -“Yes,” I muttered back. “What was it?” - -He ran down the slope to the sand, and I followed at a leap, thinking -he meant that the cliff was falling. But when I saw his face I knew -that some excitement other than fear was moving him. - -“It was the badger,” he said, turning sharp on me. “Now, do you -understand what that means?” - -Perhaps I had a glimmering; but I shook my head feebly to repudiate -it. - -“Why!” he cried reproachfully. “Dicky, you gowk! If he goes to earth -at the top and comes and puts his nose out here, what does it mean but -that the crypts ain’t as blocked as we supposed!” - -“There must be a passage through, of course,” I murmured. - -Harry nodded, primming his lips. “Well?” said he. - -“Why, it don’t follow that where a badger can go, we can.” - -“It does with me,” he said shortly. - -An odd little silence fell between us. Then Harry turned away, and -began to move off, whistling. At a bound I was after him, with a -furious red face, and, seizing his arm, had whipped him round. - -“I’m going to try to get into the hill up there,” I cried. “If you’re -afraid to come too, stop behind like a coward!” - -He stared at me amazed; then fell a’ grinning. - -“I never said you were a coward,” he retorted. - -“But you meant it,” I answered, fuming. - -We were bristling, actually, as on that far-off day when we had first -come into collision. Our fists were clenched; the backs of our necks -tingled; it was really a pregnant moment. - -But the good old fellow resolved it, and in the best way possible. The -fire suddenly left his eyes. - -“O, Dick,” he said; “what asses we are! Look here, I’ll tell you--I -should funk it going up there alone, and you wouldn’t, it seems; -that’s the truth. I only wanted to dare you, for my own sake.” - -“O, all right!” I said, pocketing my fists, and pretty ashamed of -myself. I kicked the sand about, not knowing how to escape the -situation gracefully. At last I in my turn blurted out: “What rot this -is! Let’s forget it all, and just discuss ways and means.” - -“You really intend to try?” said Harry, his face relighting. - -“If I die for it now,” I answered. - -“O, well!” he said, heaving a profound sigh. “It’s simple enough. -We’ll just climb up there, and say ‘open sesame,’ and walk in.” - -This little inspiration to identify our adventure with Ali Baba’s was -quite a happy one. Not forty Dutch smugglers, but forty beautiful -Persian thieves with scimitars and waxed moustaches! It tinctured with -romance at once the thought of the ugly sights it was possible we -might encounter. Our half fearful design became, in a flash of -coloured light, a tingling conspiracy. - -It was too late, of course, to attempt anything that evening. But the -following afternoon was a half-holiday with us, and quite apt to our -purpose. In the interval we secured some candles and a box of the -friction matches then lately come into use, as also, privately, Uncle -Jenico’s geological hammer, a sturdy tool with a heavy butt and a long -steel pick to balance its head. And with these, and nothing else -whatever but our trust in ourselves, we issued forth after a hasty -early dinner, and no word said to anybody, to dare and do. - -We had resolved, after consultation, to make the attempt from above -rather than below; because, in the first place, we should be less -likely to attract attention, and, in the second, because a descent of -twenty feet appeared easier of accomplishment than a climb of thirty -up that slippery glacis. So we started, unregarded of any one, as we -supposed, by way of the valley, and were not long in reaching the brow -of the Mitre where it overlooked the well and the recent landfall. - -It was all strangely altered here, and, near the edge, risky footing -at the best. But we stole up cautiously, and, going upon our stomachs -the last yard or two, looked down. Below us, at a rather giddy -distance, projected some spars and ledges of the fractured masonry. -Fortunately, however, the interval between us and them was not balked -by any bulge in the cliff, but showed a smooth descent, and not too -sheer for the essay. Still, it did not do to dwell upon it. - -“Are you ready?” I whispered. “I’m going down.” - -“No, you aren’t,” said Harry. “Me first.” - -I only answered by crooking my elbow to keep him back. - -“Don’t be a fool!” he protested. “We shall break away, and both go -faster than we want, if you aren’t careful.” - -I made no reply but to resist him doggedly, till at last, with a -grunt, he let me go, and I turned, lying flat-faced, and swung my legs -over the precipice. - -“O, you old brute!” he said. “Well, go easy, then, and dig your toes -in.” - -And with that I let go and slid away, clawing and scratching like a -cat coming down a tree. It was just to fasten on and commit one’s self -to luck, which, fortunately for me, directed my feet to a ledge, on -which I brought up, gasping and spitting out dirt. But once secure of -my hold, and in a state to look about me, I was relieved to find that -the position was much more possible than it had seemed either from -above or below, the projecting spits of stonework being more and more -pronounced than had showed at a distance. - -I took a minute to get my wind, and then called up to Harry to follow; -but he was already on his way. I saw him coming at a risky pace, and -by a slightly divergent course, which he had taken to avoid me. It -would have carried him clear of the ruin altogether had I not, at the -psychologic moment, clapped my hand to the seat of his small-clothes -and checked his descent. - -“O!” he howled, “let go!” - -“I won’t!” I cried. “Don’t be an ass! Stick your foot out here!” - -With a desperate effort he managed to wriggle oblique, and in a moment -we were standing together on the ledge. - -“That was give and take,” he panted. “Like being saved from drowning -by a shark. Can’t say your bark’s worse than your bite.” - -I chuckled so that I was near falling off our perch, till a sudden -thought sobered me. - -“Supposing, after all, we can’t get in, or up or down neither?” I said -dismayed. “A pretty picture we shall make, stuck up here.” - -“Well, it’s too late to think of that now,” answered Harry, coolly. -“Lend me a hand while I kick.” - -He let out on the wall of mud in front, which we had hoped was just a -mask or screen hiding a cavity behind; but his foot only sunk to the -ankle in it without effect. - -“So there!” he said. “We must look for a better place, that’s all.” - -We were standing, so far as we could judge, about midway up the -groining of the vault, and right under the apex, a little above and to -the right of us, gaped a small round fissure. - -“See?” said Harry, excitedly; “that’s the place. It don’t go -perpendicular like the others, which means that it’s sunk away from -some support above it. Hold me, now.” - -I clutched him the best I could, gripping a stone with my other hand, -and he brought the big hammer from his jacket pocket, and poised -himself, standing high on his toes. “Open sesame!” says he, and struck -with all the force he could muster on the soil just under the hole. -The result made him stagger, for he had expected some resistance, and -there was none. The whole top of a mound of silt, which stopped the -neck, it seemed, of the decapitated crypts, and into the thick base of -which he had first struck his foot, broke away and fell inwards, -revealing an aperture, already, under that one blow, large enough for -a man to crawl through. - -Harry, recovering himself, quietly repocketed the tool, and turned to -me. His face was a little white, but his mouth was set as grim as sin. - -“It’s my turn,” he said. “Think you can give me a leg up?” - -It was no use my disputing, as he was on the right side. Working with -infinite caution and difficulty on that perilous eyrie, I managed to -stoop, and, getting my hands under one of his feet, levered him slowly -up, while he drew on every projection he could reach, until he was -able to claw his arms into the hole and hang on. - -“Now,” came his voice out, muffled and hollow, “one shove, and----” - -I drove with the word; dig went his feet and knees; he sprawled -convulsively a moment; got hold; the mound jerked and sunk a little -under him, a clatter of _débris_ went down the cliff face, and he was -in. - -Almost in the same instant his face, hot and staring, re-emerged, and -then his arms. - -“Here,” he panted. “Can you reach?” - -Not by a couple of feet could I. - -“Hold tight and catch me,” I said. “I’m going to jump.” - -Fixing my eyes on him, and crouching to the lowest I dared, I sprang, -and he snatched and gripped my wrists. - -“Now!” he gasped; and instantly the both of us were battling and -struggling, he to hold me firm, and I to get way on and leverage. - -For a minute the issue was doubtful; the mound sunk and crumbled still -lower; I clawed frantically with my toes, my legs going like a frog’s -on a slippery basin. But at last I got hold, and a little ease to my -lungs; and so, hauling on to the hands held out to me, and wriggling -up foot by foot, was drawn into the opening, now much enlarged, and -crawling through, rolled, tangled up with Harry, down a slope into -darkness. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - THE SECRET IN THE HILL. - -My first impression, as I sat up to gather my wits, was of awakening -from a falling nightmare to the comfortable security of bed and early -morning. The frantic fears engendered of that fathomless descent were -all resolved in laughter. I giggled as I recalled them, shaking my -dusty noddle to get the brains into place in it. Opposite me I could -discern a shadowy figure, squatting in a like process of -self-recovery. - -“Well, old chap,” I said; “here we are!” - -The sound of my voice, clanging in a vaulted space, gave me a start. - -“O!” I exclaimed; and the monosyllable rolled away into the darkness -like a barrel. - -We scrambled up, while it was still echoing, and catching -involuntarily at one another, looked fearfully about us. At a height -of twelve feet or so behind us shone the opening through which we had -entered. It made a great splotch of light, with a dim tail running -fanlike from it down the slope by which we had fallen. The effect to -us, standing possessed by gloom, was as of our being involved in the -tail of a comet. So long as we looked that way, it dazzled and -perplexed us. We turned our backs on it. - -Then, gradually, the obscure details of the place gathered coherence; -and we saw that we were standing in a low vaulted chamber, giving at -its further end upon a sewer-like mouth of blackness. - -“Dicky,” said Harry, in a rather tremulous whisper, “have you got the -candles and lucifers all safe? This is p-p-prime, isn’t it?” - -“Yes,” I gulped, to either question. But I answered without heart, -being sick to postpone the advance, by whatever means, for a little. - -“Don’t let me go, you old idiot!” I complained in a panic, as he made -as if to step forward. “Supposing we lost one another. Ha-Harry, do -you know what I saw under my arm as you p-pulled me up outside there?” - -“No. What?” - -“Rampick--the b-beast--scuttling for the Gap. He must have been -watching us again, hidden below somewhere this time; and like enough -now he’s making for the cliff overhead.” - -Harry began chuckling, but stopped in a fright to hear himself -answered, as it were, by a patter of little laughing hiccoughs. - -“He won’t find much,” he whispered, “and we needn’t be afraid he’ll -follow us down here. Light a candle, Dicky, for goodness’ sake. There -seem to be all sorts of things creeping and rustling.” - -My hands shook so that I boggled three good matches in coaxing the -wick to take; but I would not let Harry hold the candle, for fear that -he might run ahead with it, and perhaps in some labyrinth of passages -leave me to follow the wrong one. - -The flame caught at last, flared with a momentary brilliancy, and -shrunk to a mere blink. It is the common way with candles, yet I know -nothing more maddening in a nervous emergency. And if philosophy -sneers over that statement, let it ponder, and be thankful but take no -credit, because it had nothing whatever to do with the making of its -own temperament. At length, after a moment of tension indescribable, -the wicked little tongue stretched, and glowed steady; and I lifted it -high, while we glared right and left. - -The cellar in which we found ourselves was, or had been till shorn of -its seaward end, a four-square room, with Norman vaulting--crossed -flat half-hoops of stone--going down into the corners. It was very -small, and very low (the candle flame, as I lifted it, blackened the -roof), and very massive; and because of the three, very ancient. -Probably it had once been a death-chapel under some older foundation -than the abbey, and connected only as a matter of piety with the newer -crypts, which, to meet it, had been tunnelled eastwards, in a manner -very unusual, from beneath the nave. But, so far as we could see, it -was quite empty, and undamaged by the earthquake, or explosion. - -I waved the light to and fro. - -“Nothing here,” whispered Harry. “Let’s get on!” - -The black sewer faced us. There, we knew, was our way. If for a minute -or two we hesitated to follow it, by so long was Providence our -friend. For, indeed, we had never thought to take account of the -stale, confined gases which for years must have been poisoning these -glooms, and our delay gave the draught that we had created time to -take effect. - -For draught there was, though we were unconscious of the significance -of it when we saw the flame of our candle draw towards the tunnel. But -in truth we had forgotten in our excitement all about the badger. - -At last we made a move, holding on to one another’s hands like Hansel -and Gretel entering the witch’s forest. We reached the black mouth of -the passage, and went in on tiptoe. It was arched, and high enough in -its middle to enable one to walk erect; yet not so wide but that Harry -must drop behind and follow me. I sniggered a little to feel him -treading nervously on my heels, and the sense of laughter was like a -tonic. If one touch of nature makes the world kin, it is surely the -touch that tickles one under the fifth rib. - -The passage seemed to run on endlessly--just a high stone drain with a -floor of hammered earth driving straight into the hill. No other -diverged from it, nor did any ruin block our path; and we were -beginning to move quite merrily, when suddenly the end came in a -flight of half a dozen steps going down, and at the bottom a great -door torn off its hinges and shivered into splinters. - -At the sight we drew back on the very brink, and stood gaping and -dumbstruck, afraid for the moment to proceed. - -“Dicky,” said Harry, staring over my shoulder, “here comes the tug, -don’t it?” - -I did not answer. Suddenly he dipped under my arm and ran down, and, -terrified at the thought of being left alone, I followed him. - -The fragments of the door stood wrenched at any angle; but through the -black gaps in the wreck flowed the sense of shattered spaces beyond. - -“Now for it!” said Harry. “Hand me the light when I’m in, and follow -yourself.” - -I would have lingered yet, but he broke from me, and, fearing to -precipitate I knew not what nameless ruin, I let him go with only a -show of interference. - -He was through in a moment, and calling back to me, “Pass the light, -and come on. It’s all serene.” - -And then in an instant I had followed him. - -The draught was still strong enough here to flutter the candle flame, -so that for a little we could make out nothing of our surroundings. -But stepping cautiously to one side, away from the door, we found the -light to stand suddenly steady, and immediately before our eyes there -grew into grotesque and shadowy being a vision of enormous -destruction. - -It was again a vaulted chamber we were in, but of apparent proportions -infinitely greater than the other. Apparent, I say, for for two-thirds -of its extent it was just one unresolvable ruin. A great part of the -roof had collapsed, snapping in its downfall, like sticks of celery, -the squat massive piers which had supported it. The walls on either -side were bowed to an arch above, or swayed drunkenly with colossal -knees bent outwards. To the further side, gaping at us across the -havoc, a huge blackened rent seemed to invite to nameless horrors -beyond; and scattered and spattered and spurted from under the fringe -of the stony avalanche were staves of casks, and fragments of burst -chests from which fountains of tea had showered all over the floor. - -We stood awestruck, scarce daring to breathe. The sense of yet -impending disaster, the terror of calling it down upon us by a -stumble, a false step, kept us as still as mice. Before us a path went -clear round the ruin to another broken archway, and yet remoter -vaults. But by this time my curiosity was become something less than a -negative quantity. - -“Harry,” I whispered at last, almost querulously, “we’ve seen enough. -I’m going back.” - -His face looked into mine like a little ghost’s. - -“I’m not,” he said. “But I don’t want you to come. Light me another -bit of candle from yours, and stay here while I go and explore. We’ve -found out nothing yet, you know.” - -I am ashamed to say I let him go, only imploring him to return -soon--to be satisfied with a look. He did not answer, but stole off -resolutely with his bit of a torch, and it was with a feeling of agony -that I saw him disappear through the opening. - -It is a question with psychologists how much one can dream in a -second. I will answer for the eternity of nightmare I suffered during -those few moments of Harry’s absence. He could hardly, in point of -fact, have set foot in the further chamber when a strange little cry -from him made me start violently. And immediately, as if in response, -there sprang into voice near me a step, a rustle, the menace of a -coming roar, and I screamed out and fled towards my friend. The crash -answered behind me as I ran, and a film of dust followed. Half blinded -and deafened, I almost fell at Harry’s feet as he met me. We clutched -one another convulsively, and for a minute could not speak. - -The concussion was succeeded by an appalling silence. Presently he was -staring over my shoulder, swaying his light to and fro. - -“Dick!” He went muttering in my ear: “Dick! Dick! Dick! the roof has -fallen, down by the door, and blocked our way back!” - -Horror took me of a heap. I could only bite into Harry’s arm up and -down with my fingers, dumbly entreating him to do something to save us -from going crazy. - -“O, why did we come?” I moaned at last. “Why didn’t you come when I -asked you?” - -“What good would that have been,” he said miserably, “if we’d been -caught and squashed?” - -If he could not see the way to save, he could to make a man of me. He -was the first to return to his sturdy self. It struck me like -sacrilege to hear him suddenly emit a faint little laugh. - -“O, don’t!” I said. “It’s too awful!” - -“What is?” he answered. “Look here, Dick, we’re just fools, that’s -all, There must be a way out somewhere--we’d forgotten what the badger -showed us.” - -In an instant, at his words, I had leapt to the ultimate pole of hope. - -“O, Harry!” I said, “you good old fellow to think of it! Why, of -course there must be; if only we could----” - -“Wait a bit!” he interrupted me. “You’ll have to make up your mind to -go on.” - -“I’ll go anywhere,” I said, “to get safe out of this. O, don’t stop! -Any moment may bring down some more of it.” - -I was wriggling and sweating in a perfect agony over his hesitation. - -“All right,” he said; “pull a long breath and prepare yourself.” - -“For what?” - -The truth came upon me in a flash. I fell back, panting at him. - -“_Harry! They’re there!_” - -He nodded. - -“Yes, they’re there. If you like to shut your eyes, I’ll lead you -past.” - -But he had shamed me once. - -“No,” I said, with a catch in my voice. “If you stood it, so can I. Go -on--quick. Are they--are they--very----” - -We were in the further vault before I could shape my question; and I -took one glance, and shrieked, and shrunk back under the wall. And so, -in the very act, at a leap the horror was gone. - -Why? I cannot tell. The problem is again for the psychologists. All I -know is that, as I cried out, the sickness left me. A spring of some -human sympathy gushed up in my heart and expelled it. These pitiful -remnants seemed to greet us as with a wistful hail of comradeship. -They were ugly, disjointed, ghastly enough in all conscience; but they -appealed as from the lost to the lost, and seeing them, their quiet, -sad decay, I no longer feared them as I had feared them unseen. Who -might swear, indeed, that our own bones would not mingle with these -others presently? They were dust of our dust in the great Commonwealth -of death. If I had been a desert castaway, lying down to die beside -some parched human skeleton, I could not better have testified to my -sense of the sorrow that makes us kin than I did now in my changed -emotions. - -Yet, indeed, the scene was a very awful one. Near the whole of the -further side of the crypt had collapsed, making of the place a huge -cave-like mouth stuck with blackened splinters of teeth, and gorged to -the throttle with a litter of human remains. They lay scattered all -over the vast jaw of it--chewed, dismembered, scarce one to be -identified in its entirety. Here it might be a red-capped skull, with -a naked brown cutlass tilted across its teeth; here a limbless body, -horribly suggestive in its crumbling stumps of a mangled doll -dribbling sawdust; here something, whole but for its head, crooking -its fingers into the dusty scalp of a comrade from whom the legs had -been torn. They may have counted to near a dozen in all, if one had -had the stomach to tally the flannel caps and brass-buttoned jackets -and disjointed slops. But, ten or twenty, the moral was the same. Here -at the crook of a finger was the whole life of the hill blown into -fragments; and the legend of the earthquake laid. - -I understood that plain enough before Harry’s low excited voice -sounded over my shoulder. - -“Come away, Dick! Look there; don’t you see how it happened?” - -He drew me back and we stood, figures of tragedy, flashing the light -from our candle-ends into dark corners. In all the hideous _mélange_ -there were two details unmistakable in their significance. To our -right, lying front-downwards with its face smashed into the floor, and -its legs caught into the closing throat of the vault, was a little -flattened blue-coated figure, its hands flung out, and the left yet -closed upon the butt of a pistol. To our left, bolt upright against -the wall through which the great rent had been blown into the -adjoining crypt, sat a thing grotesque almost beyond naming. It wore, -with a little air of sagging weariness, a seaman’s common jersey and -good white ducks and shoes with shining buckles, and its right elbow -was crooked and the hand beneath rested with a sort of exhausted -jauntiness on its bent right knee. In all of which there was wonder, -but no indecency, had it not been that, above, the thing had no head, -nor any left arm but a stump, which stood oddly upraised from its -shoulder. - -And somehow one knew that these two were correlative in the tragedy, -and somehow responsible for the human scatteration between them--for -the bright gleams and splotches of colour which budded from the -ancient soot of the holocaust--for these gaudy, half-perished -weed-heaps scoring the garden of death. - -“Do you see?” urged Harry again. - -I sighed and shook my head, not meaning ignorance, but simply -overwhelmed under the weight of my own conclusions. - -“Why,” he whispered, in an awestruck voice; “that--_that_ there was -reaching up for the ammunition, the--the armoury in the wall where -they kept their powder and things, and, as he opened the cupboard, the -other fired his pistol across. The bullet must have missed who it was -meant for and gone into a powder barrel.” - -As he spoke, one of the lights sputtered and went dim; and he caught -suddenly at me. - -“Come away!” he cried. “Why don’t you come? We haven’t candles and to -spare.” - -His words reawoke me instantly to the unresolved horror of our -situation. - -“I’m coming,” I answered tremulously. “Which way? Harry, don’t go -without me!” - -We stumbled a few blind paces, dazzled again for the nonce. - -“Look here,” he said; “we must economize these. It won’t do to waste -our lights.” - -Instantly, in a panic, I blew out my candle, and simultaneously he -blew out his. Thus was illustrated the weakness of generalities; and, -correspondingly, the value, as you shall see, of accidents. We were -plunged, on the breath, into subterranean night; lapped in lead and -buried beyond hope of release. At least, so it seemed for the moment; -and moments make the sum of time. - -We stood rigid, paralysed, too dumb-stricken for speech or movement. -And, in that pass, if you will believe me, the most unearthly horror -of a voice hard by came to complete our demoralization. It rose -between a hiss and bark, a swinish indescribable thing that tailed off -into a bubbling snarl; and I thought it was the dead man caught by the -legs struggling to rise and get at us. - -I could not have survived and kept my reason, I think, had not Harry -at this instant scattered all shadows with a jubilant shout-- - -“Daylight! Look up there, Dicky! We’ve found the way.” - -I shook with the cry, and raised my despairing eyes. Sure enough, at a -good height before and above us, a gleam of blessed dawn filtered down -through the superincumbent soil. The accident of darkness had revealed -it to us so soon as our pupils had forgotten the false glare of the -candles. - -“O, Harry!” I cried, half hysterical. “O, Harry! what was that noise?” - -And he laughed out--“Light up again, you old funk! It was the best -friend in the world to us.” - -Amazed, without understanding, I tremblingly rekindled the candle; and -there, right before us, was a flight of stone steps going up--the -ancient entrance to the crypts; and, risen bristling from his bed of -straw and sticks at the foot of it, was our ally, our preserver, our -most noble and honoured _the badger_. - -He was a surly auxiliary, resentful for his broken slumber. He stood -setting at us, and bubbling, and showing his teeth, as cross a little -Cerberus as ever divided his duty between guarding the way down and -keeping damned souls from escaping. Harry softly pulled the geological -hammer from his pocket. - -“Don’t!” I gasped. “You mustn’t! He saved us.” - -“I’m not going to attack,” said Harry. “But I must defend, if he makes -a rush. Try a bite of him first, if you’re doubtful. I tell you, if he -once fastens on, you’ll have to take him up with you.” - -Keeping close together, and our eyes on the little grey gentleman, we -edged gingerly round towards the foot of the flight. Fortunately, as -we advanced, he withdrew, coming behind us in a circle. - -“Go up first,” whispered Harry, “while I keep the rear.” - -Holding the candle to light him, I went backwards up the steps, until -my head touched the canopy of soil and ruin which blocked their exit; -and then, backwards, Harry followed me. The badger snuffed and -gurgled, pointing his snout at us, but not offering to follow. - -“Now,” said Harry, turning round, “for the way!” - -It was a narrow one as it first offered--a mere beast-earth driven -down between chance interstices in the ruins above to meet the -stair-head. But all the time while we wrought at to enlarge it, the -sweet light was stretched to us to comfort and inspire, and the smell -of liberty came down more and more in draughts like wine, as if Harry -with his strenuous hammer were tapping the very reservoir of day. The -only fear was that, striking carelessly, he might loosen some poised -mass, and bury us under an avalanche of stone. But luckily, both sunk -vault and tumbled ruin had so well adjusted between them the balance -of collapse that our puny grubbing was all insufficient to disturb it. - -For which, thank God! And tenfold for that glorious moment when, -struggling and pushing up by way of the last of the littered steps, we -shouldered and tore ourselves through into the mid-thicket of brambles -by the fallen plinth, and felt the light of day, broken by the -branches, burst over us like a salvo of resplendent rockets! - - - - - CHAPTER V. - A REAPPEARANCE. - -On the day following that of our adventure Harry was due at -Yokestone. I had arranged to walk part of the way with him, for we had -much and momentous matter to discuss--our discovery, and the -responsibility, moral and legal, which it entailed upon us, to wit. -But, to my disturbance, the morning found Uncle Jenico knocked up with -a chill; and the dear soul’s hope that I would stay to keep him -company was so patent, that I had not the heart to disoblige him. I -just took an opportunity to run out and tell Harry I could not come, -and to re-decide with him upon postponing all action until we could -consider the matter in its every bearing; and then returned, very much -depressed, I must own, to my duty. - -I don’t know if any suspicion of the past, any premonition as to the -future was operating in the old man’s mind. Pure spirits, one must -think, must be strangely sensitive to any disturbance in their moral -atmosphere. He was certainly oddly solicitous about me, wistfully -attentive, loth that I should leave him, and for my sake, not his own. -But after dinner, as luck would have it, he fell asleep in his chair, -and, restless beyond endurance, I took the chance to go for a stroll. - -Once outside the door, I hesitated. I had not yet slept soundly or -exhaustively enough to shake off all the horror of our late -experience. I dreaded to go by the hill; I dreaded to go by the beach; -but at last the prospective quiet of the latter drew me, and I turned -my face seawards. - -I had expected to find the shore deserted, and so, reaching the cliff -edge, was put out a little to see a figure, that of a stranger, -already down there before me. It went to and fro, this figure, on the -fringe of the surf, thoughtfully, its head bent, its hands clasped -behind its back--a lean, small old man, it seemed. But I observed it -with unspeculative eyes, because of my pondering all the time, -abstractedly and rather dismally, on the events of yesterday. - -We had not canvassed our adventure much as yet, Harry and I. The shock -and the shame of it, the body and brain-weariness, had disinclined us, -during our walk home, to comment on a very frightening experience, out -of the reach of whose shadow we could not escape, for all our -hurrying. Morning, indeed, found it still with us, like a motionless -fog, which, however, we should have endeavoured to dissipate by the -breath of frank discussion, had not Uncle Jenico’s illness supervened. -In consequence of which I had to face the rather depressing prospect -of enduring for a whole day and night the burden of unrelieved -silence. Still, about one thing we had been agreed: that we must weigh -all the pros and cons before deciding to suppress or confess our -discovery. At first, I had been for telling Mr. Sant everything the -moment he returned; for he was away in London, as it chanced, on a -short visit. But Harry had at once vetoed the idea. - -“It wouldn’t be fair to foist all the responsibility on him,” he had -said, emphatically. “Being a parson, he’d be bound to call in the law, -and if he did that, his influence here would be lost, and you might -burst your cheeks trying to whistle it back. Who knows who’d be found -to be mixed up in the business, if once we talked? Most of the -village, likely. And we’re not going to do anything to force him into -becoming unpopular, and losing what he’s been years in getting.” - -“But, Mrs. Puddephatt,” I had complained feebly, “said the village had -nothing to do with it.” - -“Nonsense!” Harry had answered. “She didn’t neither. She said that -Dunberry and the Dutchmen worked separate, with Rampick for -go-between.” - -“Well,” I had still protested, “isn’t that much the same?” - -“Much the same, you gaby!” he had cried. “O yes, of course! Much the -same as if two engine wheels connected by a rod turned up their noses -about knowing one another.” - -The technical inspiration of his simile had thereupon surprised him -into a grin, and me, even, into a dismally funny attempt at a -retort:-- - -“Well, they _would_ move in different circles, you know. But we’ll -sleep on it--that’s the best; and thrash it out between us to-morrow.” - -That, however, as I have explained, we were debarred from doing; and -now there was nothing for me but to possess my troubled soul in -patience until Harry’s return. In Uncle Jenico, we had neither of us -thought for a moment of confiding. Some instinctive sense of his lack -of grasp, of his unpractical weakness prevented us. We would not -confound or agitate the dear old fellow; and so here, in the result, I -was solitarily and tragically cogitating our problem on the cliff -edge. - -We had, indeed, already come to one conclusion too obvious for -dispute. The secret entrance to the smugglers’ lair had been patently -near the spot whence we had emerged, and the significance of the now -obliterated cliff-path was thus revealed. Those, however, were points -which only concerned indirectly the main sources of our confusion, -which sources were necessarily the nature of the tragedy and Rampick’s -presumptive connection with it. There lay the deep core of the -shadow--the stress of the moral obligations our reckless adventure had -imposed upon us. We had opened the forbidden chamber, and our fingers -were bloody. - -Was it murder, in short? And, if so, was Rampick an accessory? And, if -so, were we also become accessories? - -I started at the thought, and went hurriedly down the Gap impelled by -a sudden vision, It took the form of a tax-cart, and a handcuffed man -in it being carried off to Ipswich Gaol. I felt the cold grip of the -iron on my own wrists, and had to thrust my hands deep into my -breeches’ pockets for some familiar reassurance of warmth. The -stranger still paced the sands, a mechanic irritating figure. Now -noticing my advent, he stopped to regard me, his hands behind his -back, the wind gently undulating his coat-tails. Going northwards, I -should come under the rake of his eyes. My nerves were on the jump. I -flounced peevishly, and went down the coast, till, come opposite the -scene of our yesterday’s escapade, I stopped involuntarily and stared -up. - -I had not intended to. I could master the inclination no more than I -could the morbid concentration of my thoughts. They were drawn like -smoke into that black gash high up in the cliff. - -It was not very noticeable even now. Another storm, any hurricane of -rain, might seal it once more, and close the evidence of our passage -thereby. Why let any thought of our responsibility to it vex us? Our -enterprise had been a purely private one, and---- - -Like a blow came the memory of Rampick’s cognisance of it, of my -vision of him hurrying agitated for the Gap as I was drawn in. He had -seen us enter; possibly, emerge. He must at least suspect us of having -made some sort of discovery, and his knowledge of our knowledge was -the terror. - -I still stared up. If it was really murder, then, and this man an -accessory? - -He might have been, and yet none know the truth of his guilt but -himself. Grant it a fact that the local and foreign gangs had worked -apart. Had he not been, according to the same authority, their -connecting link? What more likely then that he alone of all alive -should be informed of the real nature of the act which at a stroke had -shattered his connection? It would account for his eternal haunting of -the neighbourhood, for his terror lest some one, exploring too far, -should unearth his secret--if guilty secret it were. And what proof of -that? Why, none that was direct--no proof of anything; not of murder, -certainly. And yet I was as sure as if my soul had witnessed it that -murder, in deed or intention, had been committed. It was the position, -the _settlement_ of the bodies, flung down with all that atmosphere of -deadly suggestion. I felt that I could restore the scene, as sculptors -restore a statue from a few significant fragments. That the man under -the stone had been attacked, and had fired in a desperate -self-defence, accidentally sending all to perdition, I had no doubt. -He might have been a spy, a deposed chief--his clothing seemed to -pronounce him above the order of the rest--he might have been one of, -or other than themselves; he had precipitated a greater tragedy in -trying to avert a lesser, of that I was sure. And Rampick? - -It all resolved upon him, this doubt, this haunting stress of -conscience--all concentrated itself upon the wretched, degraded -creature in the tissue of whose story our destiny had entangled us. I -stirred, and gave a little groan. - -“Ha!” exclaimed a voice at my elbow. - -With a shock I jerked round; and there was the stranger of the sands -come softly up, and intently scrutinising me. - -I felt unreasoningly ashamed, as if caught in some self-soliloquy. My -face went like fire. “What do you----” I was beginning loud enough; -and on the instant bit my teeth on the cry, and stood gaping. I could -feel my jaw slackening idiotically. Minute by minute, it seemed to me, -we stood silent there, regarding one another. - -“Mr. Pilbrow!” I whispered at last. - -It all came back to me across that shining gulf of years. I had forded -the valley in the mean time, descending into deep glens and -unremembering woods, distancing for ever, as I had supposed, the -landmarks of childhood. And, lo! climbing the further side, and -looking back, here was the past quite close; for the valley had been -but a little fairy cleft after all, and all the time the memory of old -things had been waiting there for me to resume them. Six years, with -their fulness of growth and interest, stood between me and this man; -yet I saw and knew him as if the interval were but a span. The story -of him, the tragedy of my own connection with it, became in this -moment the instant thing with me, bridging the abysmal lapse between. - -He was not much changed, it is true. The face was the same haunting -unearthly mask which had hung up before me in the court. A gurgoyle, I -had called it; and still the stony inhumanity of it was the first -thing to impress me. It was older only, and more scarred by wind and -weather. The drench of unhealing waters had streaked its forehead and -darkened the pits of its eyes; but with no other result than to -emphasize the fire in them, and intensify the loneliness of the lost -soul they windowed. I gave a little foolish fluttering laugh. - -“So you remember me?” he said. - -“Yes,” I answered. “But how do you know me?” - -That was the wonder, indeed. Medusa might not change to Perseus as -Perseus to Medusa. - -“Were you looking for me?” I asked. “Did you know I was living here?” - -He shook his head slightly. - -“No more, young sir, than I know the ultimate goal of my destiny.” - -It suddenly occurred to me that, after all, he had said nothing to -associate me with any memory of his own. I blushed like a fool, and -stammered out-- - -“I suppose you aren’t mistaking----” - -He put up his hand to interrupt me. - -“Your father gave his life for me, sir. Not a shadowed feature, not a -transmitted gesture of his, but I should feel myself cursed for -failing to identify, if I lived to the age of Methuselah. You are -Master Richard Bowen. You will hardly deny it, I think.” - -I giggled again, more foolish than ever. - -“No, I won’t,” I said. “And have you yet found Abel, Mr. Pilbrow?” - -Now, in a wonderful way, my ingenuous question wrought a sudden -transformation in the man. As once before, his hand swept the hard -evil from his eyes, and when those looked at me again, they were as -soft as a weary woman’s. The change was infinitely pathetic, -illuminating; and in the light of it, I seemed to see for the first -time how worn was this poor creature, how tired and woeful, and how, -perhaps, he wore his outlawry for a mask. - -“If I doubted before, could I doubt now!” he cried. “Staunch, and -unspoiled by the years! And how could it be otherwise with _his_ son!” - -He had seized my hands in his; and, embarrassed as I was, his words -moved me to a strange understanding. - -“Mr. Pilbrow,” I cried, as I had cried those long years before, “he -said you did not do it.” - -He gazed at me rapturously a moment, then fell to urging me to walk -with him. - -“Come,” he cried. “I must move, or I shall be a woman. Ask me, ask me -everything. This accident--this destiny--this heart-filling spring in -the desert! No, I have not found Abel, my friend, my dear friend, -though I have never ceased to seek him, like the spectral dog I am.” - -I thought of the werewolf of Mr. Sant’s story. So damned, so -abhorrent, so pitiful appeared this grey shadow moving at my side. He -put his arm within mine, and hurried me up and down the desolate -beach. The grinding of the sea seemed to hush itself, the drooping -pall of sky to rise aloof from us. I was full of excitement and -agitation, carried altogether without the oppression of the thoughts -which had been vexing me. - -“Ask,” he cried, feverishly pressing my arm. “Give me the chance to -unburden my heart to my one true friend, I do believe, God help me, in -all the world! I have not found Abel, Richard--ah! may I call you -Richard?--I have not found Abel, though through these long years I -have never ceased to hunt him--his shadow, some sound of his voice, -some track of his footsteps.” - -“To right yourself with the world?” I asked. - -“Let it fall from me--the vampire!” he cried, contemptuously. “You are -all the world I care, as your father was before you. It is not Abel I -want, Richard; it is the secret he carried away with him--the secret, -or the clue to it, which I have maddened after, pursuing it, the -wicket friar’s-lantern, down the long mire of these coasts.” - -“Secret?” I said, wondering. “What secret?” - -“The book,” he answered--snapped, rather. - -I turned and stared at him as we walked. - -“You mean the book that--that you fought about?” - -He nodded. - -“Why,” I sniggered, incredulous, “was it worth all this?” - -He did not resent my youthful irony--met it with a solemn -self-deprecation, in fact. - -“God knows, dear boy!” he said. “This, and more, I thought once. Now, -Richard, forbear to indulge a lust till it masters you. I have damned -myself like the wandering Jew. I have no rest in rest. The quest has -become an obsession, a craze, which not even the discovery of the -treasure itself could, I believe, appease.” - -“Phew!” I whistled, soft and amazed. “A treasure, was it?” - -“Yes,” he said. - -“And somewhere on these coasts, I think you said?” - -“Somewhere on these east coasts.” - -I stopped in sheer excitement. - -“I don’t wonder. They are choke full of--of things. And have you been -tramping them ever since I saw you last?” - -“On and off; up and down; to and fro.” - -“It must have been tiring, and--and a bit expensive.” - -He smacked his hand to his breast. - -“There is a hundred or two left here yet. ‘Equity’--you remember your -friend’s words?--‘equity is justice.’” - -“You got your thousand pounds?” - -“I got my thousand pounds.” - -A longish silence fell between us. - -“Mr. Pilbrow,” I said at last, “what has brought you here?” - -“Destiny,” he answered at once; “yours and mine.” - -“It was quite accidental, this meeting?” - -“As the world would consider it--quite.” - -“Well,” I said, after a pause, “it is very wonderful; and most of all -your knowing me again. I--I hope you will be here a day or two. I must -be going home.” - -He looked at me with his strange wolf’s eyes. - -“I only arrived last night,” he said. “You live here?--but, of -course.” - -“I live here--have lived, ever since that time, with my guardian.” - -He started back with a gesture of repulsion. - -“Not that man, that crow, that Quayle?” - -I laughed. He had no sense of humour. In all my knowledge of him I -never knew him even to smile. - -“O dear no!” I said. “A very different person; my uncle, Mr. Paxton.” - -“He could not be too different to satisfy me as your guardian,” he -responded grimly. Then his face softened, and he took my hands in his. -“So long as I stay,” he said sorrowfully, “you will let me see you -sometimes?” - -Now, at that, my heart melted to him. He was so fierce, so vicious to -the rest of the world, it was a certain glory to be his chosen. - -“Won’t you come and see my uncle?” I said. “He is at home, not very -well. He knows all about that trial, Mr. Pilbrow, and--and he loved my -father dearly.” - -I believe there were tears sprung to his eyes. I turned away abashed. - -“Does he love _you_?” he asked low. - -“He lives for me, I think.” - -“Then,” he said, “we shall have that sympathy in common, and I will -risk it.” - -All the way back I chattered to him of my life since we had last met. -He had been so associated with my father’s end, I could not shake off -the impression that we were old friends. He listened intently, sharing -in all my sympathies, grinding his teeth over my little local -misfortunes. And when we reached our door, he took my hand again -before entering, and said in a full voice, “Thy people shall be my -people, and thy God my God.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - AN ODD COMPACT. - -Age, that forgets its yesterday’s company, often puts one to shame -in the memories of long ago. I had pondered the problem, even while -proposing it, of Joshua’s introduction to my uncle; and, behold! the -dear soul recognized his guest at the first mention. His name was -associated indirectly, it is true, with a momentous decision in his -own life; yet, even so--well, one was not wont to look upon Uncle -Jenico’s memory as the active partner in his constitution. It saved me -some perplexity. - -I had left Joshua by his own request in the porch while I went to -prepare my relative, who I found much refreshed by his sleep, and to -whom I briefly recapitulated the tale of my rally with this old -client, as I might call him. - -“Bring him in, by all means,” he said, adjusting his spectacles, and -then beaming at me through them. “Poor soul, poor fellow, to have -suffered all these years under the stigma of an unfounded slander!” - -He spoke with a new-awakened loudness; the door was close at hand; the -visitor heard. In a moment he came striding in, hat in hand, his eyes -glittering. - -“Mr. Paxton,” he said; “Mr. Paxton! You are worthy to be this dear -lad’s guardian! I can say no more.” - -The two men shook hands, with a full understanding, it seemed; and a -pregnant minute ticked itself out between them. - -“You come off a long journey?” asked my uncle, at the end. - -“Off a long journey, sir--a journey of six years. I had hardly -expected to find this haven by the way. I hardly know now what it -means; yet Fate grant it has a meaning!” - -“You are making a considerable stay?” - -“If I have not lost the faculty to rest. I don’t know. I am all -confounded at present.” - -“He is seeking for a treasure hidden on these coasts,” I put in, and I -could have put in nothing apter. My uncle kindled. - -“A treasure!” he cried. “Why, so am I, Mr. Pilbrow. Only, I gather, I -have the advantage of you in having already collected a part of mine. -And did you read of yours, too, in Morant?” - -“Morant, sir!” said the bookseller. “No, his name was Victor--Carolus -Victor.” - -He checked himself instantly--jealously. He had been carried away -emotionally, I think, over his reception. But in the same breath his -reserve was gone. - -“You shall have the whole story from me,” he said; “but not now. Give -me time to order my thoughts, to realize what this encounter means to -me.” - -“Certainly,” said my uncle, kindly. And being all openness and -simplicity himself, he proceeded to relate to our visitor the entire -history of our sojourn in Dunberry, and of the events and prospects -which had brought us there. - -“The result has justified my utmost hopes,” he ended with, -enthusiastically; and then cast a sudden wistful look at me. “It is -something in an otherwise empty life, Mr. Pilbrow, to have this object -in accumulating. Heaven has seen fit, sir, to deny me the blessing of -a family, lest by my improvidence I turned it into a curse. But it has -compensated with the left hand while it withheld the right. What -prouder trust to have committed to one than the welfare of the child -of him who died to prove the truth!” - -The visitor stepped back, shading his eyes with his hand. - -“You rebuke me, sir,” he said in a stifled voice; “you teach me. Is -_this_ the meaning, the atonement? If I, too, might so earn quittance -of this curse of emptiness! _The child of him who died to prove the -truth!_ My God, my God! To bequeath to him the fruits of this so -wretched quest! To turn the curse into a blessing!” - -He advanced, and seized my uncle’s hand with a strenuous entreaty. - -“Let me be joint trustee with you. By that sacred life laid down for -mine, I have a right. If I could so convert this evil--to enrich his -son--so perhaps to earn rest.” - -My uncle was distinctly snuffling. He took off his spectacles and -wiped them, and put them on again tremulously. - -“So be it, Mr. Pilbrow,” he said. “We have been two selfish souls, -perhaps. We will win our redemption through Richard.” - -Thus was I made the inheritor of phantom fortunes. I felt quite -inclined to put on airs, as the sole legatee to a vast atmospheric -estate. Mr. Pilbrow even came to claim me with some show of kind -judicial authority, as if the law had appointed him my part guardian. -But that was by-and-by. - -Now, he uttered a sound, as if his emotions had been too much for him, -and stepped back. - -“I must go,” he said. “You will excuse me. This wonder--this -kindness--I am unused; it overwhelms me. I must rest the body, even if -the brain works. You will let me come and see you again?” - -“But why not accept a----” began my uncle. - -“No, no,” he interrupted him, gasping. “I understand your generosity, -sir. I have stood, I can stand the rack. There are limits to my -endurance of benignity--such human consideration. I have a good bed at -the Flask. I entreat you to let me go--to----” - -He left hurriedly. I would have accompanied him; but Uncle Jenico, -with a better delicacy, detained me. The moment the door slammed on -him he smacked one hand decisively in the palm of the other. - -“That man a murderer!” he cried. “Richard, I wish your Mr. Quayle no -worser fate than to die in refuting such another calumny!” - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - “FACILIS DESCENSUS AVERNI.” - -I had forgotten all our late troubles in this wonderful encounter. -Aaron’s snake had swallowed the others. This peaked wintry little -ghost out of the past, starved and frost-bitten and shabby as it -looked, had yet a strange suggestion of vicious force about it which, -inasmuch as it seemed sworn for good or evil to my service, comforted -me unconsciously in the sense of fear and helplessness which had got -me in grip. Somehow Rampick seemed less formidable, my feeling of -bondage to an ugly responsibility less acute, in the knowledge of this -new acrid ally. - -But, beyond this, there was curiosity--still-breathing, wide-eyed -curiosity to know what enduring mystery yet held the footsteps of that -ancient tale of The King _versus_ Joshua Pilbrow. I had learned -something, had had my adventure tooth tickled with a taste of the -truth. It had whetted my hunger for more, had tantalized me with that -sharpest spur to youthful appetite--the dream of hidden treasure. When -would Joshua serve up the whole dish--or would he ever? It seemed -incredible that a man who had pursued such a secret, morose and -self-contained, for six years, could yield it at last to a sentiment. -Yet he had promised, and, though I sickened of the delay, I must not -dare to risk making that eternal by over-precipitation. - -In the meantime, as there could be no harm in the attentions natural -to hospitality, I walked over to the Flask inn, after breakfast the -following morning, to see how our visitor had slept. - -It was within three or four days of Christmas, and sharp, beautiful -weather. I have always since associated the deadliest scheming of Fate -with such tranquillity. The robin, like a tiny phœnix, burned, -singing on a spray. There was a glaze of rime on the ground, and the -sweetest coldness to take into the lungs. The ringers were already -practising their carols; the ruddiness of the holly was reflected in -the genial cheeks of the wives; the prospect of holiday and fat fare -smiled from every door. One had thought that the village, like its -geese, had been gutted of the last foulness, and that Nature beamed -approval. Alas! it is not the blackest thought that rides the storm. -Nature, like the man, may “smile and smile and be a villain.” - -The younger Miss Fleming had made herself a sad misalliance, running -away with the ostler, and coming to grief and indigence. But her fate -had wrought no impression on her sister, who remained as pert and -coquettish as ever, and wore the same gaudy finery and shoes down at -heel. She always rather courted me because of Harry, of whom she was -gigglingly enamoured, and who detested her. - -“Lork, Mr. Dicky!” she said, when I came in. “Is the old gentleman a -friend of yours? I’m sure I’d have give him every attention if I’d -known.” - -She was glancing fitfully, all the time she spoke, at a little lozenge -of looking-glass which stood on the bar rack. - -“Whatever you could have spared from that, Tilly?” I said. “I’m sure -I’m much obliged to you.” - -“O, get along!” she protested. “You’re always poking your fun at me!” -And I made my way upstairs, as directed, to number seven. - -I found Joshua not yet out of bed when I entered to his summons. He -sat up to greet me, like Lazarus new-risen--a wasted corpse-like -little figure, white and grim and unshorn. But his face lighted -rapturously at sight of me. - -“It was no dream, then!” he said, and lay back again, with a very -gentle expression. I came and stood over him, and he nodded to me. - -“Richard, I shall lie abed to-day. This passion of luxury after the -toil! Most restful, most wonderful! Yet the sickness is not out of my -bones.” - -“You will do very well,” I said. “When you are rested, we must show -you all there is of the place--the local lions, you know. To-night it -is a Feast of Lanterns--rather fun. Do you think you could manage it?” -And between question and answer he learned all about Mr. Sant, and -Harry, and what remained untold of our simple history. It might have -been Hume to him, so profound an attention he gave to it. - -“I shall like that Harry,” he said at the end; “and the sensible -clergyman. Yes, I will come to the Feast, if you can find me a -lantern.” - -After arranging to fetch him at a given hour, I left him to his trance -of rest. He told me no more of his story. I had hardly expected he -would; yet I retreated in an itch of half-injured excitement. Ah! if I -could have foreseen under what circumstances the revelation was to -come to me, I would have sworn a compact of eternal silence with him, -and baffled Fate. - -That morning Harry returned from Yokestone, and I walked a mile to -meet him. He was near as excited as I over Joshua’s coming. He knew -all about him, of course. We had no secrets from one another. - -“What does he look like?” he said. “I’ve never seen an acquitted -murderer.” - -Joshua had shaved the gallows. He was not the rose, but he had lived -near it. - -“I can’t say he looks like everybody else,” I said, “because he -doesn’t. But his nose is in the middle of his face.” - -By-and-by we fell to our long-postponed discussion of the great -adventure and its moral. - -“I’ve been thinking,” said Harry, “that perhaps after all we’ll tell -Sant.” - -“O, you may snigger!” he said. “But supposing anything were to happen -to us.” - -“Why, what’s going to happen to us?” - -“I don’t know. One can never tell.” He spoke quite sombrely. “It -wouldn’t be right, would it, to carry that secret to the grave, -especially----” - -“Especially what?” - -“Why, I was going to say, especially if we thought we were going to be -sent there by some one on purpose to keep it.” - -“Look here, Harry,” I exploded; “I wish you’d speak plain, and not -hint and nudge and set a fellow jumping. Who do you mean? Say out!” - -“Rampick, then.” - -I walked on, staring at the road. He had but given actuality to a -rather haunting spectre of my own. - -“You think he’ll be wanting to shut our mouths?” I said, low. - -“I think--yes. He saw us go in; and--well, look here, Dick--why’s he -been watching there all these years, unless out of fear that some such -thing might happen? Ah, you’ve thought the same yourself, I see! It -looks black against him, in my opinion, and----” - -“He’s half crazed. We two ought to be a match for him.” - -“Suppose he took us separate? He’s strong as the devil still, I tell -you. I’m not afraid; but I don’t want to be tipped over a cliff, or -have a stone fall on me, and mother be left to think I didn’t take -care of my life for her sake.” - -“Very well; we’ll tell Sant, then,” I said, graciously conceding the -point--with much private relief. - -“Then the sooner the better,” said Harry. “I’ve thought it all out -since yesterday, and concluded that not to tell him would be to make -him out less of a man than we are. Supposing anything were to happen -to us, and some chance brought to his knowing after all what we’d died -to keep from him. A pretty opinion he’d think we had of him, and a -pretty ghost to haunt his conscience, to know that he might have saved -us. The sooner the better, I say.” - -“All right. Only he won’t be back till this evening.” - -“No more he will. Very well; what do you say, then, to filling up the -time by going _there_ again?” - -I actually stumbled, as if he had tripped me. - -“Harry!” - -I had clutched hold of him to stop him, and we stood face to face. - -“You ain’t afraid?” he asked. - -“Afraid! I’m sick at the very thought.” - -“O, that’s rot! We’ve seen the worst, and got over it.” - -“_Have_ we? We’ve seen enough anyhow to serve me for a lifetime.” - -“Don’t you bother, then. I’ll go by myself.” - -“You shan’t, I tell you.” - -“Shan’t I? We’ll see.” - -“What do you want to go for?” - -“To find out whether _he’s_ been there since or not.” - -“What does it matter if he has? Besides, he’d never get his great -carcase through the way we came.” - -“I dare say; but I want to see. Forewarned is forearmed.” - -“Wait till we’ve spoken to Mr. Sant.” - -“I’d rather have the latest facts to put before him.” - -I clutched my forehead. I knew the dogged side of this friend of mine. -Then I fell into a fury, and stamped. - -“You’re a beast! If I have a fit, you’ll have to answer for it, that’s -all.” - -“I don’t want you to come!” - -“Don’t you? Who gave you leave to dictate to me, I should like to -know?” - -“Well, come if you like.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Harrier, for the permission.” - -We resumed our way, and I walked by Harry’s side, ruffling. Presently -he said-- - -“I say! Supposing that old Pilbrow’s treasure had anything to do with -the secret in the hill! What a lovely complication!” - -“I don’t see why it particularly should,” I snapped. “It had to do -with a book; not--not with a hash of smugglers.” - -I took no longer interest in Joshua for the moment. Harry had put all -that story out of my head. He saw I was worked up, and said no more. -We parted where our roads branched, on my side in a very depressed -condition. My dinner choked me, and my desperate efforts to simulate -appetite only brought me observation. Uncle Jenico was quite -concerned, and Mrs. Puddephatt disgustingly critical. - -“It’s the hair,” she said. “Soon or late it was bound to find ’im -hout. I don’t blame you, sir, for noticing at the eleventh hour what’s -long been apperient to the casual. The heyes of love is blind, and -incapable of seeing into the stomach. The young gentleman, sir, is -sickening for London, and no wonder. We know, sir, what Scripture says -is the dog’s fancy; and is a human to be judged more himpervious to -what he’s give up? Let Master Richard breathe the hair of his native -’eath once more is _my_ advice.” - -“Is there any truth in this, Dick?” said Uncle Jenico, when she had -gone. “Have you been, perhaps unconsciously, thinking of London -lately, because----” - -“O, don’t be a dear old idiot!” I interrupted him impatiently. “I was -never less in the mood to leave Dunberry. Can’t I keep up my character -for health without stuffing myself when I ain’t hungry!” - -I laughed vexedly; but still I could see he was anxious about me, and -I was working myself up to the last pitch of irritability, when -suddenly I was conscious that Harry had gone past the window outside. -I waited for his rap at the door. It did not follow. I jumped up, -stung to fury, and disregarding my uncle’s cry, ran out of the house -and came up with my friend. - -“What do you mean?” I said. “Were you going without me?” - -“I thought,” he answered, “you’d see me; and then you could come or -not as you liked.” - -“Now, look here,” I said, “I won’t be treated in this way. I think -it’s just beastly. Because I don’t jump at being made sick, every -one’s going to pity me or be my superior.” - -“Why, what’s happened?” said Harry, with a twinkle. - -“Mrs. Puddephatt,” I answered. “I wish she’d leave my inside alone. -And here you are going along with your nose in the air.” - -Harry was chuckling out loud; but he reddened as I ended. - -“I can’t help my nose,” he said gravely. “I don’t see the point.” - -“No more do I,” I answered, looking at it, and beginning to come round -with a vexed laugh. It is strange what self-respect we can acquire -from other people’s weaknesses. Harry’s “pug” was always a rather -delicate subject with him. - -He flushed truculent a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and gave a -good-natured laugh. - -“I must take what comfort I can out of its being a cushion,” he said. -“It’s very resting to the eyes--better than yours, that they can’t -settle on without slipping.” - -“Tit for tat,” I said. “You’ve answered me like a witty little -gentleman, my darling. And now you can pull my ear, if you like, for -having been cross and rude with you.” - -He responded, with the addition of an amiable kick, and Richard was -himself again. - -The air being thus cleared, we went swiftly for the Mitre, chattering -spasmodically all the way in a desperate pretence of swagger. I really -think the greater credit was due to me, as I was being engaged to this -anticlimax, as I considered it, entirely against my judgment. But my -heart sank once more, when at last we came up on the hill among the -ruins, and I realized at first hand the sinister futility of our -design. - -The day had fallen wintry close and breathless. The sun was not -blotted out, but dulled, as if a ground-glass window had been shut -upon it. A light fog was stretching shorewards from the water, -chilling and isolating us. It brought the very spirit of ghostly -echoes with it, and wickedness and watchfulness; and it seemed to -demoralize the pith in one’s bones. - -“O, if it’s got to be done, let’s get it over!” I said, with a shiver. -“Why--Harry, look there!” - -He nipped my arm, and we both stood staring--at the place of our -yesterday’s exit. - -There was no doubt about it. We had never effected, had never thought -to effect, in the litter of dead stuff and bramble, so complete a -concealment of our passage therethrough, for our ecstasy had taken no -account at the moment of the rending evidences of our adventure which -we were leaving behind us. Now, all trace of such was gone, -obliterated, had been cunningly effaced and built in with other litter -torn from the thicket elsewhere. The deadly spot was returned, to all -appearance, to its wonted condition. - -“Won’t that do?” I whispered, gulping. “We needn’t look any further.” - -“We need,” returned Harry, short and grim. “Who’s to know, if we -don’t, that he found his way down?” - -“What does it matter if he did or didn’t? This shows plains enough -that he saw us come out.” - -“But it doesn’t show that he knows what we know.” - -“Harry!” - -He was pulling at the dead stuff as I shook out his name. A great pad -of it came bodily away in his hands, revealing a savage gap behind--a -hole torn and trodden beyond anything that we had made. - -“Harry!” I whispered again. “Supposing--supposing he should be down -there now!” - -Nothing would persuade or deter him. He broke from me, and was in -while I spoke; and I had in decency to follow. - -Now, if more proof were needed, here it was in the black rent at our -feet. It was flagrantly enlarged from our memory of it by the forced -passage of a huger body. It offered no difficulty of descent, and -Harry let himself down into it cautiously, but without hesitation. - -“Wait,” he muttered, as he disappeared, “while I light up.” - -He had brought matches and candles with him; but he paused a moment to -listen before he fetched them out. - -Not a sound reached us. The hill, inside and out, was wrapped in -deadliest silence. The next instant a soft glow spread itself below -me, and I went down into it, tingling with the horror of what it -should reveal. - -Not a sound; not even the snarl of the badger, which I believe I -should have welcomed. The brute, scared out of his security, I think, -had betaken himself to other quarters. We reached the floor, and crept -on. - -Again the dead came about us; but now, knowing and holding the road to -flight, I could recover nothing of the sad appeal to comradeship with -which they had before greeted me. They were terrors apart: ghastly -chuckling grotesques without name in the kind world I had left. I -hated them as they hated me. - -Suddenly Harry uttered a little cry, and, stooping, rose again with -some object in his hand. - -“Look!” he whispered, and held it to the light. - -It was the bowl, broken off short, of a blackened death’s-head pipe, -such as was familiar to us in the lips of Joel Rampick. - -Do you know what the French call a _pièce de conviction_? Here it -was, and we needed nothing further. - -He had been here, and he shared our secret. What was he going to do? - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - THE FEAST OF LANTERNS. - -I remember I ate a very large supper that night, to the happy -reassurance of Uncle Jenico. That suffocating tightness of the -midriff, which anxiety brings, seems to expand, in its reaction, to a -quite exaggerated emptiness. Have we not all had that experience? What -meals we’ve made after a visit to the dentist’s! Who would have -thought that this Berserker, dashing his beard with wine and roaring -contempt of wounds and death, was the same individual who in the -morning cowered sick-cropped in Mr. Forceps’s waiting-room? The -thought of having vindicated, and proved, and so honourably acquitted -one’s self of further responsibility to a much-dreaded task, is one of -the most appetizing reflections in the world. And besides, I had -arrears to make up. - -For the moment, I was quite congratulatory to Fate on its having found -so strong an instrument as myself to help it with its schemes. I even, -I think, took credit for that brilliant conception of shifting the -whole burden as soon as possible upon Mr. Sant’s shoulders. Through -the glaze of repletion I saw, bedimmed, and even perhaps glorified, -the figures of two ghostseers scuttling home that afternoon, with -their tails between their legs, before the vision of a vengeance they -had evoked. Now I laughed and snapped my fingers at the shadow of that -vengeance left standing outside the window. - -But it came to be just a leetle a different matter when it fell -evening, and when shadow enwrapped the shadow, and I must go out into -the first, perhaps after all to find the second also claiming and -involving me. We were still, Harry and I, bound unrelieved to our -secret, and must be so till late night, at least. For Mr. Sant was to -return from London but in time to keep his evening engagement at the -church, or, rather, the schoolrooms adjoining--to which, since their -completion, the lectures had been relegated--and no opportunity could -be ours to speak with him till after the entertainment. In the -meanwhile, we had arranged to meet at the Flask, when I went to fetch -Joshua, that Harry might be introduced; and about half-past seven I -set out. - -I confess I looked over my shoulder more than once as I sped for the -inn. The night was very black, with a sense of creeping inquisitive -mists in it. I had brought a lantern for myself and one for Joshua; -but for some reason I did not want to light them as yet. Perhaps it -was the thought of my moving a marked object through the gloom which -prevented me. However, I reached my destination without mishap, and -finding Harry already waiting for me there, took him up at once to our -visitor’s bedroom. - -We found Mr. Pilbrow dressed, and expecting me with some eagerness. He -was quite spruce, so far as the contents of the little hand-bag, his -sole baggage, it seemed, could make him. But he had been shaved and -brushed, and his boots cleaned; and if his heavy green surtout was -worn and smeared with a hundred stains, the character of it was -redeemed by that of the little, alert, forcible face, which looked out -of the frayed collar. - -“So,” he said, pleased, but stiffly, “here’s the lantern, and here’s -Harry, I presume?” - -“How dee do, sir?” said my friend, grinning rather shy, but in his -frank, attractive way. “I hope you’ll like Dunberry. We haven’t much -in the way of local sights to recommend us; but what there is we’ll -show you, if you’ll let us.” - -“I’m obliged to ye,” said Joshua. “My young friend here mentioned some -ruins.” - -“Yes, there’s the ruins,” said Harry; “and--and--what else is there, -Dick?” - -I had hoped, under the circumstances, we might have let the ruins -alone. I did not care much to think of them, for my part. - -“O,” I said, airily, “there’s the wreck on the sands. It’s the only -other thing I can call to mind.” - -“Mighty!” said Harry. “What a genius you are, Dicky! I’d never thought -of that. Would you care to pull out and see a wreck, Mr. Pilbrow?” - -“Infinitely,” said the old man, handsomely. “And what wreck is it -now?” - -We told him. - -“It’d be rather a lark,” said Harry. “Only we must time our visit to -the tide. It’ll be low about to-morrow midday, if that’ll suit. If -you’ll believe me, sir, we shall be the first to show any curiosity -about the thing. There it’s sat for a week, and Dunberry not taken the -trouble to pull five miles out to learn its name, even.” - -We must go now, if we wanted to hear the lecture; and so we lighted -our lanterns and descended those private stairs which I had used on -the morning first after our coming. I led, and as I issued forth, I -lifted my lantern to show Joshua, who followed, the way. The light -shone full upon his face, where it hung, like the gurgoyle of my -memory, I could have thought, in the dark entry. And on the instant a -little strained scream broke at my elbow, and something staggered back -against the closed door of the tap which stood hard by. - -The latch burst; there was a snap and tinkle of glass, and the door -flying open, let down a heavy sprawling body into the lighted bar -beyond. A volley of oaths from the landlord sprung out with the glow, -and some one was cursed for a crazy, drunken lout. Startled beyond -measure, I hurried our guest on. - -“What was it?” he asked, unruffled. - -“Nothing,” I said, “but a boozy ruffian of our acquaintance.” - -But by-and-by I took an opportunity to pull Harry back and whisper in -his ear-- - -“Did you see?” - -“Yes. Rampick.” - -“What was he doing there?” - -“What is he always doing there?” - -“Yes. But to give out that screech at the sight of us!” - -“It shows, anyhow, that he’s more frightened of us than we are of -him.” - -I was agitated, nevertheless, and more eager than ever to unburden -myself to Mr. Sant. This giving of himself away was hardly to be -reconciled with the drunkard’s stealthy effacement of his traces up on -the hill yonder. I wanted the thing all over and taken out of our -hands. - -We found the road to the schools, now we came to retrace it, all -dotted and lively with wandering sparks of lanterns. There was to be a -good attendance, it was evident. The holiday spirit was in the air, -and these lectures, after all, were the best of holiday tasks. And, -indeed, when we entered the building we perceived it so crowded as, in -the brilliancy of its illumination, to preclude any chance of that -first fun of obscured revelations; for the drawings on the sheet were -plain as truth, or anyhow as plain as good intentions. We were forced -to satisfy ourselves with back places near the door. However, the room -was not so large but that we could distinguish every one of the -freehand objects depicted in charcoal on the screen, which, with a -“Seraphine”--a late invented reed instrument blown with the feet, and -the joy of Mr. Sant’s heart--was the whole of the lecturer’s -paraphernalia. - -“What’s that first thing?” whispered Harry, giggling. - -“Hush!” I said. “I don’t know. It looks like an oyster.” - -The lights, and the company, and the prospect of our tutor’s near -restoration to us, were beginning to recover me, and already I was -tickled with the thought of some fun ahead. And then, in a moment, -there he was, the whimsical strong soul; and I breathed a great sigh -of relief, and joined tumultuously in the welcome which greeted him. - -His discourse this night (and the illustrations to it, presumably) was -all of an appropriate observance of the sacred and festive occasion -now upon us. He urged his audience to honour it with sobriety. “In the -very teeth,” he said, “of that foreign clergyman who exhorted his -English congregation to temperance in these words: ‘Myself I do not -say no drink. Myself I would drink a pot of porter with you every -minute,’ I must assure you that it is not excess which is the friend -of festivity, nor is it sport to choose the devil for bottle holder, -and let one’s self be knocked out of time at the first round. Take -your share and drink fair is our motto; and put it down that you may -keep it up, the ‘father of lies.’ A drunken christening is never a -pleasant sight; but when Christ Himself is the baby, it is damning as -well as shameful. What would you think, as honest men, of repaying the -author of a feast by excluding him from a share in it, and not even, -like the Model Constituency, in order to point a moral? You have never -heard of the Model Constituency?” (“No, your reverence, no!”) “Well, -I suppose not. But the one that came nearest to it was the one to the -independent and enlightened electors of which a candidate once -appealed with a free lunch and drinks on the day of the poll. And very -polite and ingratiatory he came to it himself, too, to take a snack -and a glass with his good friends and guests. Only his good friends -and guests wouldn’t let him in On the contrary, a burly, red-faced -elector barred his way as he was entering. - -“‘Vait a minute, sir,’ says the elector. ‘Ve likes this idea of -yours,’ he says, ‘only there’s vun thing: ve doesn’t want to be -disfranchised for corruption,’ says he. ‘The bony fiddles of our -borough is wery dear to us,’ he says. - -“‘And to me,’ says the candidate. ‘Rather sacrifice twenty seats than -imperil that and my good name,’ he says. - -“‘So ve thought, sir,’ says the elector. ‘And therefore ve’re going to -eat your wittles, and drink your hale, and arterwards go down in a -body and plump for the other gentleman, in order to prove,’ says he, -‘that our incorruptibility was what you stood on. And we’ll be wery -much obliged,’ he says, ‘if you’ll give us your countenance by -clearing out.’” - -The illustration went home--we were not so far from the Reform Act of -’32--and was greeted with laughter and cheers. - -“Now, you have not that excuse,” said the lecturer. “The author of -this feast comes to save, not to corrupt you; and if you would honour -Him, consider His sober innocence in your midst, or His Father will -withdraw Him. Christmas without Christ! That is to play the devil’s -game.” - -He sat down, as he spoke, to his “Seraphine,” and broke into a -hymn--his own production, and very characteristic--which ran, -literally, as follows-- - - “’Tis Christ His feast,” said Short to Long. - “Let’s pass the night in drink and song.” - - “The liquor must not be too mild - For toasting of that holy Child,” - - Said Long. “Them Jews was blind,” said he; - “But not so blind as we will be.” - - They drank Him once, and twice, and thrice; - The main brace they began to splice. - - A child’s voice wailed outside the door: - “O, let me enter, I implore! - - “’Tis freezing cold, and dark, and dire. - O, let me warm me at your fire!” - - “No place for children here,” said Long, - And bid him “cut his lucky” strong. - - “We’re keeping of Christ Jesus’ feast, - Clear out,” said Short, “you little beast!” - - They sang to “David’s royal Son,” - And not till all the drink was done - - Abstained; then staggered to the door, - And sobered at the sight they saw. - - Stark on the snow Christ baby lay. - ’Twas Him those sots had cursed away. - - Now tell me, what availed them, then, - To keep Christ out and Christmas in? - -He had set his words to the tune of “Immortal Babe who this dear day,” -and you may question, if you are purists, a cockney rhyme or two; and -you may question, if you are Pharisees, his methods. Well, all I can -tell you is that women wiped their eyes over the homely theme, and -that our Christmas was the sweeter for the lesson it taught. - -At the end Mr. Sant jumped up, and taking his rod, pointed to the -first object on the screen. - -“Now, then!” sniggered Harry, kneading his hands between his knees. - -There followed a pause and a general stir, rippled through with a -little undercurrent of laughter. - -“Go on!” whispered Harry, nudging me. - -“Oyster!” I sung out. - -Mr. Sant caught sight of us, and nodded and laughed. - -“Thank you, Mr. Bowen,” said he. “No, it’s not an oyster!” and he sat -down and began trolling out a new carol. - -The little ex-bookseller shifted; blushed faintly, I do believe, and -turned to me. - -“I fancy I’ve got it,” said he. - -“Have you?” I answered delightedly. “Cry up, then!” - -“Christmas pie!” he piped, in his thin, cracked voice. - -Every head was turned momentarily our way. Mr. Sant left his stool and -bowed. - -“The artist is vindicated,” said he. “The gentleman has the right -penetrative vision. A mince-pie it is.” And he made his illustration -forthwith the text for a lovely disquisition on plum-porridge and -frumenty and goose-pie, “on beef and plum-pudding and turkey and -chine,” and, generally, the history and rationale of Christmas fare, -till his audience shifted and sighed under the influence of an -illusive surfeit. - -A thing guessed for “one o’ them tree worms,” and turning out to be a -yule log, came next, and provoked an allusion to a Norfolk custom on -certain farms of dealing out the strong cider to the household at -meals for so long as the block was in consuming; for which reason the -servants would select for Yule the biggest and most cross-grained -stump of elm they could find--a shrewd providence which tickled the -simple fancy of this fishing community, where wood for burning was -economized to the last spark it would yield. - -A leathern jack coming third, and passing, by way of a wading boot, -the ordeal of identification, led to the liveliest little essay on the -drinking vessels of our ancestors; the “cocker-nuts” and hornes of -beasts; the “goords” and ostrich eggs; the “mazers, broad-mouthed -dishes, noggins, whiskins, piggins, crinzes, ale-bowls, wassell-bowls, -court-dishes, tankards, Kannes, from a pottle to a pint and a pint to -a gill;” and, last of all, the great jacks and bombards, which indeed -were not unlike the cavalry boot of William III.’s time. - -Then we came to a fowl of some sort, most unnamable and amazing. Every -species of partlet known to Dunberry, from a barn-door to a -guinea-hen, was named without success, while Mr. Sant at the -“Seraphine” laughed so that he could hardly sing, and from the hall a -peal of merriment went up with every guess. But at last, a dear fat -boy, Hoogan by name, was inspired, and to an explosion of chuckles -gave up the secret. - -“I’ve got un, Muster Sarnt, I’ve got un! It’s a tor-key!” - -The lecturer brought down his hands to a little scream of laughter, -and sprang to his feet. - -“Hoogan,” he cried, “you redeem me. Not know him! Look here--his vain, -empty, strutting, intolerable self-importance! Isn’t it all there to -the life? The very manner of the creature that imposed so abominably -upon the Mayor of Bantam.” - -Cries and cheers greeted him as the laughter subsided. - -“Your reverence, your reverence! Tell us who was the Mayor of Bantam.” - -“Why, he was the Mayor of Bantam, to be sure, and so puffed up with -pride and good living, that when he sat down, I tell you for a fact, -he couldn’t see his own lap. He could only see, resting on it, what he -loved best in the world; and you may guess what that was. Anyhow, -there are two ways of running to waste, and his wasn’t the consumption -of the stomach one. - -“Well, one Christmas, when he was at the height of his glory and -appetite, he conceived the happy idea of making that part of himself a -present of the primest and most promising bird which money could -procure. ‘It’s no less than a duty,’ thinks he, ‘to so faithful a -servant; and I’ll go to Huggins myself this day about it.’ - -“Now, this Huggins bred turkeys; and what he didn’t know about ’em -wasn’t worth knowing. He knew their pride and their self-sufficiency; -he knew that of all the fowls that came strutting out of the ark they -were the vainest about their election; he knew how a little flattery, -properly administered, would serve them for food and drink till they -came near bursting; and he had a grudge against this Mayor of Bantam -for having once fined him for being incapable when he had never felt -so _powerful_ drunk in his life. So, ‘Ho-ho!’ says he to himself, when -the mayor comes upon his quest, ‘I’ve a bone to pick with you, my -friend; and fine pickings you shall have!’ - -“‘You want such a turkey as never was, my lord?’ says he. ‘And you -want to take and fatten him, and watch him fattening, and enjoy him in -anticipation, do you?’ he says. ‘But turkeys is queer beasts,’ says -he; ‘and whited sepulchres to them as doesn’t know their tricks.’ - -“‘How do you mean “whited sepulchres?”’ asks the Mayor of Bantam. - -“‘_Bones_, when all’s told,’ says Huggins, shaking his head darkly, -‘_if_ you don’t know the trick of inducing of ’em to swell.’ - -“‘Well, what is the trick?’ says the mayor. - -“‘Flattery, my lord,’ says Huggins. And then he pointed to a bird. - -“‘Do you see him?’ says he. ‘There’s the proudest, healthiest cock in -my yard--one as, if humoured, would fill a whole corporation, down to -its hungriest kitchen gal on two and six a week and what she could -pick up, with the marrer of deliciousness. A dream, he is.’ - -“‘A nightmare, by the looks of him,’ says the mayor, ‘There’s more of -sepulchre than of meat about him,’ he says. - -“‘Ah!’ says Huggins; ‘and that shows your ignorance. It’s just -slighting that keeps him in his place till he’s wanted. If I was to -flatter that bird, sir, he’d puff himself out that amazing with -self-importance, he’d burst in a week and anticipate his own market. -You take him home, and feed him judicious on admiration and little -else, and you’ll have such a feast of him in the end as you never -dreamed.’ - -“‘How much for him?’ says the mayor. - -“‘Not a penny less than two guineas,’ says Huggins. - -“‘Preposterous!’ says the mayor. - -“‘O, very well!’ says Huggins. ‘I’d as lief you refused. He shall be -three to the next customer.’ - -“Well, the mayor allowed himself to be persuaded; and he had the bird -sent home and put in a coop. And every day, and half a dozen times a -day, he’d go down and praise the creature to its face till its very -wattles turned purple with pleasure. There’s nothing too fulsome for a -turkey to swallow. The very ‘gobble-gobble’ of him set the mayor’s -jaws going with a foretaste of delight. - -“‘Gobble-gobble! I could eat you, my beauty!’ says he, just as a -rapturous mother talks to her child. - -“You should have seen the turkey ruffle and swell to be called beauty. - -“‘Put up your tail,’ says the mayor, ‘and the dear little pope’s nose! -There’s no Juno’s peacock can spread such a fan!’ says he. - -“The cage would hardly contain the bird at that. He expanded at the -very sound of the mayor’s footstep afterwards; and he discarded his -food almost entirely, as something too gross for the consideration of -a better than Juno’s peacock. The mayor wondered; but he couldn’t -discount the evidence of his own eyes. - -“‘That Huggins is a cunning one,’ he thought. ‘He knows what he’s -about’--which was very true. - -“Well, at length the festive day arrived, and the mayor went to take a -last look at his beauty before consigning him to his cook. He was -almost in tears. He’d been starving himself for a week, in -anticipation of the feast, and perhaps that was the reason. - -“‘Darling!” he said, ‘my whole being craves for you! There never was -such a beautiful turkey in the world!’ - -“Bang! went the bird. It was like a paper bag exploding. And there -before the mayor’s eyes was just a little sack of bones and feathers. -The creature’s pride had been nothing but wind; and that was a turkey -all over. - -“It was Christmas Day, not a market open, and Huggins was avenged.” - -The lecturer ended amidst shouts of laughter and applause. In the -midst, he sat down to the “Seraphine,” and was fingering out the first -bars of a new hymn, when some one coming up on to the platform -whispered to him. He rose hurriedly, and, listening a moment or two, -as hurriedly left the room. The audience, including ourselves, -relaxed, at his going, into a babble of talk and merriment. - -“Prime, isn’t it, Mr. Pilbrow?” said Harry, grinning and rubbing his -hands. - -“If you introduce me to nothing worse,” answered the visitor, “I shall -love Dunberry for itself.” - -“That reminds me,” I said. “I never thought of it before. If we’re -going to take him to see the wreck to-morrow, Harry, where shall we -get a boat?” - -“H’m!” said my friend. “That requires consideration, to be sure. -They’re all laid up for the holidays, I suppose.” - -“Well, we must see,” said I, and, in the act of speaking, turned my -head. - -Now there was a row of wooden pillars behind us, supporting a gallery, -which threw into comparative darkness the space underneath; and -projected round that pillar nearest us, and leaned out of the -darkness, hung the face of Rampick. It was ghastly pale, the jaw -loose, the livid spectacles about the eyes horribly emphasized; and -its expression was one of an unnerved and listening sickness that made -me shudder. In the very act of my looking, it was snatched back; and I -saw the man himself going, lurching heavily, but on tiptoe, into the -gloom and away. - -To say that I was startled would be but to express ill my feelings. -All the doubts and agitations of the earlier evening trooped upon me -again, like a cold cloud. Had he followed us for a purpose? and, if -so, for what purpose? He had long slunk out of all attendance at these -feasts. For some reason, it seemed--we could only assume what--we had -become objects of mixed terror and fascination to him. He must have -picked himself up from that fall, and stealthily shadowed us hither, -where, it was evident, he had taken up a position cautiously to -observe and overhear us. - -I bent towards Harry to whisper to him; but before I could secure his -attention, a stir and silence ran through the room, and there, on the -platform, was our parish clerk holding up his hand. He came to say -that Mr. Sant had been summoned hastily to the Court, where an old -servant of the squire was reported at death’s door, and to request the -audience to take his apologies and disperse. - -As we rose, I looked at Harry dumbly and significantly. - -So here were we again baulked for the moment of our confession. It was -under the spirit of a fall from gaiety to a very real depression that -I said good night to my friends. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - THE WEARY SANDS. - -But the morning, rising cold and bright, though still misty, found -me on the rebound once more. The day, after all, is what we make it, -and I _would_ not think evil of so smiling a one. Mr. Sant was back, -even if we could not see him yet, and his mere neighbourhood was a -splint to a weak-knee’d conscience. - -Uncle Jenico, though still oppressed with some odd premonition, some -formless concern about me, permitted himself to be reassured so far by -my high spirits as to let me go presently, with nothing more than an -earnest entreaty that I would take care of myself. I had told him -nothing about our proposed trip to the Weary Sands. It would have -served no purpose but to trouble him all day with anxiety as to our -return. I was glad to think, later, that I had not done so; that I had -sat content with him for an hour or two after breakfast; had kept him -chatting genially, and made him laugh; had taken a genuine bright -interest in the “Colossal Wrench,” an invention (which he was engaged -in perfecting at the time) somewhat on the principle of the Spanish -garrotte, for applying tremendous haulage to an object--the most -gratifyingly practical of all his inspirations, as you shall see. And -I was glad to think that when at last I had left him, well on in the -morning, in a sudden access of emotion he had kissed me, and then -driven me away with his stick, and a laugh, and the tears in his eyes. -I had been half shamefaced, it is true, at the moment; but presently -was to sentimentalize more over the memory than he had over the fact. - -We were engaged, Harry and I, by arrangement for this day to the -convoying of Mr. Pilbrow about the place, in order to his making -acquaintance with its objects of interest. It was nothing, in fact, -but an excuse for a ramble; only, to give it a holiday complexion, we -had arranged to bring our lunch with us, and our visitor back to high -tea at the end of the jaunt. - -I set forth about eleven o’clock for the Flask, where we were to meet. -The shadows of the previous night were dispelled. A still, shining -mist half hid and half revealed, like a bridal veil, the pretty face -of nature. There was a smile and a sparkle of gems through it all, and -I whistled, as happy as a blackbird, as I went. It was within three -mornings of Christmas, a time of peace and good-will, and I was -determined to let the day be sufficient for itself in evil without -troubling to force its hand. - -On the wall of the inn I found a wonderful notice posted. It was -written crooked, in great black letters and without any stops, and ran -as follows:-- - - “Nekt Thrusday 26t Desrember there will be on Plaistoo Jingling - matches for Hats grinning thro coler Catching of a pig with the Tail - greazed climing of a pole of wemen Running For Snuff old Men for - tobakker there will be also a place receved for dancing and seats Will - be also receved for the Leadies there will be a band including marrow - bons and clever to conclude with a grand Exbitrition of Fire wax and - Cullerd bumps by J.F.” - -Harry joined me while I was spluttering over this, and read the -exciting legend across my shoulder. - -“I say,” he said, “Mr. Pilbrow’s in luck. He’ll think we’re a game -lot. I only hope the reaction won’t be too severe. But what does -‘bumps’ mean? Is Sant getting up a sparring match?” - -“Bombs, you gaby,” I said, sniggering. - -“Mighty!” said he. “Old Fleming’s going it. But won’t it be fun!” - -Then he fell to a little gravity. - -“By the way,” he said, “Sant hasn’t come home yet, and they don’t -expect him at the rectory till this afternoon.” - -It was the first little damper on my serenity. - -“O, well!” I said, with a sigh; “we shall be out for the day anyhow; -and it don’t make much difference if we can only get hold of him this -evening. You saw Rampick last night?” - -“Yes,” he answered. “Bother Rampick for this day at least!” - -We ran up in good spirits to Joshua, and in a little while were -launched upon our explorations. Our odd dry old companion was quite -excited, too, in his way. It was the most novel, most wonderful -experience to him, I think, thus to chaperon a couple of lively lads, -and be their favoured charge and mentor in one. He kept himself acrid -and reserved--it was the habit of his life; but a certain glistening -in his pale eyes, a spot of colour that established itself in his lean -cheek, spoke of some spark reawakening in those long-chilled ashes of -his soul underneath. There was even some glow of self-marvelling -enthusiasm in that haunting gaze of his, of which I found myself from -time to time the cynosure. It was like the glare of a remorseful ghost -coveting recognition in heaven’s nursery by its own child’s happy -spirit. “What human sympathy have I foregone and realized too late!” -it seemed to express. - -We betook ourselves in the first place--by Joshua’s rather insistent -wish, but, secretly, against our own--to the ruins, and for an hour -poked about among them wearily, loitering after our guest, and -supplying, scarcely volunteering, all that of their history with which -we were acquainted--impersonally, that is to say. The truth is, the -place had become odious to us--as full of sordid significances as is a -house in which a murder has been committed, when we know ourselves -subpoena’d to give evidence on the crime. But naturally our companion -felt none of this, and was only absorbed and interested, so far as -appeared, in the archaeological testimony. Once, at the end, he -paused, as fatality would have it, close by the plinth and the -encumbered thicket. I glanced at Harry. _A second time, patiently and -scrupulously, had the hole been stopped, and the traces of our visit -effaced._ - -What did the man mean? Did he, in his diseased imagination, think thus -to convince us in the face of our actual experience? It was like -enough. His unnerving dreams are so real to the drunkard, he cannot -but think that others must see what he sees and be blind to what he -has successfully hidden from himself. He is like the ostrich in his -amazing digestion of both facts and fables, Whether he puts fire in -his stomach or his head in the sand, he is equally the confident and -incurable dupe of his own imagination. - -Suddenly Joshua, after a prolonged reverie, half turned to us. - -“Are there any legends of crypts, underground vaults, anything that we -have not seen about here?” he demanded. - -I was startled; I could not order my thoughts. I mumbled out -involuntarily-- - -“I--there used to be a talk of smugglers.” - -He turned upon me like a snapping dog. - -“Smugglers! What about them?” - -Harry glanced at me warningly. - -“O!” I said, recovering myself with a flush, “it was an old tale when -we came, Mr. Pilbrow; and, since, the weather and the coastguard have -been knocking it to pieces between them.” - -He stood thoughtfully rubbing his chin. - -“So?” he murmured. “Knocking what to pieces?” - -“Why, the tale,” said I; for I did not wish to be more particular. - -I don’t know if he understood my reluctance. He did not persist in his -questions, anyhow, but lapsed into a brown study. He seemed to have -forgotten our presence. - -“So it ever vanishes,” he muttered, with a stark and melancholy frown. -“From Dungeness to Spurn Head it is always the same. The past breaks -away and falls into the sea as I approach. The ghosts lead, the mirage -beckons me; and, behold! the precipice and the boom of waters where I -had thought a treasure house!” - -He gave a sigh that was nothing less than heart-rending. A certain awe -and discomfort kept us mute. Here was some tragedy beyond our -guessing, but to which we were guiltily conscious that our -secretiveness contributed. Then in a moment he turned upon us with a -laugh in which there was not even a tinge of mirth. - -“If there is any land too much in the world,” said he, “put me to walk -upon its shore, and it will vanish before me yard by yard. My breath -is blasting powder; my feet are earthquakes. I must drown if I live -long enough.” - -He walked off towards the cliff, and paused at its edge, looking down -gloomily on the leaning shaft of the well. - -“He is thinking of Abel and his book,” I whispered to Harry as we -followed. - -Suddenly he turned to me, and put his arm through mine with an air -emotional and apologetic. - -“Dear lad,” he said, “you mustn’t consider my moods. I talk to myself, -Richard--the bad habit of a lonely man. What is that thing, now? I -have wondered before this.” - -I told him. - -“Ah!” he said, with a bleak jocosity: “let well be. It should have -confronted me six years ago; and I see it only now, the moral of all -my wanderings. Yet in a good hour is it spoken, Richard, since chance -has brought me to your company again. Or is it destiny, which leading -me to neglect this scrap of shore hitherto, points its lesson at the -end with the broken shaft yonder? Let well be. I am hungry.” - -So we sat down then and there and got out our provisions. They put -astonishing comfort into us, and we two boys, at least, grew -hilarious. Sound-livered and hardened, we took no thought of chill; -and indeed the weather for the time of year was balm. A light -glistening fog still slept over everything; there was no breath of -wind, and the whisper of the surf came up to us drowsily. - -“Now, this wreck,” said Joshua presently: “where will it be?” - -Harry jumped to his feet. - -“Mighty!” he exclaimed. “We must be thinking of moving if we want to -pull out to it. Tide’s at ebb, Dicky, and near the turn. Thereabouts -it lies, Mr. Pilbrow, on the Weary Sands; but we can’t just make it -out in this haze.” - -“Well, for the boat,” I said, scrambling up; and we all made for the -Gap together. It was then half an hour past midday. - -“A bad time,” said I. “What fools we were not to think of it before! -There won’t be a soul about.” - -There was one soul, however, it appeared--a gaunt solitary figure, -which, as we neared the head of the sandy slope, we could see -silhouetted against the sky--a figure, too, which, from its restless -craning attitude, one might have thought was expecting us. - -Harry edged up to me, and was on the point of whispering, when he -caught Joshua’s eyes fixed upon him. He giggled, and looked silly. - -“I was thinking, sir,” began he, “that that man there----” and then he -stopped. - -“Well, what about him?” said the other. - -“Why,” said Harry, so confused as to forget himself--“if--if you want -to know about smugglers, he’s the chap to tell you, that’s all.” - -I nudged my friend. - -“Well,” he muttered peevishly; “I’ve not said anything, have I? -Rampick can look after himself.” - -Joshua did not answer, and we went on--and in the same moment Rampick -was gone. - -But we saw him again when we came into view of the beach. He was down -by the water, ostentatious with a boat, which lay stern on to the -surf--the only man and the only craft handy in all the waste prospect. - -Joshua stopped in admiration. - -“A providence, it seems to me!” said he. - -“We can’t go with _him_!” I muttered. - -Our visitor looked at me in wonder. - -“Why not?” he said. - -How could I answer? That this seeming opportuneness was nothing more, -as I was convinced, than a deliberate self-appropriation by this man -of a scheme which he had overheard us discussing in the hall last -night? And what then, save a confession on his part of a good trading -instinct? I must find something better than that. - -“He’s a drunkard,” I said, flushing. “He isn’t to be trusted, in my -opinion.” - -“Why?” said Joshua. “Isn’t it his own boat?” - -“O yes!” I answered; for it was, indeed--the single sound piece of -goods which Rampick had saved and clung to out of the wreck of his -past. - -“Isn’t it big enough?” insisted the visitor. - -“Quite big enough.” - -“Why,” said Joshua, “a seaman never loses his legs but ashore. And we -are three to one, gentlemen. I’m small; but I’ll back myself for a rat -to grip. If it’s me you’re thinking of----” - -Harry hung his head. I was ashamed to say more. It did seem ridiculous -that three vigorous bodies should be timorous of this one crazy oaf. -The half-truth made us out cravens, and the whole was impossible. -Nevertheless, the prospect of such a boatman for the trip quite took -off the edge of its pleasure. We followed Joshua hangdog, as he strode -down the Gap and across the beach. - -“You’ve whetted my curiosity,” he said over his shoulder. “A drunken -smuggler should be good company.” - -I scowled at Harry, dropping behind. - -“Well, why didn’t you take upon yourself to answer him?” he muttered -viciously. “We’re in for a nice thing, it seems, knowing what we know. -It’ll be pleasant to have to hob-nob with the fellow, and a warrant -for his hanging like in our pockets!” - -“He’s brought it on himself,” I answered. “He heard us last night; and -I’ll swear he’s been ready and waiting for us all the morning.” - -“Well, look out for squalls, that’s all I can say,” said my friend; -and, as he spoke, we reached the boat. - -Rampick, busy over it, never even looked up as we came. But I could -see his great hands trembling on the thwarts, as he leaned down. - -“We want to pull out to the wreck, Mr. Rampick,” I faltered. “Can you -let us have your boat?” - -I essayed to exclude him, as a last resource. He did not raise his -head, but answered in a heavy shaking voice from where he bent. - -“Which it’s well known _to_ you, sir, that my boat and me don’t part -company.” - -“It’s a special occasion, Mr. Rampick.” - -He came up, with a sudden heaving together of all his bulk, and -subsiding rigidly backwards against the gunwale, stood breathing -softly, and staring with intense unblinking eyes, _not at us, but at -our companion_. - -So a cat stares at bay, crouching before a watchful snuffing dog. I -don’t think he ever once looked at Harry or me. From that moment he -seemed to focus all the panic of his haunted soul on the stranger who -had come in our train. It was inexplicable, though in its way a relief -to us for the time being--the sort of relief one feels when some -deriding gutter urchin attracts from one to himself the unwelcome -notice of the town drunkard. - -“_Which_, it’s well known,” he whispered breathless. - -His demented gaze wandered from Joshua’s face to his knees, where it -fixed itself. - -“‘And He said,’” he muttered, “‘Lazarus, come forth!’ And they found -the stone rolled away from the sepulchre. It’s come to it--a special -occasion. One _or_ the other of us. Boat, sir, yes. But I never done -it. _You_ ought to know--one, _or_ the other of us.” - -“Then the other, by all means,” said Joshua, caustic but interested. -“My good man, we don’t want to separate you from your boat. If your -presence is indispensable, why, we’ll put up with it.” - -Rampick, I could have thought, went a shade more livid. His dry lips -seemed to crackle under his hand as he passed the back of it over -them. Yet, strangely enough, I did not believe him drunk. He seemed -rather in that arid, aghast condition which, with such a man, bespeaks -a temporary abstinence. - -Suddenly he heaved himself upright, and began heavily to busy himself -with preparations for launching his craft. We all lent a hand, and in -another minute, with a slide and a jump, were on board and slipping -easily over the shoreward swell. - -Not then, when he had settled himself to his sculls, we being all -seated in the stern, did he for a moment take his eyes off our -visitor. Sympathetically, I shrunk under that concentrated stare; but -Joshua bore it unruffled. Still, there was something in the atmosphere -to freeze our loquacity. For a long time none of us spoke at all. -There had not been air enough to fill a sail; and the monotonous bump -and creak of the oars in the rowlocks beat a dreary accompaniment to -our depression. - -At length Harry essayed a little weak conciliation. - -“Tide’ll hold for us to land and see the wreck, won’t it, Mr. -Rampick?” he said. - -His voice broke the spell, and to strange effect. The ex-smuggler did -not answer him; but he suddenly ceased rowing, and, resting on his -sculls, felt out with his foot, and kicked Joshua softly on the shins. - -“What are you doing?” snapped the victim, jerking his insulted limbs -under him. “What do you mean, man?” - -Rampick cowered where he sat. - -“I see you walk, sir,” he said hoarsely. “I see you _with_ my own -eyes. It’s not in nature, is it? You was kep’ from it, I say--held by -the legs from rising. Who let you loose? Who patched you up to follow -me? My God, I’ll be even with ’em, I will!” - -He was working himself up to a mad pitch of excitement. I half rose in -agitation, and looked behind me. We were already so far from the shore -that its line of cliffs was a mere blurred bank in the haze. But -Joshua, in the same instant, had seized the occasion to justify the -character he had given of himself. - -“Silence!” he said, not loud, but in a tone like a vice. “Who speaks -of being out of nature, you crazy patch! Row on, and mind your -business, which is to take us to the wreck!” - -The maniac creature shrunk, as quickly as he had flamed up, under the -bitter voice. Lowering and trembling he applied himself to his sculls -once more, and the boat sped on. - -“Harry,” I whispered, pale and gulping. “Did you understand?” - -“Yes. Him that lies with the pistol in the hill yonder. He thinks it’s -Mr. Pilbrow, and that we’ve set him free!” - -He ended with an hysterical giggle. Here, in truth, it appeared, was -this bedlamite’s attitude towards our guest explained. The infection -of Harry’s laugh over the absurdity seized me. I struggled in vain to -control myself. In another moment we were both of us doubling and -rolling as if the devil were tickling our ribs. - -Joshua expressed no surprise, but nodded intelligently as we gasped -ourselves sober again. He attributed our merriment, no doubt, to a -general sense of the ludicrous in this wretched creature’s wanderings, -of the likelihood of any significance or coherence in which he had, of -course, no idea. As for the man himself, he regarded Harry and me no -further than if we had been squeaking mice behind a wainscot; but sat -with his vision attached once more, and more cringingly than ever, to -the little wintry, venomous figure in the stern. - -We recovered ourselves, half fearful, from our convulsion, feeling -rather, I think, like fugitives who had consciously betrayed their own -whereabouts. But the explosion, in fact, had relieved the air; and -thenceforth we began to talk together, moved by a common rebellion -against the moral tyranny of the depression which had held us -hitherto. But, for all that, it startled us near out of our skins, -when Joshua of a sudden turned upon Rampick, and asked him roundly if -he hadn’t any good smuggling yarns to recount to him. - -“Of hidden stores, and black nights,” said he; “and the ground giving -up a sudden swarm of mushroom creatures, things squat and stealthy, -shouldering kegs?” - -Rampick’s chest had seemed to fall in at the first word. It was -painful to hear his breathing. But he made no attempt to answer. - -“Come!” said Joshua. “It’s fast confidences, man. You know what you -know. These young gentlemen have given you away--but no further than -to me, mind. Come! What happened underground in those days, before the -sea took its toll of the vaults?” - -“Why, you should know, sir--_as_ well as me!” - -Such a funny little voice, so strained and hoarse, like a cry at a -great distance. Joshua himself was startled by it, moved, perhaps, by -its distress. He persisted no further, but shrugged his shoulders, and -turned to address us again. - -In the meanwhile we were approaching the wreck, which for some time -now had been visible to us. It hung oddly in the mist--suspended, as -it seemed, in the mid-haze of sky and water, like a wreck painted on -glass. Still, seen through that illusive medium, it appeared a -phantom, far-off thing, when to our surprise, grown absorbed as we -were in contemplation of it, our boatman gave a final stroke, and -finished on it with his sculls poised. - -“No further?” said I, rising all excitement now. “Can’t you take us -any further, Mr. Rampick?” - -I’ll swear that not once during our approach had he turned his head to -canvass our distance or direction. Old crafty smuggler as he was, he -had hit his mark blindfold as it were. Even as I spoke, I was aware of -something stretching its endless length across our course--a great -soft, iridescent fish-shaped bulk, as it might be a vast submarine -monster floating dead and motionless on the surface. It shone sleek -and fawny, and pitted with little blue scales of water; and in the -instant of my recognizing it, our boat had floated on, and, with the -way given it, had grated its nose softly in its flank. - -Following the little shock and recoil, we were all on our feet. - -“The sands!” whispered Harry, with glistening eyes. “That was clever -of you, Mr. Rampick.” - -We did not, he or I, demur to our enemy’s silence. It would have made -no difference if we had. His regard, his consideration, were still all -for our companion. - -Across the glimmering lifts of sand, the wreck, now we were brought -stationary, seemed to draw nearer and clearer--a phantom still, yet -claiming some foothold on this unreal reality of an amphibious little -continent. Only a broken poop it was, tilted up and its mighty -entrails spilt into the drift. Another storm, any rough weather, would -scatter it for ever; yet no plundered town could have stood a symbol -of more awful and pathetic desolation. The haze blurred and magnified -it to us where we stood; so that, huge relic as it was in reality, it -looked nothing less than gigantic. Gazing on it, its ruin and -isolation in that mist of waters, I felt as one might feel in -alighting on a fallen colossus in a desert. - -“Are we to land here?” said Joshua, breaking through the spell which -had overtaken me. - -“Aye,” answered the smuggler, in that one terse, low monosyllable, and -with his eyes never leaving the other’s face. - -“Go, you,” said Joshua, turning briskly to us two. “I will wait here, -and take my turn when you’ve finished.” - -We hesitated, questioning him with a dumb glance. - -“Come!” he said. “The tide, as I reckon, don’t stand on ceremony.” - -“Why should we any of us go, Mr. Pilbrow?” I spoke up quickly. “We can -see all we want to see from here.” - -“Nonsense!” he said sharply. “Who’ll credit our adventure if we don’t -bring back her name?” - -We still hung reluctant; but he drove us good-humouredly forward, and -out over the bow. Looking back, after we had leapt to the reeking sand -and were hurrying to cross it, I saw him still standing there, taut -and resolute, to wave us on. - -“I don’t like it, Harry,” I said; “I don’t like it. And no more did -he, or he wouldn’t have stayed by Rampick. Let’s hurry all we can.” - -“Well, come on!” panted my friend. “The quicker we’re there, the -quicker we shall be back.” - -Yard by yard, as we traversed the broad spit of sand, the looming ribs -of the wreck seemed to shrink, and materialize, and take on outline. -And then, in a moment, with an involuntary gasp, we had pulled up, and -were standing staring. For between us and our quarry had come suddenly -into view an unguessed-at channel of dim water, a hundred feet it -might be across. - -Harry wheeled. - -“He’s done us!” he exclaimed. “He’s meaning some mischief, I’ll swear. -Come back, Dick!” - -With the word we were running. For a moment the bulge of the drift hid -the boat from our view. The next, we had topped it, and breathed with -relief to see the figure of Joshua still standing up at the bow as we -had left him. For an instant only; and, in that instant, Rampick, -catching sight of our returning forms, rose hurriedly and stealthily, -with one of his sculls clubbed to strike. We screeched out together. -The warning was quick to save Joshua from the worst, but not from -secondary consequences. Instinctively he ducked, as the blade flashed -over his head; but the act toppled him from his balance, and he fell -from the boat prone upon the sand, from which he rolled down, -clutching, into the sea. In the same moment, Rampick, using the scull -he had swung for lever, pushed off from the bank, hurriedly seated -himself, and in a stroke or two was out at safe distance and in deep -water, where he held up, breathing stertorously as he regarded us. - -By this time we were down at the edge, and, flinging ourselves flat, -had caught at Joshua’s hands, where they clawed and slipped in the -slobber of wet sand. The drift took the water at a deepish angle, but -it was firm above for knee-hold; and in a minute or two we had drawn -him up far enough to enable him to get a bite with his own nails, and -then the rest was easy. As he sat to recover himself, crowing and -spitting but not otherwise greatly discomposed, Harry jumped to his -feet, and hailed the madman furiously-- - -“Come back!” - -Rampick, resting on his oars, chewed his dry lips for moisture, but -answered nothing. - -“Come back!” screamed Harry; “or I’ll fetch you!” - -He dropped, and slipped knee-deep into the water as he cried, as if to -verify his threat, insane one as he knew it to be. The sea was near -quiet as a mill-pond, and Rampick had only to pull a couple of -indifferent strokes to increase the distance between us by some -fathoms. I thought he was going to abandon us altogether and at once, -and in an agony hailed him on my own account-- - -“Mr. Rampick! why don’t you come back? You aren’t going to leave us to -drown here!” - -He leaned forward, always watchful of us, and, groping under the -thwarts, fetched up a black bottle, which he uncorked and put to his -lips--a rejoicing swill. It gave him nerve and voice. He sagged down, -between maudlin and triumphant, and answered, with a hoarse defiant -laugh-- - -“I am, though!” - -“Mr. Rampick!” I cried, “what have we done to you?” - -He drank again. Every addition of this fuel made the devil roar in -him. - -“Done!” he yelled. “See _how_ you done--_fur_ yourselves, my hearties! -You’d let him out, would you! You’d make the dead walk _to_ testify -agen me! I know you. You’ve plotted and schemed agen me from the -first, you parson’s whelps--and here’s what it come to. I was on the -way to salvation--_till_ you crossed me--once too often. The sands ’ll -keep my secret _and_ yourn. Let him out to walk, you will; but not to -swim--my God, I had you there--old Jole had you there, my bucks!” - -He poured down more fire, and howled and drummed his feet in a -gloating frenzy. - -“Had you there!” he shrieked. “You may quicken him out of fire--_out_ -of rocks and fire; but you _fur_got as water squenches fire. Thought -old Jole crazy, did you--poor old Jole, whose fortunes went out in the -spark as him there lighted. And all the time he lay low _to_ get even -with you. _Has_ he done it? _Did_ he choose his time crafty? _Did_ any -one see us? When your drownded corpses comes in with the tide, who’ll -know the truth? Jole--and Jole can keep a secret, once all prying apes -is laid _from_ forcing his hand.” - -He shook to the roaring of his own voice. The reverberating fire in -his brain deafened him to any reason, reassurance, protest. We cried -to him in our distraction to listen, only to calm himself and listen. -Our appeals could not penetrate the pandemonium in that maniac soul. -In the midst Joshua, all amazed and at sea as he was, rose to add his -entreaties to ours. The effect was disastrous. At the vision of him, -strung as if to fly, his coat-tails spread, the madman gripped his -oars convulsively. - -“Lie down!” he screamed. “What’s death to you! I ain’t going to stop! -I never could abide the sight of it!” - -And with the word he was pulling furiously away. - -We still shrieked to him vainly. We ran up and down the sand. For the -moment I felt quite blind and delirious. - -All was of no avail. Yard by yard the boat drew away into the -thickening mist; grew dim and dimmer, a phantom of itself; and, while -still the thump of its rowlocks drummed thickly into our ears, -vanished and was gone. - -And then at last we came together, and, halting, looked into one -another’s pallid faces like dead souls meeting on the banks of Styx. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - THE DARKEST HOUR. - -The memory of that awful time is soothed and assuaged to me by -virtue of the strong soul who, under Providence, was given to us to -command it. If destiny had used him its instrument to precipitate the -tragedy, long, I am sure, hanging over our heads, it had done so -consciously, by higher command, in order to neutralize the effects of -its own inexorable decree. So thought Mr. Sant presently; and -gratefully we acquiesced, giving thanks to Providence. Like children, -we had played with fire, not realizing, nor, I think, deserving the -consequences. All honour, then, after God, to His little -self-possessed deputy, who of his confidence and resolution helped us -to the nerve to escape them. - -For a time Harry and I--I may surely admit it without shame--were -beside ourselves. To be thus cast away and abandoned on a sandbank in -mid-ocean--for to all appearances, and intents and purposes, our fate -seemed nothing less--it was horrible beyond words. An hour--perhaps -two hours--and a lingering death must overtake us. Already--we could -see by the near lines of foam, could gather from the changed whisper -of the tide--the seaward surges were freshening to their return. We -hurried to and fro, wringing our hands, crying for impossible help, -never once in our distraction holding escape as conceivable save by -external agency. The bank on which we stood stretched north and south, -a sleek, hateful mockery. It were useless to traverse it up and down; -yet we went, as if to hurry this way and that over it were to summon -of our agonized need a causeway to the unseen shore five miles -distant; we went, until the terror of ranging adrift, beyond recovery, -from our one hope of resource, already grown a desolate phantom behind -us in the mist, sent us frantically back to the side of the motionless -figure, which had not once stirred since we parted from it raving. - -“Mr. Pilbrow!” I cried. “_What_ are we to do?” - -“Ah!” he answered, sharp as an echo: “to command yourselves!” - -It was like a tonic of steel served from a pistol. - -“We will--we do,” said Harry, forcing down his terror in one great -gulp. “Dick, don’t be a fool!” - -Some shame, I think, stiffened me. The debility of despair conceded a -hope to the mere prospect of discussion. What a courage was this to -succumb without an effort; to have reason, and yield it to the shadow -falling before the fact! - -“All right,” I muttered. “I’m an ass. Only let him tell us what we’re -to do. He brought this on us, you know.” - -He showed no resentment of my bitterness. - -“Yes,” he said, in a strong quiet voice. “I brought this on you, -Richard; for you warned me and I overruled your warning, being -sceptical without knowledge, which is the boast of fools. The man was -mad, and I thought to control him with reason, having failed in that -as in everything else. Now accursed shall I be in the eyes of my -co-trustee, your dear uncle.” - -His mention of Uncle Jenico quite upset me again. - -“O!” I cried violently, “what do _you_ matter! If you drown, you’ve -only yourself to thank. _He_ would have stopped my going, but I -wouldn’t tell him anything about it, because I thought it was nonsense -to be afraid. And now he’ll wait and wait, and we shall never come, -and it will break his heart.” - -He stood before me, dripping wet, a most wretched, pathetic expression -on his face. It was due less, I knew, to despair than to sorrow over -my revolt against him. At the vision of it I was moved even against my -will to remorse. - -“Well,” I said miserably, “I don’t want to put all the blame on you, -though you might have given me credit for a reason. You don’t know -what we know about the man, or his interest in shutting our mouths. I -ought to have told you, perhaps; but the secret was saving for another -who has more right to it. It doesn’t matter now. We only want to get -out of this--Mr. Pilbrow, do you hear? O, please think of something! -There must be a way! To stand here, and----” - -“Richard!” he cried, in great emotion. He half advanced, holding out -his hand, then suddenly commanded himself, let it fall, and became in -a moment a figure of passionless resolution. - -“You are right,” he said, dryly defining and articulating each word. -“This is no time for recriminations. We must compose ourselves--must -think. The way out of a trap is never the way in. That is where men -waste themselves. Now, tell me: nobody knows of our coming here?” - -“Nobody,” I said, “nor saw us take the boat. There isn’t a hope of our -being rescued from the shore. We can’t see it, even; and if _we_ could -be made out here, who’s abroad to mark us? Besides, even if any one -did, there’s bare time, even now, to put off and cover the distance -before----” - -“H’mph!” he pondered, frowning and fondling his gritty chin. Then he -turned to my friend. - -“How long have we?” he asked. - -Harry gave a desperate glance seawards. - -“Say an hour here--perhaps two, if we climbed the wreck. But there’s -deep water between. Ah! you didn’t know that, did you? but there -is--and you----” - -Joshua made a gesture of dissent. - -“No,” he said, “I can’t swim. Leave me out of the question. But you -two can, I know. Why shouldn’t _you_ reach the shore?” - -Harry shook his head. - -“The tide’s running in, it’s true; but five miles, and in December!” - -He ended with a despairing shrug. - -“Very well,” said Joshua, so prompt and decided that he made us jump. -“Then the wreck’s our one asset; and we’ll just go and see the best -use we can make of it.” - -With the word, he was striding over the sand, and, sprung to some -sudden thrill of hope at his confidence, we followed him, our hearts -thumping. - -When we came down to the little strait, we found it already and -undoubtedly widened. The cream of incoming surf showed more boldly -over the lip of the further bank where the wreck lay; and between that -and ourselves there was a sense of busier movement, as it might be -water yawning and stretching after sleep. - -“Now,” said Joshua, sharp as a lash, “swim across to her.” - -“Swim! At once?” I exclaimed. “And what about you?” - -“I’ve told you to leave me out,” he said, dry and composed. “You must -swim, as you can’t jump. I’ll wait you here. Maybe you’ll find the -means to float back on boards or such.” - -Then we saw what was in his mind. It was a chance against all odds, -and so poor a one, that we had hardly considered it, I think, in our -agitation. The storm, we felt, must have gutted the carcase as clean -as a dressed ox’s. Nothing detachable, but must have been wrenched and -flung away. From where we stood, indeed, only the framework of the -poop, gaunt, and inflexible, and rigid in its suggestion of ribs and -spars shattered but unyielding, appeared to have survived its furious -sacking by the waves. Moreover, a certain suspicion had come to us -that Rampick had not now made his first acquaintance with the wreck; -that, even perhaps so early as the serving of the last ebb, when fresh -from hearing of our plans, he had rowed over to examine his ground by -lantern-light, and to make sure--as so cunning a madman would--that no -contingency of crate or cask or loosened plank should be allowed to -mar his wicked purpose. - -Though we might or might not be right in this (in point of fact, I -believe, we were right), our hope, looking upon that lean account of -ruin, was a very little hope. Still, for what it was, it lost nothing -in inspiration from the self-confidence of our companion. I turned a -desperate inquiring glance on Harry. - -“Come!” he said, in answer; and, without another word between us, we -had slipped down and taken the water. - -As for that, it was chill enough, but, to traverse the interval, -child’s play for swimmers so young and hardy. In five minutes we had -emerged, sleek and dripping, on the further side, and the wreck was -close before us. - -We shook ourselves like dogs, and ran up the sand. The shivered frame -of the thing lay pitched on the sharp back of the drift, where the -poor ship must have dumped herself to be broken like a stick across a -housemaid’s knee. What remained was a melancholy witness to the -impotence of man’s bravest efforts to command Nature in her passions. -She must have been a fine craft, of many thousand tons burden, by -evidence of this fragment. _Ex pede Herculem_. Now, the forlorn -remnant of her was so shattered as to look, at these close quarters, -more like the wreck of a blown-down hoarding than of a gallant vessel. -Wryed, and gaping, and burst apart, her ribs had been stripped, inside -and out, of everything that could be torn away and swallowed; so that -what survived, survived by virtue of a tenacity, which, inasmuch as it -had defied the wrench of the storm, was little likely to yield _us_ -salvage. - -And, indeed, we reached her only to find our apprehensions confirmed. -Shorn through her waist, it appeared, close off by the poop, and her -fore-part lifted, and rolled, and ravished God knew whither, she had -disgorged her vitals into the gulf to the last bolt, so that not one -loose board of her remained to reward us, unless buried beyond our -recovery in the sand, into which the jagged wound of her emptied trunk -was plugged. - -We climbed, and pulled, and tested, running hither and thither. We -fell upon our knees, and with our hands dug frantically, until they -bled, into the wedged drift. It yielded nothing. From time to time we -desisted, and gazed, in a panic of fear, at the water, where, but a -few yards beyond and below her stern, it rustled and curvetted, -advancing and retreating, and advancing yet another step to play -cat-like with our anguish. - -At last, and for the last time of many, we mounted the slope of -stubborn planks, to struggle with some fractured balk of timber, some -broken rib end, which might seem to promise yielding to our frenzied -blows and kicks. It was all of no avail. Like lost souls we paused, -looking down on a litter of splinters, our great need’s only -recompense; and, “O, my God!” whispered Harry, and staggered back -where he stood, and flung himself, quite ill and overcome, upon the -bulwarks. - -He was up by the broken stern-post, and, sick to note the rising of -the tide, he looked down. On the instant he uttered a wild -exclamation, jumped to his feet, went over the side, and vanished. - -I was poising myself a little below on the slope of the deck. At his -cry I dropped and slipped, landed at the bottom, recovered my feet, -and raced round to meet him. Then I, too, uttered a yell; for here, -unnoticed by us before, was at least a straw of hope to catch at. - -It was a great spar, which lay down the slope of the sand, with some -wreck of tackle yet tangled about it, and its butt wedged under the -stern of the ship. - -“Lord!” shrieked my friend. “Come and pull, Dicky! O, Lord! Come and -pull!” - -He was skipping and sobbing as if he were cracked. “Get a purchase!” -he screeched. “We must have it out if we bust ourselves!” - -I had sprung and seized on it even as he spoke. To lift it was far -beyond our strength; but straining and hauling our mightiest, we found -we could shift it a little, right and left, like a colossal dead tooth -in its socket. - -“O, if we only had Uncle Jenico’s wrench!” I panted, as we paused a -moment in exhaustion. We were quite breathless and white. The sweat, -for all the weather, was running down our faces. - -“Harry!” I groaned piteously, “if we can’t get it out now, after all -this--this----” - -The look in his eyes stopped me. The despair was quite gone from them, -and the old breezy fearlessness returned. - -“But we’re going to get it out,” he cried, “and without Uncle Jenico’s -wrench, too.” - -His gay new confidence was revivifying, amazing. My heart, for all its -terror, was beginning to expand in the radiance of it. - -“How?” I gasped. “Don’t keep me waiting, you--you old beast!” - -“I’ll show you,” he said; and with the word was down among the tackle, -unknotting and pulling. - -I watched him breathless--helped him where I could. Between us, in a -few minutes, we had disentangled many fathoms of unbroken rope, and -still there was more to come. We wrought hurriedly, feverishly, with -one eye always on the rising water. - -“Let it only wait,” said Harry through his teeth, “till we’ve got this -clear, and then it may come as fast as it likes.” - -I worked on hard, not asking him why. Perhaps I had a lingering horror -that his answer would disillusion me, show this shadow of hope a -heart-breaking chimera. And still stealthily the tide crept up, and -still we had not done. - -But at length the last kink was unravelled, and we rose with a shout. -One end of the rope was still fastened tight to a ring-bolt in the -spar at its seaward end. The other Harry shouldered, and with it -turned to run up the bank. - -“Do you understand yet, gaby?” he demanded, grinning triumphant. - -“You are going to get a haul on the thing, to one side and further -up?” - -“Yes, I am.” - -My spirits sank a little. - -“We shan’t be able to move it that way any more than we did -before--anyhow, not to pull it out of its hold.” - -“Shan’t we? Wait and see.” - -“O, Harry! Don’t be such a fiend.” - -“Why, Dicky, you stoopid, look here. I examined the thing, which you -didn’t, no more than Rampick himself, if it’s true he’s been here -already. He thought it wedged tight, maybe, and safe from us. Well, I -tell you it’s only caught by the tip of its nose--far enough in to -baffle us lying as it does, _but easy enough to pull out floating_.” - -I stared at him a moment; then gave a wild hoot, and began to dance -about as he had done before, and threw up my cap, and ended by hugging -him. - -“You beauty, you beauty! You dear old positive genius and darling! We -shall get away, after all, with nothing but a ducking. And Uncle -Jenico----” - -A sudden choke stopped me. I turned away so that my friend shouldn’t -see my shame. - -“Dick, old man,” he said, soberly. “You mustn’t be too wild even now. -It’s all right, I hope; only--well, it’s cold, and three of us to -drift five miles on a spar----” - -But I wouldn’t heed a word of his admonition. The recoil from despair -had sent my wits toppling clean head over heels. If nothing but a bowl -had offered, I should have been as joyous as a wise man of Gotham to -commit our destinies to it. To have some means, any, to escape this -hideous nightmare of enchainment to a living death! - -“Hi! Gee-whoa! Get on!” I cried, chuckling hysteric, and drove Harry, -holding the rope-end, up the sand before me. It paid out behind, and -did not pull taut till we were well on the slope. Then, for the first -time, we thought of Joshua, and turned to look for him. - -He was standing, with some suggestion of agitation, on the edge of the -further drift. The water had crept up since we left him, widening -ominously the channel between. We waved our hands to him, and he -responded. - -“Look here,” said Harry. “He mustn’t be left in his ignorance; it’s -torture. Besides---- Hold on, Dicky, while I go to him.” - -“Why don’t you bawl across?” - -“He’d never gather. We must have him ready, and I can’t explain here. -Don’t drop the rope for a moment while I’m gone.” - -“All right. But why not have a pull first, to see if it’ll come free -without?” - -“Mighty! Not for the world! It’s been rotting in the water: supposing -it snapped? There’ll hardly be a strain when the tide lifts the thing, -and gets under the seat of the old girl--you believe me. Did you see -her name?” - -“No.” - -“Well, it’s _The Good Hope_. Hurrah!”--and he scuttled from me, and -the next moment was squattering through the water of the little -strait. I watched his chestnut ball of a head lovingly as it drew a -line across the channel; and I danced with excitement again to see his -streaming shoulders emerge presently, and Joshua, as near wrought-up -as I, run out knee-deep to help him ashore, and support him--as if he -needed support--and kneel to wring out his clothes, while the faint -gabble of their voices came to me. And then I turned to look seawards -once more, and, behold! the comb of a little wave struck the spar-end, -and seethed up and over it, and the sight made my heart flutter. - -“Harry!” I screeched; and gripped the rope as if I feared some -unnamable wickedness were seeking to snatch it out of my hands. I did -not dare to turn again; but watched the hurrying tide fascinated; and, -almost before I knew it, Harry was at my side. - -“Lord, Dicky!” he whispered, his eyes glistening; “it comes, don’t it! -Don’t let go! We mustn’t give it a chance.” - -If it had only answered to our thoughts! How slow it crawled, without -haste or flurry, sometimes seeming to drop dormant as if to take us -off our guard. Presently, what with the strain and our shivering, we -were fain to squat gingerly upon the sand, and grip, and watch, -setting our chattering teeth. What if our expectations were to be -cruelly baffled after all! What if the spar were anchored by some -unexpected unseen grapnel to the bank! I turned sick at the thought. -The water by now lipped along it, covering some three feet of its end. -And still, to any gentle test of pulling it responded nothing. - -Suddenly, eccentric as always in its motions, the tide bowled a -succession of heavier wavelets shorewards. The first found us sitting, -the rope taut between us and the spar, and left us sprawling backwards -in a puddle of water. I thought the mere wash of it had upset us, -till, in the midst of my spluttering and clutching to recover -purchase, I heard my friend sing out-- - -“Get up! Hold on! Dick! O, come, come!” - -Then, scrambling, gasping, to my feet, I saw what had happened. The -spar, answering to our strain in the bobble of water, had swung -towards us, the rope had slackened, and over we had tumbled. -Chattering with excitement, we got hold once more, and pulled. - -Still it did not come free, nor for long minutes yet. We tugged and -hauled what we dared, and ceased, and tugged again. Not--to cut short -that tale of agony and suspense--until we were ankle deep in water; -not until the rush of little incoming waves foamed high on the stern -of _The Good Hope_, kicking her up, and loosening her nip on that -grim-held relic of her own; not until the sands were whelmed near and -far, so that we seemed to sprout, three fantastic trunks of humanity, -from the surface of the ocean itself, did a great surge and vortex, -answering to our last despairing wrench, show us that we had been -successful. - -And even then some dreadful moments passed--moments of terror lest the -rope had given--before the mass, rolling sluggishly to the surface, -revealed itself. - -We were panting and sobbing as we hauled it in. But Harry kept his -wits through all. - -“Get astride, Dick,” he said, “and help me to fasten this home.” - -“This” was the running gear, which he wanted to dispose about the spar -in such way as to give us all some hold to cling by. We wrought quick -and hard, and in a little had it looped to our satisfaction. The -wreckage consisted of a huge segment of a main lower and top-mast, -with the step, pretty complete, and the whole of the over-lapping part -bolted snug, on either side of which the great sticks had snapped. It -was in all some twenty feet long, perhaps, with rings and shroud -fastenings and cut ends of rigging yet attached; and it floated -massive, on an even keel, so to speak, so that in places we could even -walk on it without fear of upsetting in that tranquil sea. - -“Now,” said Harry at last, “to get to Mr. Pilbrow!” - -I swear till that moment we had realized no difficulty; and then, with -the word, we were staring aghast at one another. The spar sat too deep -to move; not till the tide had risen another two feet at least would -she ride over the bank; we knew no way round. Could he plant himself -firm in that hurrying sway of water until we reached him? - -We stood up and waved and shouted: “We’re coming in a little! Hold on -till we come!” I don’t know if he heard us. He stood there plunged to -the knees--the oddest, most tragic sight. He waved back and screeched -something--what, we could not understand. Every few minutes we dropped -overboard, and heaved our utmost at the great hulk, only to have her -ride a few feet and ground again. But at last, when the water was up -to his shoulders, she gave a little dip and curtsey, and the following -wave washed her on. We yelled, then, and slipped into the water for -the last time, and, finding no bottom, kicked out frantic, holding -each to a loop of the rope, and propelled her slowly before us, The -tide took her now, and do what we would, we could not coax her in a -direct course for our friend. We saw we should miss him by a full -fathom; he was staggering, desperate to keep his foothold; we drove -near. - -“Fling yourself forward!” shrieked Harry. “It’s your only chance!” And -with the word scrambled on to the spar again. I was on Joshua’s side; -and I dwelt in an agony, holding on to the rope with one hand, while I -strained to draw her closer. - -It was no use, and seeing we must float past, I echoed Harry’s scream. -Joshua sprang out and forward on the instant, and, with a mighty -flounder of water, disappeared. But the impetus of his leap carried -him towards me, and suddenly, like a crooked bough borne on a flood, -an arm of him was stuck out within a yard of my reach. I let go my -hold to dash and clutch it, and as I swerved, Harry, snapping down, -caught at one of my kicking ankles and held on. My head went under; -but I had the wrist like a vice; and in another minute I and my quarry -were drawn to the spar side, and our noddles, gobbling and clucking -and purple with suffocation, helped right way up. - -We were saved! So far we had won free. _Vogue la galère_! - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - JOSHUA SPEAKS. - -What a fantastic nightmare in my memory is that amazing voyage! Were -souls as oddly consorted ever launched on an odder? Looking back at -this date on all the circumstances, our isolation, our helplessness, -our exhaustion of mind and body following on the strain--and that, by -long hours yet, not to be withdrawn--it appears to me little less than -miraculous that we ever won to harbour. Had it not been for the -strange distraction of a certain recital which the occasion called -forth, and which, occupying our thoughts both during and after its -telling, rendered us partly oblivious to our condition, a very -creeping paralysis of terror would, I believe, have ended by -destroying us. To swing there unrelated to any visible hold on life -but the sodden, weltering stick beneath us: lost atoms in a vast -immensity of mist and water! My mind, save I gripped it frenziedly to -its own consciousness, would have reeled and forsaken me, I think. -Sometimes for a moment, indeed, it would be almost gone, dropping -through the seeming clouds on which we swam into immeasurable abysses -of space; and it was only on these occasions by grappling aghast with -the figures of reality before it, that it could recover and control -itself. If only we could have seen the shore--could have steadied -nothing more than our vision on that ghost of moral support, it would -have been something. But by now the haze had shut down, and we were -derelicts utterly committed to the waste. It was a bad time--a bad, -forsaken time, and I do not much like to recall it, that is the truth. - -We had perched Joshua, having with some distress got him on board, -between us on the twin spar, where he could set his back against the -broken top and hold on mechanically till he was in the way to -convalescence. Fore and aft of him, squatting or straddling on our -slippery bed, we made at first fitful attempts to dig a little way on -our craft with our feet; but the load was too heavy thus lightly to be -influenced, and we soon gave up the effort. We might, perhaps, have -affected our course a trifle by swimming and pushing; we did not dare. -It had been a different matter in the first excitement of escape, with -the sand under our feet. Now, in the reaction to a consciousness of -our drenched, and overwrought, and half benumbed condition, the water -had become a fathomless horror, lapping after us with hiss and hurry -to devour what it had seduced from its shallows. There was a -heaviness, a deadliness in it, level and undisturbed as it seemed, -which it was sickening to contemplate. And so we sat close and -drifted, and essayed--did Harry and I, while Joshua was recovering--to -reassure ourselves and one another with fitful banter--the most -cheerless, hollow stuff, God knew, and soon to expire of its own -pretence. - -For a time, undoubtedly, the tide carried us shorewards, leisurely and -with no affectation of charity. The wreck sunk and disappeared behind -us: was a wreck--a bulwark--a stile in mid-desert--a post--a -stump--was gone. We distanced it so slowly that scarce a quarter of a -mile could have separated us from it when its last token was -submerged--and our hearts seemed to founder with it. - -“Harry!” I cried, in a sudden shock of terror: “what if, at this rate, -we never reach the shore at all, and are carried out again by the -ebb!” - -He wriggled and snarled. - -“What’s the use of meeting trouble half-way? We’ve four or five hours -before us, and if we can’t drift close enough by then to finish -swimming, the deuce is in it. Hold tight, Dicky--that’s all you’ve got -to do; and I’ll answer for the rest.” - -His self-confidence soothed me supremely. And I was the more comforted -to see Joshua stir himself at that moment and sit upright. - -“What’s that?” he said. “Leave me out of the question if you want to -swim.” - -“We don’t want to swim, Mr. Pilbrow--not unless the tide won’t serve -us to the end; and then I hope it’ll be only a little way.” - -“Well,” he answered, “go when you will; only I want to have a word -with you first, Richard.” - -“You are all right again, sir?” - -“Right?” he muttered. “I don’t know. The land drops and flees before -me. The cold is in my heart. I must ease it, Richard--I must ease it -of its secret load before that winter gets home.” - -“O, don’t talk like that!” I complained. “It’s to flout Providence in -the face after this mercy.” - -“Well,” he said, with a melancholy smile, “I shall be lighter anyhow -for the easing. With this weight continuing in me, I should sink like -a plumb.” - -“There’s to be no thought of sinking, Mr. Pilbrow,” I said. “But if -there’s something you’ll feel the better for ridding yourself of, why -say it and have done.” - -He turned stiffly in his place so that the spar rocked, and looked at -me, where I sat behind him, with a most yearning affection. - -“If you were entitled to the truth before,” he said, “how much more -now, when you have saved my life.” - -“Saved your life!” I exclaimed. - -“Didn’t you!” he answered. “Didn’t you risk your own by letting go to -reach me, when I might have pulled you down?” - -“O, nonsense!” I cried, with a real laugh. “We should have both been -in a bad way, I dare say, if Harry hadn’t had the sense to catch my -foot. He towed us in. If there’s any credit it’s to him.” - -“He did the resourceful thing, and you the brave,” persisted Joshua. -“I owe to him through you; but to you first. If I live, I will honour -that debt. If I am to die----” - -“In good time, Mr. Pilbrow!” I cried reassuringly. “This little -contest had flushed and rallied us all. “In good time! We aren’t going -to give up, I can assure you, having come so far as this.” - -“By God’s providence!” answered the ex-bookseller, with unwonted -devoutness. “Only I feel that while I delay to tell you, the devil -struggles to hale me into the deeps.” - -“Out with it, then!” I said lightly, “and let’s crow to see him gnash -his ugly teeth at being anticipated.” - -I realized that he was about to give us the long-expected story, with -a shadowy abstract of which he had only as yet tantalized me, and, -through me, of course, Harry. Could we have had our curiosity -satisfied under circumstances more tragically wet-blanketing? Yet -there was a providence in that no less. The little sparks of -inquisitiveness which survived in us, expanded in the revelation to -flames of heat, which, in warming us, distracted our thoughts from our -miseries. I will not believe this opportuneness was accidental. Mercy, -in all the Committee of Destiny, is jealous to keep to herself the -casting vote, I think. - -His face fell; the evil shadow I knew darkened on it a moment; but -almost in the same thought was gone. He wrung his lips with his hand, -and heaved a profound sigh. - -“Succeed, then,” he said, in a sad inspired voice, “succeed to the -truth for which your father died; and God spare you to find your -inheritance a rich one! If He will; if for your most loyal faith in -me, dear child, I could so requite you, I could pass contented under -the waters to the rest the land has denied me. I am weary, Richard; I -am wearied to death; and to lie floating off my legs appears -beatitude.” - -He sighed again, and setting his teeth in the very act, forced himself -frowningly and inexorably to his task. - -“I have hinted to you already,” he said, “that this long fever of my -quest dates from Abel’s disappearance with a certain book which -contained the clue to an important secret. Hear, then, at last, what -that secret was, and how it came into our hands. - -“My brother Abel and I were twins and enemies, partners and apart. -Why? I cannot tell. Look at two dogs of a litter quarrelling over a -bone, and seek for the reason there. We thwarted one another--at every -turn we did, and ruined our common business in a mutual spite. You -know as much; yet in fairness I must urge that his was the more -rancorous and vindictive spirit. I would have cried halt sometimes; -but Abel, never. He had the fiercer resolution; he went armed; I -feared while I hated him. ... The book in question was one of a packet -over which we had perversely disputed in the sale-room; an old -scorched and dog’s-eared commonplace book of the seventeenth century, -in contemporary crimson calf, and bearing inside its cover the name of -‘Carolus Victor, Chaplain in ordinary to his Majesty’s Prison of -Newgate.’ Yes, you remember the name. I once let it out unguarded. -Well, he was our inspirer, as some Morell or Morant was your uncle’s. -... There was nothing of note about this book. It contained just the -jottings and excerpta of a decent unremarkable man; ‘tips’ for -homilies; memoranda of ‘last testaments;’ mere personal data of a -conscientious and commonplace clergyman, whose lines had fallen in -incongruous places. With all that we have nothing to do. Our business -is with a folded letter, in the handwriting of this same Carolus -Victor, which ages ago had been slipped between the leaves, and had -there adhered through the melting of the wax with which it was -sealed.” - -“How had it got there?” I asked, because he here came to a dramatic -pause, which seemed to challenge questioning. - -“Ah!” he answered. “How? And why it had remained undelivered? I can -submit only a plausible theory. A second-hand book-shop, gentlemen, is -a mine of reference. Research presently revealed to me that this -Carolus Victor, Chaplain of Newgate, had died--suddenly, by -presumption--in that very year, 1679, which dates not only his letter, -but the last entries in his diary where it was found. Suppose, then, -the letter written by this Victor, and never delivered to him to whom -it was addressed; suppose the book containing it tied up unexamined -with the deceased’s other manuscript effects, and put away on some -remote shelf and forgotten; suppose some jealous no-Popery bookdealer -snatching it years later from the flames of Newgate, and consigning it -to his own store, where, in the excitement, it was again forgotten -till finally brought to light in the sale-room, a scorched and -smoke-stained packet to excite the ridicule of the dealers. Suppose -anything or nothing; conjecture and account as you will. The fact -remains that Carolus Victor’s commonplace book came intact, and -holding fast to its enclosure, into our hands. ... Into our -hands--into _our_ hands, I say. Were we not brothers, twins, partners? -Abel, before bidding for it, had known or guessed nothing of what the -packet contained. He had bought the lot, a business transaction, -merely to spite me. And yet now he would claim the whole fruits for -himself!” - -A fury and excitement took the narrator’s voice at this point. The -heat he exhaled was communicated to us in part. - -“Go on!” I said, giving a vigorous kick into the water. “There was a -letter in the book, you say. What was it about?” - -He struggled with himself a moment, dropped his face into his hands -with a groan, looked up, and resumed in a more ordered voice-- - -“I am coming to it. It is stereotyped on my brain--all of its accursed -riddle, that is to say, but the key. It was dated Newgate, 1679, and -was superscribed to one Peachumn, a doctor of divinity, (to whom, you -will always bear in mind, it never was delivered), from which honoured -friend and counsellor the writer craved certain instruction and advice -in a very private and particular matter. He had had confessed to him -that night, he said, a passing strange story by one Vining, a -prisoner, and grey in iniquity, who was condemned to suffer on the -morrow for piracy on the high seas. This Vining, according to his own -statement, had been, about the second decade of the century, a student -in the great English College of Douai, in France, whence one winter he -had been sent, in company with an ordained brother collegiate, on an -extraordinary secret mission across the water to a little town on our -east coast. This mission, said Vining, was nothing less than to -recover, if possible, from its secret hiding-place in the crypts of a -certain long abandoned church, a great treasure of gold pieces, which -had lain there ever since the suppression of the religious houses--a -suppression which, in this case, had but hardly anticipated a natural -dissolution more complete. For the church in question was, it -appeared, already doomed when the king’s edict fell. Lingering, a -relic of the greater past, amidst the ruin of those eastern shores, -the sea had since taken its outworks; and now the treasure (the -existence and depository of which had been made known through the -death-bed confidence of a former sacristan) must be secured without -delay, if recovered it were to be at all ... Richard! it _was_ secured -by those two--a loaded box of iron. And then the madness of possession -smote the wretched clerk. In the darkness of the crypts he murdered -his companion, and in the darkness the curse of God fell upon him. His -hands were scarlet with consecrated blood. He loathed to handle the -price of his iniquity; but, like Judas, he cast it from him, and with -it hid the body of his victim in a place whence he hoped neither could -again be brought to light to testify against him.” - -He paused. And “Where was that?” I asked faintly. An extraordinary -fancy had taken possession of me--a thought so stunning, so -bewildering in its first weak conception, yet so explanatory, if -admitted, of Rampick’s incomprehensible behaviour, that I fairly -shivered under it. I looked dumfounded at Harry. He also, if I was not -mistaken, had been smitten with a like shock of expectancy. - -“Where was that?” I repeated; and so, innocently, applied the match to -this tow. Joshua did not answer, to my surprise, for a moment; and -then suddenly I was conscious of the flame rising and blazing in him. - -“Where!” he shrieked. “Give me the key if you pity me! It is that has -kept me hunting these long years, ravenous like the dogs that devoured -Sin, their mother, and yet were unappeased. Give me the key; give me -rest, or here and now the waters of oblivion!” - -For an instant I really believed he was going to rise and plunge. Had -he done so, I doubt if, in our weakened condition, we could have saved -him a second time. But in the thought, he had clutched at himself once -more; and his passion grew inarticulate, and ceased. - -When at last he resumed his tale, it was with a manner of some -suffering shame. - -“Richard,” he said, “touch me there and I am mad. Rebuke me with thine -eyes, sweet boy, and I am sane and sorry. I will not offend again. -Listen, the story breaks off with the night of our quarrel--Abel’s and -mine. He had discovered and was reading this letter spread out before -him on the table, when I came up unnoticed behind him and read over -his shoulder. The confession was all there, to the flight of the -murderer and his subsequent life of crime; to the agony of his haunted -soul and his desire, in the shadow of death, to make restitution. Some -words by the chaplain followed; some prayer of the weak soul to his -stronger confidant to guide him in this pass, whether for action or -unconcern. And at the foot of the sheet he ended with the words. ‘_And -the confessed Place and deposit of this treasure are_----’ and there -passed over the page, and I never learned them, was never to learn -them, Richard. ... Some sound I made roused Abel from his absorption. -He leapt to his feet, cramming the paper into his pocket, and faced -me. - -“‘Well, where are they?’ I asked, smiling. Yet in that moment I knew -he would never tell me. - -“‘Miles under the sea, probably, by this time,’ he answered. ‘You will -understand that, if you have pryed to any purpose.’ - -“‘Abel,’ I said quietly, ‘you are lying. The place still exists, or -you would not wish to conceal its name from me.’ - -“‘Well,’ he said, with an evil grin, ‘the book is mine, and the secret -with it. You disputed its purchase, remember.’ - -“‘I may have,’ I replied. ‘But bought it is, and with our money--_our_ -money, Abel. I will not yield my right to a share in it.’ - -“I advanced upon him. I was hell inside, though calm outwardly. And as -I came, he pulled a pistol from his breast--he was left-handed, like -the crooked beast he was--and held it at me. I told you he always went -armed. ... Richard, I confess the creature appalled me. He would have -made nothing of shooting me like a dog. I hesitated; and then fell to -entreaty, expostulation, threats. He was grey and hard as steel. In -the end I must desist, though still resolved to get at the paper by -fair means or foul. When he was gone, in a hunger of agitation I threw -myself upon the book. It told me nothing, of course. I flung it down -again, and went to bed, poisoned with black thoughts. In the morning -when I rose, late and racked with fever, I found him gone, him and the -book and the paper--gone, without leaving anywhere a trace of his -direction. I could not believe it for a time; then madness took me. I -went up and down, mouthing like a beast--by day and night, Richard--by -day and night. It was then I must inadvertently have fired the stock. -You know the rest.” - -He ended in a deep depression, and burying his face in his hands, set -to rocking to and fro. - -“Rest!” he suddenly cried. “No rest for me! All these years I have -pursued him, a wicked, laughing shadow, in the likely places of the -land--always on these eastern coasts or near them, exploring ruins or -the histories of them--recognizing at last my own madness, yet unable -to lay it. And still the shadow flies before; and still I follow, -myself a shadow!” - -Again I looked at Harry. He understood, and answered my mute inquiry. - -“Yes, tell him,” he said. “Tell him, if he’ll believe, how he’s been -mistaken by a madman for the risen ghost of his brother yonder.” - -It was the conviction in both our minds. It grew inevitably out of the -tale just told us. Time, place, circumstance; the combative brother -who went armed; the pistol clutched in the dead _left_ hand--these, -taken together with Rampick’s discovery of our discovery, and his -imagined identification of the dead, invoked by us, as he thought, to -rise and denounce him, left us in no moral doubt whatever. Yet still, -the coincidence was so amazing, I hesitated to commit myself. I must -take breath, fencing a little longer with the truth. - -“Mr. Pilbrow,” I faltered, “were you and Abel so much alike?” - -He had started at Harry’s words, and was sitting rigid, awaiting my -answer. - -“We were twins,” he said quietly, “scarce separable, perhaps, in -feature, unless by the lines which hate had chiselled to distinguish -us. His were deeper scored than mine.” - -“And his dress?” I said: “how did he go dressed?” - -He bent over the step to stare at me. - -“He wore a blue coat, Richard. Why do you ask?” - -I gave a little gasp. - -“Tell him,” said Harry again. - -“Wait a moment!” I fluttered. “Why, who could say, Mr. Pilbrow, that -thieves or the sea hadn’t taken this treasure long ago?” - -“Abel,” he answered, in the same voice. “Abel, the direct consignee of -the secret, which was sealed by Carolus Victor, and never opened or -delivered till it came to light in our parlour. Abel, who knew this -coast, had written guide-books, about it--misleading guide-books, -indeed, to me in my killing search--and who was aware that the place, -the actual _caché_ of the treasure, still survived--or why should he -have sought to hide the truth from me, and have fled in the night, -himself like a thief? Abel, the cursed shadow that I follow, and -cannot run to earth!” - -“O, Dick, tell him!” cried Harry once more. - -“Mr. Pilbrow!” I broke out, trembling with excitement. “I believe you -have hunted counter; I believe we can show you where your shadow lies. -It is in the hill under the abbey ruins, and you must take off your -curse from it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - RESCUE. - -Confession, discussion, incredulity, conviction, with all their -concomitants of amazement, awe, emotion, were long over; long put -aside in reservation was the unsolvable problem of Rampick’s part in -the dark mystery of the hill; long had our last exhausted -consideration of these questions lapsed into something like a silence -of despair, as we drifted, with gentle lap and wallow, over those -immeasurable heart-breaking wastes. - -At least with Harry and me, I think, hope had attenuated almost to the -vanishing point. Brain-sodden, benumbed, half lifeless, grown near -unconscious of time or place, the instinct to hold on, the power to -keep at bay the last fatal drowsiness alone remained to us in -ever-diminishing degree. We did not know, in the confusion of our -senses, whether we were drawing inshore or to sea; we did not know -whether we were rocking, an idle log, virtually unprogressive, or -slipped into one of the coast currents, and speeding silent on an -interminable journey. We could not tell the sick drawl of the hours, -for our watches had, of course, stopped. But we dreaded horribly the -time when dusk should fall, if it should find us derelicts still. And -so it found us, drooping down and closing in; and then Providence -seemed hidden, and we despaired. - -I cannot picture, indeed, the terror of that darkening desolation; the -running fields of water, spectral with foam, fenced within an -ever-contracting cyclone of dusk, devouring their own boundaries, and -committing us slowly to entombment in one final sepulchre of night. It -is all an impossible dream, in my mind--a sort of horrible pantomime, -in which a sense of induration, of fixity, while I watched grotesque -figures, born of my imagination, come and go in my brain, was -ineffably dissolved by the spirit of the moon, and changed into -consciousness of heaven. - -Joshua, I knew, felt nothing of what we did, except, in a measure, -physically; and, even there, the exultation in his soul was tonic to -his body. Since our capping of his secret with our own, he had been a -changed creature--a bent bow released and snapped upright. It is -difficult to describe his transformation--his translation, rather, -inspired as Bottom’s. Where had been sombreness, depression, some -self-deprecation, was self-assurance, some rallying blitheness, -boisterousness almost. He had been crushed, and was expanded; beaten, -and was triumphant. That he should have run, when near broke with the -chase, his shadow to earth, and through me, the son of the man whose -memory he worshipped! It was stupendous. He could not contain his -glee, or discipline his expectancy, now it had once burst those -year-long bonds. He was convinced with, more utterly convinced than, -us, that the body was Abel’s. He would tolerate no suggestion of -error. And where the body was, would be the book, the clue--finally -the treasure. I doubted if, in all these generations, it could still -lie hidden there undiscovered and unravished. He laughed my scepticism -to scorn. That Vining would never have concealed the evidences of his -crime in a place easy or inviting to be come at, he declared. -Probably, indeed, he had restored them to the original _oubliette_, -which, I might make sure, would have been chosen by the monks with a -cunning genius for its inaccessibility, either by smugglers or other -casual squatters in their abandoned vaults. Moreover history, or at -least gossip, might be trusted to have left us record of such costly -treasure-trove thus unearthed, if unearthed it had been. Nevertheless, -he questioned us closely as to our underground observations, which, -indeed, had not been exhaustive. But they were enough, it appeared, to -confirm his assurance. Desire is the most credulous of all -enthusiasts. - -All this was before the last abandonment to despair had overwhelmed -us, Harry and me; and it was useful in helping us to a sort of -fictitious endurance. We might have succumbed sooner, otherwise, and -actually foregone our living rescue. He was so strong and hopeful; so -certain that Destiny would not have led him thus far, by such tortured -ways, only to see him founder when within sight of his goal, that some -part of his faith could not fail to communicate itself to us with -vital results. At the same time, I think, we shrunk from the merciless -expression of his triumph. _Our_ concern, in revealing the truth as we -supposed it, had been with the tragic end of his brother. Not so his. -He had no sentiment for Abel even now; no pity for the fate which had -overtaken him. The best he could find to say about him was that he had -paid the penalty and called quits, and left the better man to come -into his own. Not for himself--that was the moral reservation, after -all, which silenced and confounded us. He longed for the treasure; he -gloated in the thought of its resurrection; but now for my sake, not -his own. With the prospect of its recovery instant in his mind, he -never wavered in his intention to bestow it all on the son of the man -who had died to vindicate his honesty. I could have laughed again over -this tragic, comical, chimerical bequest to me; only tears were too -near the source of humour. It was terrible, and indecent, and pathetic -in one. _We_ sought life for no end but sweet life’s own. The rest was -a mockery. - -Well, he kept us alive with it, that I believe. Even after he himself -was numbed and silenced from stimulating us, from encouraging us by -sympathy and example to prevail through hope, he would keep nodding -brightly to us to rally our spirits, until his neck got too stiff to -nod at all. - - - -It must have been half-past six and near the time of ebb, when the -spectral dark which engulphed us knew a change. The fog, lying low on -the water, grew slowly diaphanous, waxing from a weak dawn, like -heaven seen through dying lids, to a sweet and solemn lightness. For -long we were too exhausted, body and mind, to consider what this -portended. The lightness increased; and suddenly high over the bank -shone a little red spark like a lantern. We lifted our dazed heads; we -stirred stiffly where we sat. O God! O God! what did it mean? - -Swiftly it broadened, glowing like a rising fire. It mounted, or the -haze shrunk beneath it--who could tell? In a moment it was free, and -we knew it, in wonder and thankfulness, for the moon. - -She was in her first quarter--a child moon, swelling into maidenhood. -Slowly, slowly she rose, while we watched her, gloating, absorbed. -Gradually the blush with which she had first observed us, sole -spectators of her girlish disrobing, faded into a white glow of pity. -Her tresses fell from her neck upon the sea, the mist parting to let -them by, and were extended to us, “Climb to me by them,” she seemed to -whisper; “here is the way to hope.” And lo! full in the midst of that -shining path rode a little boat. - -There was a man in it, a solitary fisherman trawling for soles. The -agony of the moment gave us life and voice. We screamed to him; we -waved; we made every frantic demonstration that was possible to us in -our condition. He heard and saw us--and he sat as if stricken. -Ghostly, leisurely, we drifted past, and the boat faded and became a -phantom behind us. - -We could not believe it. We never ceased to cry out. It was too -hideous, too cruel for truth. Harry, with a dying effort, half rose. I -don’t know what desperate thought was in his mind. - -“Hush!” I suddenly implored; and we all became stone. - -There was a little knock and paddle coming to us out of the mist. In a -moment the boat forged into sight, approached us, and hung off. - -“Who be ye?” said a fearful voice. - -We answered all together in a babble. - -“Nay, let me speak alone,” said Joshua; and he hailed the man clearly. - -“We went to visit the wreck on the sands; we were abandoned there by a -scoundrel, and we have been floating on this spar ever since.” - -Still the man was not convinced. We could hear him distinctly spit -into the water. It is so his class exorcises all demons. - -“What might be your names, now?” he asked cunningly. - -Here was a poser for the devil. - -“First of all, Master Richard Bowen,” began Joshua. - -“Hey!” interrupted the boatman, with all his voice of wonder; and he -sculled rapidly up, and alongside. “Master!” He peered through the -mist. “Lord have mercy on ’s, ’tis himself trewthfully!” - -“Old Jacob!” I cried, in a faint voice between laughing and sobbing. -“Old Jacob, help us off this before we die!” - -And after that I remember nothing. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - RAMPICK SPEAKS. - -You remember old Jacob? ’Twas he seconded Harry so unhandsomely in -the great fight. He had retired upon his savings now, and did no work, -save when a still night persuaded him forth with line and -trawling-net, and the loan of a friend’s boat could be procured. Such -had been the case when we ran across him. He had taken advantage of -the holiday spirit, which kept all “afternoon farmers” of the sea -scrupulously away from it, to pull a few miles out in a borrowed -craft, and try for a basket of fish to make a welcome garnish to his -Christmas pot. - -He was lying, when he picked us up, off the banks some four miles from -land in a southerly direction, and in a few minutes was to have hauled -in and returned home. By so narrow a margin of Providence were we -acquitted. In all these hours, it appeared, we had made no nearer the -coast than this; had just swung hither and thither gently, drifting -south, on the whole, and making two feet shoreward, perhaps, for every -one we retired. Probably, in the end, we should have dropped -sluggishly on the banks again, unless the outward race of the tide, -more vicious than the inward, had swept us over them. In either case, -however, the result would have been the same, I believe. Another hour -or two must have seen the finish of our endurance. - -As it was, I don’t know how they got me on board. Harry, with his -stronger fibre, rallied immediately under the excitement: the strain -off, I collapsed--that was the difference between us. I was physically -and mentally frozen; I could not make an effort on my own account; but -lay on the planks, my head on my friend’s knees, listening, in a sort -of staring dream, to the murmur of voices above me punctuated by old -Jacob’s exclamations. They were telling him, I knew, enough of the -facts to explain our situation; and I heard Harry impress upon him the -necessity of keeping all to himself, until we had seen Mr. Sant, and -learned what course he proposed to take. Old Jacob made no demur. He -was honoured in their confidence for one thing, and, for another, his -admiration for his former master was still so unspeakable, that he -chuckled at the mere idea of temporarily sharing a secret with that -great man. - -Harry questioned him about Rampick’s doings since our abandonment on -the sands. He knew nothing of the fellow; had neither seen nor heard -of him. Probably, he thought, if he were convinced no one had -witnessed our departure, he would, after deserting us, have pulled -oblique up or down the coast, to some outlying station on it, in order -to establish an _alibi_ in case of inquiry. - -“He were free to go his gait, without risk o’ being observed in these -merry times,” said he. “Reckon he’s turned up late, with his story of -Jack or Jim visited, and the wur-rds spoke, and mayhap some proof of -what Jack give him or Jim lent, to the very tune of innercence.” - -I heard them all. Their speech drummed on my brain, as if it were -parchment, which was just what it felt like. I lay staring at the -light of the moon, for my back was turned to the beautiful thing -herself; and I was not unhappy, only utterly cold-blooded. I thought, -perhaps, from my long semi-immersion I had become a fish. What a fate, -to go gasping through the world, with round lidless eyes and ears -palpitating like gills, and never to feel warm again! - -Presently we came to shore; and they tilted me up, as if I were a -board, and stood me on end, so that I could not help laughing. But -even then, in the most extraordinary way, _cold_ air seemed to come -from my lungs. Some one, with a whisper and nudge, as if to fire my -interest, pointed out to me a boat, Rampick’s, pulled up on the beach, -its sides gleaming wet in the moonshine. I crowed and acquiesced, very -knowing about nothing, as they seemed to wish me to be; and then, -having my legs pointed out to me, tried seriously to remonstrate with -and command them, for they were in the most drunken condition. I -supposed, indeed, that they were quite detached from me, until, -between Harry’s and Jacob’s support, I set them moving; and then I -understood that they still acknowledged my control, and I was -gigglingly interested in them, looking down on them idiotically as -they went splayed, and giving, and pulling themselves respectable over -the hard. They found the Gap a tough business; but once up and over -it, the descent beyond appeared a matter of moments. While I was still -chuckling to Harry, and failing in words to express to him what the -joke was, there close before our faces was the door of number three, -the Playstow; and I gaped and grinned and delightedly pointed out my -discovery to my friends. While I was yet in the act, it opened -hurriedly to a great surge of light; and I saw the figures of Uncle -Jenico and Mr. Sant, standing blowzed and flurried, in the midst of -the furnace. Suddenly they moved and came towards us; and at that I -tried to hail them with a shout of laughter; but, instead, staggered -and slipped down into their midst. It was very restful, after all; and -I thought I would stop where I was. But the jangle of many voices -worried me, and I closed my eyes. Then, instantly, as it seemed to me, -I was lifted up, and borne aloft, and smothered in down, or snow, -which embraced me very cold and peaceful. The light sunk low, and the -voices to a whisper. I was quite content, so long as they would leave -me packed there frozen. But presently I was conscious that this was -not to be. Something, by creeping degrees, tickled, and bit, and stung -at my feet. The poison rose, giving me intolerable pain. I moaned and -cried; and, at the sound of my voice, they lifted me up and poured -fire down my throat. The rising and the falling heat met, it seemed, -at my heart, and I believed it was consuming. I struggled to beat out -the flames, to reproach these demons with their cruelty--and then in a -moment, in a blazing swerve to consciousness, I saw them. They, or -their shadows, leapt gigantic on the ceiling; furious, gnashing -caricatures of my uncle, Mrs. Puddephatt, Mr. Sant, Fancy-Maria. A -furnace glared and reverberated behind them. They sprang and held me -down, and rasped my limbs till they crackled and smoked. From prayers -and anguish I passed to frenzied defiance. If they would torture me so -pitilessly, I would of myself stultify their efforts. I felt the -waters of revolt rising within me. An instant, and they gushed to the -surface of my body, putting out the fires all over. Surcease from -pain, a delicious oblivion overwhelmed me, and I sank back and forgot -everything. - -Once out of dreams of dewy meadows I awoke, and found my hand in the -hand of my uncle, who sat beside the bed. He was himself once more, -the real loving normal Uncle Jenico, and I smiled drowzily on him, and -dropped away again. A second time I awoke; and there was Fancy-Maria -beside my pillow, softly rubbing a smut into her nose with her thumb, -and repeating to herself the multiplication table to keep from -nodding. - -“Three sevens ain’t twenty-four, Fancy-Maria,” I said, and off I went -again. - -At last, and finally, after unravelling a great endless jest of a -rope, I stuck at a prodigious knot, and gasped, and opened my eyes. - -“I thought that last snore would finish you,” said a voice. - -I sat up. I was in bed in my own room; the noonday sun glowed on the -blind, and squatted down before the dead embers of the fire, -sniggering like a Bonanza, was Harry. He rose, yawning, and came -across to me. - -“All right?” he said. - -“Right as a trivet.” - -“Hungry?” - -“Just!” - -“You’ll do, then.” - -“Think I should--when I’ve had something to eat.” - -Sweet is the constitution of youth. It all came back to me now, and -without distress. - -He sat down on the bed. - -“Why, whatever was up with you last night?” he asked curiously. - -“I don’t know,” I answered, shame-faced. “Didn’t you feel it?” - -“Not much. Not in that way. It was good enough for me to be safe. I -say, you gave us a precious fright.” - -“I’m very sorry. I couldn’t help it. What happened? Was Uncle Jenico -very put out about our not coming home?” - -“Near off his head, I should think. He’d sent for Sant. Nobody had -heard or knew anything about us. But, of course, they never supposed -it was quite so bad as it was.” - -“Poor old chap! I was an ass to go off like that. Well, what was -decided?” - -His face fell a little sombre. - -“Sure you’re in a fit state to hear?” - -“O, I’m all right, I tell you. It would worry me not to know.” - -“Very well. Then, when we’d got rid of you at last, and had something -to eat and drink, we held a council of war. Mr. Paxton was in a rare -state. I think he’d have liked to shoot that beast at sight. I’d never -thought he could be like that, and I tell you it made me crow to see -him. But your friend Joshua was for a postponement, until he could -visit the crypts. He went through his whole story again, just as he’d -said it to us. We told your uncle everything, of course, from first to -last; and Sant, naturally. And then _he_ came down. He would hear of -no course but the direct one. He’d go straight up to the Court for a -warrant against Rampick for attempted murder; and, after that, to -wring out and air the whole dirty business. He didn’t mind about -risking his own popularity; he didn’t value at a brass piece the -insane flummery of the treasure, as he called it. He and Mr. Pilbrow -near came to words about it; and then----” - -“What then?” I asked him, for he had stopped. - -“I hardly like to tell you,” he said. “Sure you’re all right?” - -“O yes, of course!” I said impatiently. “Do go on!” - -“Well, we’d all gone out on the step, to see Mr. Pilbrow off, and he -and Sant were standing wrangling there, when who should come slouching -past but Rampick himself. - -“I tell you he gave a screech, and dropped in a heap where he stood. -We all ran out, thinking him dead. I don’t know now whether he is or -not.” - -“It would be the best way out of it all, perhaps,” I muttered. - -“Maybe it would,” said Harry. “They got help and carried him home, and -Sant went with him. He’s been there ever since, I think. At least he’s -not come back here. Anyhow it stops the warrant business for the time. -And there we are. Nobody knows the real truth but old Jacob; and Sant -bound him to silence for the present. We’ve been looking after you -ever since, young gentleman; and here I am, having taken my turn by -the fire.” - -“It’s very good of you, you old idiot,” I said rather tremulously. -“Harry, if--if he’s rested, do you think you could send Uncle Jenico -to me now?” - -He nodded, comprehending perfectly, and went out. I don’t intend to -recount the meeting that followed. If I had loved the old man before, -you may understand what penitence now made of my feelings. I was -painfully suspicious that that secrecy as to my own movements had been -dictated rather by private selfishness than consideration for my -relative. Certainly I had feared that, had he been told of our -purposed trip to the sands, he would, in his uneasiness of mind, have -put forward all sorts of objections, even, perhaps, had I proved -obstinate, to a personal appeal to me not to desert him in his -depressed condition. And now, supposing that eternal seal _had_ been -put on our actions, what a heritage of mental torture, of unfounded -self-accusations to impose on that blameless soul! I ended by swearing -that for the future no simplest scheme of mine should take shape -without his sanction. And then he was pacified, though still, while -Rampick’s fate was undecided, in a fever of nervousness to keep me -within sight and touch. - -I came down to dinner, at which Harry was an invited guest, and made -up handsomely for my late abstinence. We had a merry meal, though -still in some perturbation as to Mr. Sant’s prolonged absence. During -the course of it, I suddenly found a huge 21, scrawled on a scrap of -paper, lying on the table beside me. A smutty thumb print in one -corner informed me at once of the authorship. - -“Three times seven, Fancy-Maria?” I said. “That’s a good girl! I knew -you’d come round to my point of view in the end.” - -She backed, giggling, out of the room; and a heavy sound in the hall -which followed, endorsed, so to speak, by a pasty disc on her bustle -when she reappeared, showed us that she had sat down in the pudding. -But that, fortunately, was when we were at the cheese. - -Mrs. Puddephatt was genteel and a little distant in her visitations -during the meal; and, finally, with such spectral significance, that -Uncle Jenico, though she had not spoken, felt constrained to offer her -a sort of apology. - -“There’s something behind, you think,” said he. “Well, candidly, there -is, but it’s not exactly our secret as yet, my dear woman. When it is, -you shall have all the facts.” - -She gave a sharp wince, as if suddenly recalled to herself with a pin; -and, drawing herself up with her arms folded, gazed at him with stony -abstraction. - -“Which you was addressing me, Mr. Paxton?” she said. “Would you take -the liberty now to repeat yourself?” - -Much confused, Uncle Jenico did. - -“Ho!” she exclaimed, with decision. “Well, I must believe my ears for -the future, I suppose, when they accuses me of curihosity, and -pryingness into things which people no doubt has their very good -reasons for keeping dark, and not becoming to a decent woman to -pollute herself with hearing. I thank you for your consideration, Mr. -Paxton, venturing to remark honly as it were uncalled for; me being -the last person to worrit herself about her neighbour’s concerns, nor -accustomed in London to know so much as the name of the next door, -which is a feature of the metropulis neither hunderstood nor hemulated -by provincial rustication.” - -“I’m very sorry,” began Uncle Jenico. “I really thought----” - -“Permit me to say, sir,” she broke in rather shrilly, “that you should -not think about a woman at all, save in the way of kindness; and -leastways, not to adopt her to your fancies. Suspicion begets the -shadows of its own rising, Mr. Paxton.” - -And, with these enigmatical words, she left us quite crushed and -flabby. - -We had hardly recovered, indeed, when steps outside woke us alert, and -the next instant Mr. Sant entered. - -He looked pale, and worn, and unshaved; but his eyes lightened at -sight of me sitting there rested and confident. - -“Ha, Dick!” he said. “What a brave constitution, you little dog! Is it -fit for another strain yet, do you think?” - -He came and put an affectionate arm over my shoulders. - -“Is it fit?” he repeated, while Harry and Uncle Jenico stood -wondering. - -“You’ve nothing else for him at present?” said my uncle suddenly, and -almost fiercely. “I’m not going to have him overtired, Sant.” - -The rector said “Hush!” and crossing over to see that the door was -tight shut, turned to us with his back against it. - -“He’s dying,” he said. “It was a stroke, or fit, and the heart is just -doing time for a little. The hope of your forgiveness is all, I do -believe, that keeps it going.” - -He looked intently at us. None of us spoke. - -“He knows the truth now, and in his turn confesses everything,” said -the clergyman, clearly. “He understands the terrible mistake he made. -His brain clears of its delusions in the searching atmosphere of -death. If you can forgive him, forgive the great wrong he designed -you, he may be saved for God yet. But there is no time to lose.” - -I felt that the blood had left my face, making my head swim and my -heart beat suffocatingly. This was a hard relapse upon horror. But had -we not learned to hit and be hit and nurse no resentment? I pulled -myself together. - -“Broughton regulations, sir,” I said, with a rather shaky smile. “Come -on, Harry. Let’s go and find Mr. Pilbrow, and bring him, too.” - -“Stay,” said our tutor, in a very sweet voice. “I’ve fetched him -already. He’s waiting outside now. He will abide by your decision, -Richard.” - -“Then, let him be my dear boy’s deputy to forgive,” spoke up Uncle -Jenico, sharply. “There’s no occasion to submit Richard to this fresh -ordeal.” - -Mr. Sant looked at me. - -“He’s got a bad enough road to go, uncle,” I said. “I don’t want to -lay up more remorse for myself. We’ll cheer him on his way. Come, Mr. -Sant!” - -My uncle uttered what sounded like an oath. But he objected no -further. - -“In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum suum!” I heard him mutter -viciously; and I ran up, and shook his hand hard, and hurried out. - -In the little garden we found Joshua. He understood without a word. He -was very sombre; but quiet, and glad, by his glistening eyes, to see -me well. - -We hastened up the village street. News of our mission had got abroad; -vague and speculative as yet, for Jacob had been loyal. But the people -we passed looked at us covertly and curiously, scenting strange -revelations in the air. - -The ex-smuggler lived, was dying, in a little cottage up a squalid -alley near the head of the village. It was a poor, dreary hovel, the -mere lair of a beast, self-degraded, God-forsaken. His wretched wife, -the real scapegoat of his sins, took us in to him. - -“He’s dyin’ hard,” she said, in a thin fretful voice; “hard as a lord, -wi’ the whole world to lose. He allers was above his station, was -Jole. Lived on dreams, he did. I mind the time he promised me a -kerridge; and now we’ll be bad set to find a hearse.” - -He sat propped up under a frowzy patchwork quilt. A silhouette under -broken glass was clutched in one of his hands. The whole man was sunk -in upon his frame; his breath, always difficult to him to draw, -laboured heavily; his eyes, in their livid halos, were quite -unearthly. The woman went to him, and made some show of easing the -coverlet on his chest. - -“I was telling the gentlemen,” she said, shrilly, “that time was we -was to have our kerridge, and now summut less than a hearse must -serve.” - -He nodded, and moved his ashy lips, and fingered the picture in his -hand. - -“He’s daft on it,” she said, turning to address us. “’Tis our little -Martha, gentlemen, took at the fair before her going. I tell him he -needn’t look to join her where she sings among the angels. He should -have thought about it earlier, if he wanted to curry favour. Better to -pass on what he can get from you, if so be as you’re agreeable.” - -I felt a sudden thickness in my throat. - -“We forgive you, Mr. Rampick!” I cried out, and hung my head, and -turned in dumb entreaty to Mr. Sant. He hurried to the bed-head, and -put a gentle manly arm about the dying sinner. - -“Do you hear, Rampick?” he said. “As God witnesses, they forgive you.” - -The smuggler moved his exhausted hands. Mr. Sant, understanding, -lifted them both for him in an attitude of prayer. - -“Mr. Pilbrow,” he said softly, “he wants you to hear the truth, if -possible, from his own lips. Will you come?” - -Joshua moved up, and knelt by the bed. We all heard the broken, -gasping confession-- - -“Tuk you--_fur_ him, I did. ’Twas in the days--afore the--’arthquake. -We had our store--_where_ you know, in the underground vaults of th’ -old abbey. Over above, in the hopen, was a knot of arches--running -together, like the bow ribs of a ship; and--set in the pavement -under--_in_ a dark corner behind ruins, were a stone moving _on_ a -pivot--what let down him--as knew the trick--_by_ a flight of steps, -to the crypts. The powder--was kep’ handy--just below; and beyond--in -th’ old cellars running seaward--till they bruk off--in a choke of -ruin, behind the cliff face--lay the tea _and_ brandy. - -“At that time we was a good deal chafed--_as_ one might call it. What -with a revenue cutter--and a sloop of war to back it--our last run had -been a run _fur_ life--and--at the end it were touch and go to -get--the stuff housed. And in the thick, _of_ the excitement, who -should be sprung--upon us--as we thought, _but_ a spy. He come from -nowhere--it seemed. He was just up there one day poking--_and_ -prying--among the ruins--and I see him. For hours he went--sniffing -round--while I watched secret. He squinted, and he tapped, and he -went--in and out--cautious; and sometimes, he’d stamp _on_ the ground, -and listen--_fur_ the holler echer--with his ear down like a dog. -Then--by-and-by--off he went, _on_ tiptoe, and I follered, tracken -en--_to_ the Flask. They could tell me nothing--about en there; save -_as_ he’d walked over--by his own statement--from Yokestone. The thing -looked as black _as_ hell; and what we done--we done--in justice to -ourselves as we thought--because we was druv, _to_ it. I had no hand -_in_ what follered. I wouldn’t have: I never--could abide--the sight -of death. - -“We was stowing--the last of the cargo--_by_ starlight, when I -see--the man agen. He was setting, behind a stone, his eyes -shining--like a cat’s--upon each of us--tradesmen--_as_ we -disappeared, down the hole. We was druv to it--_as_ we thought--and -tuk our plans--cautious and seized en. He was a cat--he was. We bled, -a few on us. But we got en down, he screeching--all the time--about -some treasure, he was come arter,--and then I left en, _and_ went -up--to keep watch. I couldn’t stand--what I knew was to foller. I’m a -peaceable man--by disposition, I am. It was a providence--arter all. -_Fur_ I hadn’t abin--there not a minute--when all hell -bruk--underneath me, and went out _with_ a roar. The blessed -ground--heaved itself--_like_ so much bed-clothes; the arches--come -thumping down, and all--in a noise--_as_ if, the Almighty was a -tearing--of His world--to tatters. I were spilt on my face--lucky, -_fur_ me, I’d moved away to git--out o’ earshot--of the thing, -under--and when I come--to my senses, I didn’t know myself--or the -place. I crep’ home--dazed-like--to bed; _and_ kep’ it--_fur_ a -week--hearing of the ’arthquake. But I knew, in my heart, what had -happened. Some fool had fired--the powder--_and_ closed up, the hill. -It were so--I was sure--when I come at last--to look. It seemed all -fallen, _in_ upon itself. Where the passage--had been--were just, a -shipload, of ruin, the half of it turned over--_and_ sunk, into the -herth. I never believed--from that moment--_till_ the day I seen it, -proved otherwise--that so much--_as_ a babby--could find its way -agen--_into_ them shattered vaults. But the Lord--has His way.” - -He ended, amidst a deep silence, and sank back exhausted. Joshua got -quietly to his feet. - -“You are forgiven, Rampick,” he said, “by me and by us all. Make your -peace with God.” - -Mr. Sant motioned to us. - -Silently we filed out, and left the dying and his minister alone. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - WHAT THE LETTER SAID. - -We were all sitting very sombrely in the gloaming, when Mr. Sant -came in to us. There was no need to question anything but his face. - -“Yes,” he said, “it is over. God give him mercy!” - -By common consent we would speak no more on the subject until nature -had been restored. There was a scent of battle, not to speak of eggs -and bacon, in the air, which inspired us somehow to brace up our loins -before the ordeal. Tea was on the table, and we sat down to it, and -presently were doing justice to Uncle Jenico’s plentiful fare. Then, -refreshed and reinvigorated, we pulled our chairs to the fire, and the -ball began. - -“Now, Mr. Pilbrow,” opened the rector, cautiously, “what is your next -move?” - -“To find and search my brother Abel’s body,” answered Joshua, prompt -and perfectly cool. “What is yours?” - -“To go straight to the squire, and put the whole matter into the hands -of the law,” said Mr. Sant. - -“You will give me a day or two first?” - -“No!” - -“One day?” - -“No.” - -Joshua scrambled to his feet, and went to and fro. - -“This is intolerable, sir. It is my brother who was done to death, and -the cause is mine.” - -“It is the cleansing of my parish, sir, and the cause is mine.” - -“I must secure my treasure first, sir.” - -“Your treasure be----!” - -I am sorry to say Mr. Sant went the whole length of the expression. - -“Your parish,” said Joshua, viciously, “has postponed its cleansing -six years. A couple of days longer won’t spoil it.” - -“It would spoil my conscience in my own eyes, Mr. Pilbrow. I do not -compound a felony, now I know of it, for an hour.” - -“Then go at once, sir, to be consistent, and, to satisfy your -conscience, defraud this orphan, your pupil, of his just -indemnification.” - -The clergyman rose to his feet. - -“Indemnification? For what, sir?” he said, very sternly. - -“For the loss of his fortune, of his father, sir,” said Joshua, as -resolutely; “who, to vindicate the truth, died and left him bankrupt -of his legitimate expectations.” - -Uncle Jenico, shifting nervously in his seat, put in a pacifying word. -The truth is, the dear old fellow had been in a suppressed state of -excitement ever since our visitor’s first dark allusion to his mission -on these coasts had begun to shadow itself out into some form and -substance. - -“Sant,” he said, “I think you must be reasonable. We don’t stand first -in this matter. The treasure----” - -“Nonsense!” interrupted the clergyman loudly. “Do you credit a word of -the stuff!” - -“To be sceptical without knowledge--the boast of fools!” cried Joshua, -repeating himself. - -“Hush!” said Uncle Jenico. “Sant, hadn’t we better first learn from -Mr. Pilbrow how he proposes to act in event of the--the clew really -coming to light?” - -The rector was silent. - -“You are an adept in matters of conscience, sir,” said the bookseller, -bitterly and rather violently. “There was no question of hurry when -you wanted to use us to help you smuggle a soul into salvation. I -won’t say that, if I’d foreseen your intention, I should have -postponed my forgiveness till I’d gone to the hill and verified the -man’s words; but I do say that in acting on a generous impulse, -without a thought of possible consequences to myself, I was playing a -better Christian part than you, who had this damning sequel in your -mind all the time.” - -Harry, very restless, cried out here sensibly enough-- - -“Aren’t we rather fighting in the dark? It mayn’t be Mr. Pilbrow’s -brother that was the supposed spy, after all, in which case there’s no -question of treasure. I think he’s the right to go and see first, -before any steps are taken. I beg your pardon, sir.” - -Mr. Sant sighed, his brow lightened, and he patted the boy’s shoulder -approvingly. - -“Good fellow!” he said. “No doubt it would be best to clear the air of -this fantastic stuff, before we begin to set our house in order.” - -Then he turned to Joshua genially. - -“I beg your pardon, Mr. Pilbrow. I was betrayed into some -unwarrantable heat. I confess we look at this matter from different -points of view; but that is not to say that mine is necessarily the -right one. Indeed, you have given me a lesson in Christianity, to -which I seem to make, I admit, a scurvy return.” - -The little bookseller bowed, grimly still, but without answer. - -“If then,” said the clergyman, biting under the irony that would make -itself felt in his words, “you find this clew--find this marvellous -deposit of wealth--there are laws of treasure-trove: you cannot think -for a moment that I will, that I can, counsel secrecy--allow Richard -to share in the profits of a felony----” - -“Felony, sir!” cried Joshua. - -“Is not that what a hoodwinking of the law would amount too? You agree -with me, Mr. Paxton?” - -“Yes, yes--O yes, of course!” assented Uncle Jenico, faintly. - -“Harkee, Mr. Parson!” cried Joshua, in a heat. “I throw the word in -your teeth. I am no suborner, sir, no, nor glorifier of my own -ignorance neither. Be sure I don’t know the law better than you, -before you tax me in advance with cheating it.” - -“Well, well,” said Mr. Sant, smiling. “I don’t know the law on the -subject, I confess.” - -“Then take this, sir, for your rebuke,” said the other, sourly; “and -be less apt--for a clergyman--to damn without book. The law of -England--I _do_ know it, and have reason to--takes its definition of -treasure-trove from the jurist Paulus, who lays down that ‘_vetus -depositio pecuniae cujus dominus ignoratur_,’ that is to say, ancient -concealed treasure of which the lord of the soil is ignorant, becomes, -being discovered, the property of the Crown, if presumptively -deposited by some one who at the time intended to reclaim it.” - -“Exactly,” put in Mr. Sant. “And yet, in the face of----” - -“Will you permit me?” interrupted the bookseller, with a manner of -most frosty sarcasm. “For all your cloth, sir, I would not have you on -a jury, lest you stopped the case before hearing the other side.” - -The rector muttered an apology. He really did look abashed. - -“I say,” repeated Joshua, “that the Crown, to prove its title to -treasure-trove, must prove the depositor’s intention to reclaim first. -Where that is wanting, or _where an intention to abandon can be -shown_--as when the goods were thrown away in a panic, or for other -reason, to be rid of them--the treasure remains wholly and solely in -the possession of the finder.” - -“Very well,” said Mr. Sant, plucking up heart. “And what benefit is -that alternative to you?” - -“What benefit! To me!” cried Joshua. “Have you heard my story, sir? -Did you listen to it? Did you hear me quote the man Vining’s -confession that he had abandoned the price of his iniquity, and cast -it from him?” - -Mr. Sant reflected. He was getting interested, I was sure, after all. - -“’Tis a subtle legal point, I think,” said he. “I foresee, anyhow, -fine complications; even if you had evidence--which you have not--of -this intention to abandon.” - -“Which I have not,” repeated Joshua, “at present. And which I shall -never have, to the right effect, if your delicate conscience can -forestall me.” - -“You are unnecessarily sarcastic, sir,” said the clergyman, gravely. -“You must give me the credit of my intentions. This Augean stable in -our midst--it must be cleaned out as soon as recognized, or I become -an accomplice in its condition. Why should any prompt summoning of the -sweeper--of our legal Hercules--affect your position?” - -“Because, sir,” said Joshua, vigorously, “he would, a thousand to one, -lay bare, in so drastic a process, the golden deposit underneath, and -so rob me of any title to its discovery.” - -Mr. Sant grunted uneasily. - -“The better title is certainly yours,” he conceded. - -I believe there was enough of the imaginative boy yet left in him to -thrill and respond to this exciting legend of gold. Uncle Jenico felt -the change, and fell back, glistening, and softly rubbing his hands -together. - -“Mr. Pilbrow,” said the clergyman, suddenly and decisively, “will you -tell me plainly what you propose?” - -“I propose,” said Joshua, as instantly, “to visit, and identify, and -search the remains of my unhappy brother to-morrow; I propose to take -advantage of the letter which, I am convinced, will be found on them, -and which, by every right, is legally mine, to secure the treasure. -After that, sir, let in your Hercules with a fire-hose, if you will. I -shall be content for my part. Possession is eleven points in the law, -and for the twelfth I will go to pitch-and-toss with it.” - -“Sant, that is certainly fair!” cried out Uncle Jenico, impulsively, -and immediately fell abashed. - -A longish silence ensued. - -“Very well,” said our dear rector at last. “I will agree to defer my -action till after to-morrow; but on condition that, once having -secured his wonderful haul, Mr. Pilbrow openly challenges the law to -deprive him of it. It is buying a pig in a poke, I believe; but I must -guard myself by insisting.” - -He uttered a rather enjoying laugh, which he tried to make ironic. - -“That’s capital,” said Uncle Jenico. “You don’t object to the -condition, Mr. Pilbrow?” - -“No,” said Joshua, shortly. “I ask for complete secrecy in the mean -time--that is all. That man’s wife----” - -“She will say nothing,” said Mr. Sant. “The honour of her poor rogue -is safe with her.” - -Then we fell excitedly to discussing ways and means. The embargo once -off my conscience, I was eager to join in the search. But here Uncle -Jenico was quite absolute and imperative in vetoing my taking any part -in it. He would not, on any condition whatever, have me descend into -the hill again. I was disappointed; but he was unshakable, and in the -end I had to submit. - -It was finally arranged that Mr. Sant, Joshua, and Harry should meet -early on the following morning, and complete their expedition, if -possible, before the village was awake. And, on this understanding, at -a latish hour we parted. - -The next day was Christmas eve. I had never known one to drag so -wearily. Uncle Jenico and I were up betimes, and making a show of -following with serenity our customary occupations. But it was all a -transparent pretence. I took no more interest in my books, nor he in -his new invention, than if they had been prison tasks. We just -perspired for the return of one or other of the party to put an end to -our intolerable suspense; and that was the beginning and end of it. - -At last a shadow danced on the window, and the door opened, and Harry -hurried in. In the first sight of his face we read momentous news. I -could hardly control myself as I said-- - -“Well?” - -He had shut the door behind him, and stood there, breathing quickly, -his eyes like white pebbles. - -“Harry,” I whispered, “_was_ it Abel?” - -“Yes.” - -“And the letter was there?” - -“Yes--in his pocket. He--I could hardly look--he seemed to fall to -pieces.” - -“And--and it said where?” - -“Yes. You’ll never believe.” - -“Where?” - -“In the well.” - -“In the----” - -“In the well. What fools we were never to think of that before! Of -course it stood at the end of the crypts once--the most natural place -for him to throw them into.” - -His “them” seemed to hit me in the throat. I had forgotten about the -murdered priest. I stood gaping like an idiot, lost in the plain -marvel of the thing. I had forgotten Uncle Jenico, till his voice, -speaking in a queer, shaky way, recalled me to the thought of him. - -“My wrench!” he said. “They will have sunk to the bottom. We shall -have to pull it down!” - -“That’s just what we’re going to do,” said Harry “to-night, after -every one’s asleep.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - OUT OF THE DEPTHS. - -The village was long asleep when at last we issued forth, as -blamelessly agitated a body of brigands as ever trod the corridors of -night. We had taken our measures with infinite precaution, so that not -a hint of our designs should leak out; yet still we had delayed, -sitting, like the party in the parlour, “all silent and all damned,” -while Dunberry sunk into deep and deeper unconsciousness of our -conspiracy in its midst. We were assembled, in fact, in the rector’s -study, Joshua, Mr. Sant himself, my uncle, and we two; and there we -stuck, spelling out the blessed quarters, until the chimes of the -school clock, coming in a flurry out of silence, called up a single -rebukeful stroke from Time, and subsided upon it. So late as this, an -hour after midnight, had we resolved to linger, to make assurance -double sure; and at the sound, with a great pouf! of relief, we were -on our feet and tingling to depart. - -There had been no longer any question, of course, since our learning -where the treasure was, or should be, concealed, of my foregoing my -share in the attempt to recover it. No possible peril, within reason, -could attach to this purely open-air sport; though, indeed, Uncle -Jenico had made, even now, some presumptive risk to me the excuse for -his joining us in the expedition. - -It was a question, at this last, if he or Mr. Sant were the more -excited. Our dear comical tutor and sceptic still made a show, it is -true, of subscribing to a madness in order to humour a party of -lunatics under his charge; but this affectation, I do believe, took in -none of us. Was it not he, in solemn fact, who had insisted upon the -necessity of this postponement of the foray until the small hours? Was -it not he who had manœuvred to enwrap our plans in a profound mist of -secrecy? Was it not he who had appointed the present rendezvous with a -masterly eye to contingencies? As to wit: (1) His house stood remote, -and we could reach the sea-front from the back of it, without ever -touching the village; (2) A French window gave from his study upon the -garden to the rear; (3) There was a little hand-cart for luggage in a -shed in this garden, which cart offered itself apt to a dual -purpose--(A) to convey down to the shore a pick and a shovel, together -with Uncle Jenico’s colossal wrench, which, under pretence of its -being submitted to some test, had already been brought to the rectory; -(B) to serve as vehicle for the carrying back of the treasure. - -On the top of all which, I ask you, was Mr. Sant the incredulous -humourist he professed to be? - -Whatever _he_ thought, however, Uncle Jenico was patently and -irresistibly the enthusiast of the undertaking. He stumped along, dear -soul, his face one moon of hilarity. The adventure was to his very -heart. To be called upon, in _such_ an enterprise, to advertise the -merits of _such_ an invention, his own! It was unspeakable--beyond -expectation! He laughed constantly, holding my arm, and rebuking me -for being a sluggard when I tried to regulate his pace lest he upset -himself. - -Harry trundled the cart, making the softest track he could manage, -under the hill towards the Gap. It was a brilliant moonlit night, with -a singing wind. We had brought lanterns; but had no need of them. It -was near as bright as day, indeed, and we sped rapidly on our course, -never having need to pause or pick our way till we reached the sands. -The great shaft of the well, when we stood over against it, seemed to -topple towards us, tragically anticipating its doom. The sight of it, -so lonely and so ancient in this moon-drowned solitude, thrilled me -with a sort of pity. It had stood so long, baffling the winds and -tides, foregathering with such generations of dead and departed -ghosts! And now at last man’s cupidity was scheming to compass the -final ruin of what Nature had been impotent to wreck. Ah! a more fatal -force than any storm! the one against which no monument, however -venerable, is proof. - -If the others were touched by this spirit of regret, they were -sensible enough to subordinate it to the inevitably practical. While I -was, literally, mooning, they had already lifted the wrench from the -barrow, and were busy, under Uncle Jenico’s directions, getting it -into position on the sand. - -I can only hastily elucidate the idea of this machine. Pinned to a -sort of frame, or trestle, which was anchored all round with stout -grapnels, and shored up in front against a bracket, was a ship’s -steering-wheel, which the inventor had picked up cheap at a marine -auction. A good rope (length indefinite), to be passed round the -subject of the proposed haulage, and its two ends then carried to the -wheel and clamped, one on each side, to its rim, completed the design. -So disposed, nothing remained but to turn the wheel by its spokes, -when the rope would garrotte the object, and, mechanically contracting -of itself, induce a forward strain. - -Now, I know little about scientific values; but certainly in this case -the result justified the means, as you shall hear. - -We had got all in place but the rope; and then suddenly Mr. Sant drew -himself up, scratching his head in an unclerical manner. - -“Whereabouts is it to be passed round?” he said. - -“O!” answered Uncle Jenico: “as high up on the shaft as one can -reach.” - -“My good man,” cried the rector sarcastically, “do you really imagine -we are going to haul that thing over by tugging at its base, or near -it?” - -“It is tottering already. It is laid bare to its lowest course. These -boys examined and proved it!” answered Uncle Jenico. - -Nevertheless, I could see he was taken by surprise and dismayed. - -“That may be,” said Mr. Sant, “but----” - -He paused, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed out comically. - -“O, it will never do!” he said. “We must give this insanity a better -chance. By hook or by crook, we must get the thing fixed up near the -top.” - -I started forward. - -“I’ll carry the rope up, sir. I know the way. Harry and I climbed it -once before.” - -“No,” cried Uncle Jenico, sharply and decisively. “I won’t have you go -on any account, Richard!” - -“Then it’s to be me!” cried Harry; and, as I muttered discontentedly, -trying to block his way, he evaded me and ran for the shaft. Mr. Sant, -trailing the rope, followed him, and in a moment they were under its -shadow. - -I chafed, watching them: but my relative was inexorable. And, indeed, -to speak truth, there was considerably more risk in the venture than -formerly before the storm. Harry, however, accomplished his part in -safety; and, while he still dwelt aloft, holding the loop in place, -Mr. Sant captured the two ends of the rope, and came running towards -us with them. In a moment we had pulled them taut and clamped them in -place to the wheel. And then we hailed Harry to come down, which he -did, rather with a run, so afraid was he of missing any detail of the -sport. - -Uncle Jenico had already given a half-turn to the wheel, in order to -clinch the hold of the rope; and now he stood in a tense eagerness, -dwelling on the psychologic moment. He held, by right of patent, the -larboard spokes; Mr. Sant, the port. The dear old man was so wrought -up out of feebleness, that I was apprehensive of the part he insisted -upon taking in the manipulation of his own design. He would not be -denied, however; and who could have had the heart to disappoint him? -Was not this the very first time that his genius for invention -promised him a harvest of gold? He took a long breath, and tightened -his hold on the spokes. - -Joshua stood rigid, awaiting the result. Harry and I shook on wires, -staring from the wrench to the shaft, and hardly stifling the -exclamations that rose to our lips. It was a solemn moment. - -“Go!” cried Uncle Jenico; and the wheel spun a little, stiffened, and -began to cry ominously. - -Something cracked; thank Heaven it was only Uncle Jenico’s braces! The -old man tugged and puffed, wrestling with his task. Suddenly he -staggered--the wheel seemed to give and spin away from him--and he was -almost on his face. In the same moment I fancied the shadow of a -night-bird had crossed my vision--and I looked; and where had been the -well was nothing. It was fallen prone upon the sand, so wearily, so -softly, that in that humming wind no sound of the concussion had -reached us. - -Hardly suppressing a cry of triumph, we dropped everything, and raced -for the place. The shaft in falling had broken into three pieces, of -which the middle one was in a proportion of two-fourths. The fracture -nearest the base was only three or so inches in width; but the top -fragment was quite detached, and tilted over a little away from the -neck. - -Where the shaft had stood was surprisingly little scar in the -ground--nothing to see, in fact, but a pyramid of sand, which had run -from the stuffed base of the well in its parting. Upon this we flung -ourselves, scrambling and scraping like children about a burst sugar -cask. We clawed, as badgers claw, throwing the draff behind us. A hole -opened under our furious assault, and sunk, and deepened--and revealed -nothing. We ran for the tools, and picked and dug like madmen. -Presently Mr. Sant threw down his shovel. - -“We are feet below the well bottom. Are you satisfied at last, Mr. -Pilbrow?” he said, really in a quite quarrelsome way. He had been -cheated, he felt, of the fruits of his own condescension. - -“No,” snarled Joshua, “I’m not. Here was mud, perhaps, once. It was a -loaded box of iron--we know that. It may have sunk far.” - -Mr. Sant laughed offensively. The best of us bear awakening from -engaging dreams badly. As for me, I had desisted from working when he -did, and was sitting disconsolately on the lower part of the shaft, -fumbling with my fingers in the fracture. - -All in a moment the blood seemed to rush to my heart, making me gasp. -I jumped to my feet. - -“Here it is!” I screeched. “I’ve found it! I felt it!” - -My fingers, burrowing through the crack into a choke of sand, had -touched upon the iron-bound corner of a box. - -They were all up and swarming about me directly. One by one, quite -cavalier to each other in their eagerness to dive and feel, they -exclaimed and fell back, Some people say that colours are -indiscernible by moonlight. I can answer for the flush which suffused -our rector’s cheek as he looked at Joshua. - -But it was Uncle Jenico who commanded the situation. - -“We must rope this lowest piece, and pull it away from the other,” he -cried, full of bustle and excitement. “What a providential thought was -this wrench of mine! Hey, my boys? Ha-ha!” - -It was brilliantly the obvious course, and at the word we were all -scurrying to put it into execution, Uncle Jenico directing us in a -perfect and quite lovable rapture of self-importance. He and I, when -the rope had been readjusted to its new position, hurried to -manipulate the machine, while the others remained to watch the result -of our efforts on the huge pipe of masonry. We seized the spokes. - -“Right!” said my uncle, with a laugh of joyous confidence. - -Now, I don’t know if the first test had amounted to no more than a -little soft extra persuasion applied to an already tottering article. -I know only that _that_ success was not to be repeated. - -“Right!” said Uncle Jenico; and the wheel turned under our hands, -tightened, and began to scream as before, only infinitely more -distressfully. We strained our mightiest, putting our backs into it. - -“It gives, I think,” said Uncle Jenico, in a suffocating voice. - -And with the word, an explosive lash whistled by my ear, the machine -bounded and pitched, and there were we rolling on the sand amidst a -mad wreck of everything. - -We were neither of us hurt. Uncle Jenico sat up ruefully. Mr. Sant -came running to us across the sand. - -“Anybody killed?” he panted, as he rushed up. - -Nobody, by God’s mercy! It was the nearest shave. If I had had a -whisker, it would have been shorn off, I think. The rope had snapped -like a piece of string, and we were right in the path of its recoil. - -“Anyhow, I suppose we moved the thing a little?” said Uncle Jenico. - -“Not an inch,” was the answer. - -“Eh!” cried my uncle. “I can’t understand. It must have severed itself -on a sharp stone, I suppose.” - -“That was the case, without doubt,” said the clergyman, kindly. “Well, -there’s nothing for us now but to take pick and shovel, and dig out -the pith of the thing. It will take a little longer, that’s all.” - -Indeed, we found the other two, once assured of our safety, already -hard at the job. It proved a tough one, for the silt inside from long -pressure was grown as compact as mortar, and every fragment of it had -to be chipped off and pulled away--a difficult matter, when from the -depth of our boring it was no longer possible to wield the pick. -However, we got through it, taking turns at the tools, and working now -by lantern light, for the end of the great trunk was turned from the -face of the moon. - -Suddenly Harry, when he and I were once more hammering and shovelling -together, uttered a stifled sound, and scrambled up, so quickly as -half to fracture his skull against the roof of the tube. Then, holding -his head, and squatting out backwards, he gingerly raked after him a -little white thing--a human bone. - -I scuttled to join him, and we all looked at one another. - -“We’re coming to it,” muttered Mr. Sant; and almost on the instant, as -we plunged in again to resume our burrowing, the end was wrought. A -slab of concreted stuff, falling detached to our renewed blows and -tilting outwards, let down an avalanche of loosened sand, and, -slipping on its torrent--what? - -We did not wait to discriminate. The dead, it seemed to us only, had -come sliding and chuckling to meet us half way, with his, “Here we are -again!” like a clown. - -“It’s there!” gasped Harry, as we stood up outside. “Some one else -must fetch it--not me: I won’t.” - -Joshua dived on the instant: we heard him scuffling and chattering -inside. And then he emerged. - -“The rope!” he cried like a madman. “Fetch it--a bit of it--anything!” - -I ran off, unknotted the shorter length from the wreck of the machine, -and returned with it to him. He disappeared again into the tunnel, -drawing the slack after him, and in a minute reissued, unkempt and -agitated beyond measure, and disposed us all to haul. Without a -question we obeyed, and, at his word, set our shoulders to a -simultaneous tug. Slowly the capture responded to our efforts, and -drew out heavily into the open--a great iron-ribbed box, with the -upper half of a human skeleton chained to it by the neck. - -Joshua seized the pick, and, before Mr. Sant could stop him, had -parted at a blow the skull from its vertebræ. It leapt and settled, -grinning up at us from the sand. - -“That was basely done,” said our rector. “Take your spoil, sir. These -poor remains are my concern.” - -Joshua had thrown away the tool, and was standing, as if petrified, -looking down on the chest. It might have measured a yard by two feet, -and some two feet and a half in depth. The wood, under the corroded -clamps of iron, was spongey, half-eaten by water, and, half-eaten, -preserved in sand. But of the immense antiquity of the whole there was -no question. - -“We must secure what of these bones we can,” said Mr. Sant. “Well, -Dick? Well, Harry?” - -His quiet appeal overcame our repugnance. Once more we grovelled and -groped in the bowels of the well. It was a gruesome task; but we -fulfilled it. Excitement, no doubt--an eagerness to be done with it, -and so earn the sweeter reward of adventure, stimulated us. At the end -we had found, and gathered into a heap outside, all evidence that -remained to mortality of that ancient deed of murder. It made one’s -brain swim to look down on this wonderful tragic salvage of the -centuries. It was all true, then--all true! And Destiny had made us -her instruments in this unspeakable resurrection! - -All this time Joshua, and even my uncle, had remained as if tranced. -Now, suddenly, the former raised his voice in a shrill ecstatic cry. - -“Poor Abel! poor fool! Come, let us load up! What are we waiting for?” - -It was evident he was wrought far beyond any susceptibility to moral -warning or rebuke. The rector perceived this, I think, and submitted -himself to circumstance. - -The truck was hurried up, and the chest placed upon it. It needed our -united efforts to raise the thing; and at our every stagger Joshua -sawed out a little jubilant laugh. We gathered the tools and the ropes -and the ruin of the wrench, and piled all on top. Then we disposed the -broken skeleton amidst, and started on our way home. - -It was a hard pull now, though we all gave a hand to it. Three o’clock -had struck, when at last, exhausted and agitated, we drew the little -cart cautiously up to the study window, and unloaded it of its -weightest burden, leaving the rest temporarily outside while we -examined our haul. - -The box had been stoutly fastened and secured; but the wood being -shrunk away from its clamps rendered our task an easy one. A little -wrenching with forceps, and the whole lid came apart, sinking upon the -floor with a dusty clang. And then---- - -Sleeking and glinting through a dust of perished rags--piled to the -throat, and kept burnished by the sand that had filtered in--a glut of -gold! - -Gold in rouleaux and ingots; gold in sovereigns and ryals; gold in -angels and rose-nobles--near all of Henry the Seventh’s and Henry the -Eighth’s reigns, and of incalculable antiquarian, apart from their -intrinsic, value; gold in patens; gold and more in a jewelled -ciborium; chased gold and ivory in an exquisite chalice with handles, -and little queer figures of saints in rich enamel; gold in such wealth -as we had never dreamt. - -The vessels had been wrapped, it appeared, in soft skins of -suckling-calf vellum, which had long crumpled into a floury meal, -keeping all bright as blossoms preserved in sand, and easy to dust and -blow away, We felt fairly drunk with the sight, as we gazed down -spell-bound into that brimming reservoir of all wealth. - -And then suddenly Mr. Sant had fallen upon his knees. - -“O Lord!” he prayed, in a low half-agonized tone; “teach thy servant -to deal rightly with this, converting it to fair uses, and justifying -himself of Thy generosity.” - -A little dead silence followed; and at the end Joshua bowed his head, -and raising his hands clasped together, cried twice, in a firm voice-- - -“Amen!” - -And so at last was consummated that wonderful and tragic tale of -mystery and fatality, which had begun for me in the old court house of -Ipswich. Truly, other things than hanging and wiving go by destiny. - - - - -CONCLUSION. - -There was a sequel, which I must relate. Stories of recovered -treasure, if true like this, do not always end with the emotional -unities and the final chapter. Morning does not always bring a -confirmation of pious resolves. A little sourness of digestion -sometimes impairs the glamour of last night’s feast of righteousness. -That is the deuce of it. - -Now, I will not say that Joshua repudiated in the slightest reality -the sense of that “Amen” of his; but, once awake and restored to the -full realization of his possession, he certainly did try to back out -of his undertaking to challenge the law to deprive him of it. Not -unscrupulously--not in the least. He merely strove to convince Mr. -Sant as to the actual letter of that law, and, consequently, of the -Quixotry of calling upon it to establish his claim--probably at -considerable expense to both sides--to do what was already, by its own -decreeing, indubitably his. - -But he was entirely unsuccessful. The rector, seeing in this only a -personal obstructive policy, designed to shackle that main moral -question of the cleansing of his Augean stable, utterly declined to -forego his bond, and wrung a promise out of my reluctant relative -himself that I should not be allowed to touch a penny of this treasure -until it could be proved well-gotten. - -So Joshua, forced at last to give way, though with a very ill grace, -sent in his notice to the Ipswich coroner. - -In the mean time the process of cleansing was carried through with all -despatch. The hill was cleared, at some risk, of its tragic -impedimenta, which--after a jury had sat on them, and brought in a -verdict of accidental death--were consigned to rest in the -churchyard--Abel’s, with some distinction, in a separate grave. The -whole story was wrung out at the inquest, and aired, and hung up on -the lines for gossips to find holes in; and gradually the -village--with the entire country-side, to boot--subsided from its -fever heat of excitement, which was only to suffer a temporary -recrudescence in the _cause célebre_ which came presently to provide -the epilogue. - -One day, a tax-cart, a coroner’s clerk, a posse of insurance-office -firemen, and a couple of cavalrymen from the barracks to escort the -whole, appeared before the rectory, and, removing the treasure-box, -well encased and sealed, from the clerical strong-room--where it had -lain perdu since its discovery--mounted that and Joshua in the -vehicle, and incontinently drove away with both. - -We saw him go, sitting darkly on the top of his coffin, like a -dyspeptic Jack Sheppard being jogged off to Tyburn; and thereafter for -a desperate week or more heard or saw nothing of him. Then one day, a -great trumpeting and cheering in the street brought us all out -pell-mell; and there he was, worshipful in the repute of fabulous -riches, being carried shoulder high. - -He had won his cause; and through whom do you think? Why, Mr. Quayle. -The little Q.C. accompanied the procession, and shared in its triumph. -Joshua had alighted on him, quite accidentally, in Ipswich, and -revealing to him everything--not without an ironic satisfaction, one -may be sure, in returning at this eleventh hour a Rowland for his -Oliver--had engaged him to conduct his case. And he had done it, and -won it; and the treasure was ours. - -“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,” said the little man, -meeting me again with delight. “Richard, I am rebuked. I once said you -were the son of your father, but not so good a lawyer. I withdraw the -riservation, entirely. You could see further than some of us into a -stone wall. To think now that your friend spoke the truth through ut -all! I’ll never trust the evidence of me nine senses again. Five, is -ut? Well, I was thinking of the Muses, I suppose. ’Tis a weakness I -have, and will prove my undoing in the end. Never you bother about the -girls, Richard. They spoil your law.” - - -I have only a word or two to add. I am afraid to declare what that box -of gold realized. The sum, anyhow, was so large as to enrich us all. A -great part of its treasures was distributed into the cabinets of -collectors, the beautiful chalice finding its way, I believe, at an -immense figure, into the museum of a famous cardinal and virtuoso in -Rome. From the total proceeds Joshua handsomely presented to Harry the -equivalent of a comfortable income, which was the means of helping my -dear friend to the very satisfactory position to which he attained a -few years later in London. For me he held the residue nominally in -trust till I was come of age, when he proposed to establish himself -and Uncle Jenico as pensioners on my bounty. The question was one -merely of terms. We made, in fact, our common home together until the -end, even after I had so far neglected Mr. Quayle’s advice as to -bother my head very much indeed about one girl, and to wive her into -the bargain. - -We had left Dunberry soon after the events narrated above, taking Mrs. -Puddephatt with us for housekeeper, and not forgetting Fancy-Maria. -For some time, I understand, after our departure, the famous crypts -were a gazing-stock, attracting so many visitors that in the end Mr. -Sant’s dearest wish was realized, and a popular watering-place -established on the foundations of the old smugglers’ haunt. But long -before that the vaults had been closed, as unsafe, by councillors’ -authority; and at this day only a deep depression in the soil above -denotes the spot under which the tragedy of Abel Pilbrow was enacted. - -So the old order changes--all, that is to say, but Uncle Jenico, who -is engaged at this moment, very bent and white, in demonstrating to my -little boy the method of his latest machine for solving the riddle of -perpetual motion. - - THE END - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES. - -Minor spelling inconsistencies (_e.g._ drowzily/drowsily, -schoolhouse/school-house, barn-door/barn door, etc.) have been -preserved. - -Alterations to the text: - -Assorted punctuation corrections. - -[Part I/Chapter I] - -Change “mamma said we must _restrench_, and cried” to _retrench_. - -[Part II/Chapter VIII] - -“watch him fattening, and _enjy_ him in anticipation” to _enjoy_. - -[Part II/Chapter X] - -“He stood before me, _dropping_ wet, a most wretched” to _dripping_. - -[Part II/Chapter XV] - -“It was a brilliant _moonlight_ night” to _moonlit_. - -[End of Text] - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET IN THE HILL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |