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The mystery of Cloomber

by Arthur Conan Doyle · English · Gutenberg #7964 · 286,062 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The mystery of Cloomber

Author: Arthur Conan Doyle


        
Release date: April 1, 2005 [eBook #7964]
                Most recently updated: July 18, 2022

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7964

Credits: Lionel G. Sear and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF CLOOMBER ***




THE MYSTERY OF CLOOMBER

By Arthur Conan Doyle


CONTENTS


CHAPTER I THE HEGIRA OF THE WESTS FROM EDINBURGH
CHAPTER II OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH A TENANT CAME TO CLOOMBER
CHAPTER III OF OUR FURTHER ACQUAINTANCE WITH MAJOR-GENERAL J. B. HEATHERSTONE
CHAPTER IV OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A GREY HEAD
CHAPTER V HOW FOUR OF US CAME TO BE UNDER THE SHADOW OF CLOOMBER
CHAPTER VI HOW I CAME TO BE ENLISTED AS ONE OF THE GARRISON OF CLOOMBER
CHAPTER VII OF CORPORAL RUFUS SMITH AND HIS COMING TO CLOOMBER
CHAPTER VIII STATEMENT OF ISRAEL STAKES
CHAPTER IX NARRATIVE OF JOHN EASTERLING, F.R.C.P. EDIN.
CHAPTER X OF THE LETTER WHICH CAME FROM THE HALL
CHAPTER XI OF THE CASTING AWAY OF THE BARQUE “BELINDA”
CHAPTER XII OF THE THREE FOREIGN MEN UPON THE COAST
CHAPTER XIII IN WHICH I SEE THAT WHICH HAS BEEN SEEN BY FEW
CHAPTER XIV OF THE VISITOR WHO RAN DOWN THE ROAD IN THE NIGHT-TIME
CHAPTER XV THE DAY-BOOK OF JOHN BERTHIER HEATHERSTONE
CHAPTER XVI AT THE HOLE OF CREE




CHAPTER I.
THE HEGIRA OF THE WESTS FROM EDINBURGH


I, John Fothergill West, student of law in the University of St. Andrews,
have endeavoured in the ensuing pages to lay my statement before the
public in a concise and business-like fashion.

It is not my wish to achieve literary success, nor have I any desire by
the graces of my style, or by the artistic ordering of my incidents, to
throw a deeper shadow over the strange passages of which I shall have
to speak. My highest ambition is that those who know something of the
matter should, after reading my account, be able to conscientiously
indorse it without finding a single paragraph in which I have either
added to or detracted from the truth.

Should I attain this result, I shall rest amply satisfied with the
outcome of my first, and probably my last, venture in literature.

It was my intention to write out the sequence of events in due order,
depending on trustworthy hearsay when I was describing that which was
beyond my own personal knowledge. I have now, however, through the
kind cooperation of friends, hit upon a plan which promises to be less
onerous to me and more satisfactory to the reader. This is nothing less
than to make use of the various manuscripts which I have by me bearing
upon the subject, and to add to them the first-hand evidence contributed
by those who had the best opportunities of knowing Major-General J. B.
Heatherstone.

In pursuance of this design I shall lay before the public the testimony
of Israel Stakes, formerly coachman at Cloomber Hall, and of
John Easterling, F.R.C.P. Edin., now practising at Stranraer, in
Wigtownshire. To these I shall add a verbatim account extracted from
the journal of the late John Berthier Heatherstone, of the events which
occurred in the Thul Valley in the autumn of '41 towards the end of
the first Afghan War, with a description of the skirmish in the Terada
defile, and of the death of the man Ghoolab Shah.

To myself I reserve the duty of filling up all the gaps and chinks which
may be left in the narrative. By this arrangement I have sunk from the
position of an author to that of a compiler, but on the other hand
my work has ceased to be a story and has expanded into a series of
affidavits.

My Father, John Hunter West, was a well known Oriental and Sanskrit
scholar, and his name is still of weight with those who are interested
in such matters. He it was who first after Sir William Jones called
attention to the great value of early Persian literature, and his
translations from the Hafiz and from Ferideddin Atar have earned the
warmest commendations from the Baron von Hammer-Purgstall, of Vienna,
and other distinguished Continental critics.

In the issue of the _Orientalisches Scienzblatt_ for January, 1861,
he is described as _“Der beruhmte und sehr gelhernte Hunter West von
Edinburgh”_--a passage which I well remember that he cut out and stowed
away, with a pardonable vanity, among the most revered family archives.

He had been brought up to be a solicitor, or Writer to the Signet, as
it is termed in Scotland, but his learned hobby absorbed so much of his
time that he had little to devote to the pursuit of his profession.

When his clients were seeking him at his chambers in George Street, he
was buried in the recesses of the Advocates' Library, or poring over
some mouldy manuscript at the Philosophical Institution, with his brain
more exercised over the code which Menu propounded six hundred years
before the birth of Christ than over the knotty problems of Scottish law
in the nineteenth century. Hence it can hardly be wondered at that
as his learning accumulated his practice dissolved, until at the very
moment when he had attained the zenith of his celebrity he had also
reached the nadir of his fortunes.

There being no chair of Sanscrit in any of his native universities, and
no demand anywhere for the only mental wares which he had to dispose
of, we should have been forced to retire into genteel poverty, consoling
ourselves with the aphorisms and precepts of Firdousi, Omar Khayyam, and
others of his Eastern favourites, had it not been for the kindness
and liberality of his half-brother William Farintosh, the Laird of
Branksome, in Wigtownshire.

This William Farintosh was the proprietor of a landed estate, the
acreage which bore, unfortunately, a most disproportional relation to
its value, for it formed the bleakest and most barren tract of land
in the whole of a bleak and barren shire. As a bachelor, however, his
expenses had been small, and he had contrived from the rents of his
scattered cottages, and the sale of the Galloway nags, which he bred
upon the moors, not only to live as a laird should, but to put by a
considerable sum in the bank.

We had heard little from our kinsman during the days of our comparative
prosperity, but just as we were at our wit's end, there came a letter
like a ministering angel, giving us assurance of sympathy and succour.
In it the Laird of Branksome told us that one of his lungs had been
growing weaker for some time, and that Dr. Easterling, of Stranraer, had
strongly advised him to spend the few years which were left to him in
some more genial climate. He had determined, therefore to set out for
the South of Italy, and he begged that we should take up our residence
at Branksome in his absence, and that my father should act as his land
steward and agent at a salary which placed us above all fear of want.

Our mother had been dead for some years, so that there were only myself,
my father, and my sister Esther to consult, and it may be readily
imagined that it did not take us long to decide upon the acceptance
of the laird's generous offer. My father started for Wigtown that very
night, while Esther and I followed a few days afterwards, bearing with
us two potato-sacksful of learned books, and such other of our household
effects that were worth the trouble and expense of transport.




CHAPTER II.
OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH A TENANT CAME TO CLOOMBER


Branksome might have appeared a poor dwelling-place when compared with
the house of an English squire, but to us, after our long residence in
stuffy apartments, it was of regal magnificence.

The building was broad-spread and low, with red-tiled roof,
diamond-paned windows, and a profusion of dwelling rooms with
smoke-blackened ceilings and oaken wainscots. In front was a small lawn,
girt round with a thin fringe of haggard and ill grown beeches, all
gnarled and withered from the effects of the sea-spray. Behind lay the
scattered hamlet of Branksome-Bere--a dozen cottages at most--inhabited
by rude fisher-folk who looked upon the laird as their natural
protector.

To the west was the broad, yellow beach and the Irish Sea, while in all
other directions the desolate moors, greyish-green in the foreground
and purple in the distance, stretched away in long, low curves to the
horizon.

Very bleak and lonely it was upon this Wigtown coast. A man might
walk many a weary mile and never see a living thing except the white,
heavy-flapping kittiwakes, which screamed and cried to each other with
their shrill, sad voices.

Very lonely and very bleak! Once out of sight of Branksome and there
was no sign of the works of man save only where the high, white tower of
Cloomber Hall shot up, like a headstone of some giant grave, from amid
the firs and larches which girt it round.

This great house, a mile or more from our dwelling, had been built by a
wealthy Glasgow merchant of strange tastes and lonely habits, but at
the time of our arrival it had been untenanted for many years, and stood
with weather-blotched walls and vacant, staring windows looking blankly
out over the hill side.

Empty and mildewed, it served only as a landmark to the fishermen, for
they had found by experience that by keeping the laird's chimney and the
white tower of Cloomber in a line they could steer their way through
the ugly reef which raises its jagged back, like that of some sleeping
monster, above the troubled waters of the wind-swept bay.

To this wild spot it was that Fate had brought my father, my sister,
and myself. For us its loneliness had no terrors. After the hubbub and
bustle of a great city, and the weary task of upholding appearances upon
a slender income, there was a grand, soul-soothing serenity in the long
sky-line and the eager air. Here at least there was no neighbour to pry
and chatter.

The laird had left his phaeton and two ponies behind him, with the aid
of which my father and I would go the round of the estate doing such
light duties as fall to an agent, or “factor” as it was there called,
while our gentle Esther looked to our household needs, and brightened
the dark old building.

Such was our simple, uneventful existence, until the summer night when
an unlooked-for incident occurred which proved to be the herald of those
strange doings which I have taken up my pen to describe.

It had been my habit to pull out of an evening in the laird's skiff
and to catch a few whiting which might serve for our supper. On this
well-remembered occasion my sister came with me, sitting with her book
in the stern-sheets of the boat, while I hung my lines over the bows.

The sun had sunk down behind the rugged Irish coast, but a long bank of
flushed cloud still marked the spot, and cast a glory upon the waters.
The whole broad ocean was seamed and scarred with crimson streaks. I had
risen in the boat, and was gazing round in delight at the broad panorama
of shore and sea and sky, when my sister plucked at my sleeve with a
little, sharp cry of surprise.

“See, John,” she cried, “there is a light in Cloomber Tower!”

I turned my head and stared back at the tall, white turret which peeped
out above the belt of trees. As I gazed I distinctly saw at one of the
windows the glint of a light, which suddenly vanished, and then shone
out once more from another higher up. There it flickered for some time,
and finally flashed past two successive windows underneath before the
trees obscured our view of it. It was clear that some one bearing a lamp
or a candle had climbed up the tower stairs and had then returned into
the body of the house.

“Who in the world can it be?” I exclaimed, speaking rather to myself
than to Esther, for I could see by the surprise upon her face that she
had no solution to offer. “Maybe some of the folk from Branksome-Bere
have wanted to look over the place.”

My sister shook her head.

“There is not one of them would dare to set foot within the avenue
gates,” she said. “Besides, John, the keys are kept by the house-agent
at Wigtown. Were they ever so curious, none of our people could find
their way in.”

When I reflected upon the massive door and ponderous shutters which
guarded the lower storey of Cloomber, I could not but admit the force
of my sister's objection. The untimely visitor must either have used
considerable violence in order to force his way in, or he must have
obtained possession of the keys.

Piqued by the little mystery, I pulled for the beach, with the
determination to see for myself who the intruder might be, and what
were his intentions. Leaving my sister at Branksome, and summoning
Seth Jamieson, an old man-o'-war's-man and one of the stoutest of the
fishermen, I set off across the moor with him through the gathering
darkness.

“It hasna a guid name after dark, yon hoose,” remarked my companion,
slackening his pace perceptibly as I explained to him the nature of our
errand. “It's no for naething that him wha owns it wunna gang within a
Scotch mile o't.”

“Well, Seth, there is some one who has no fears about going into it,”
 said I, pointing to the great, white building which flickered up in
front of us through the gloom.

The light which I had observed from the sea was moving backwards and
forward past the lower floor windows, the shutters of which had been
removed. I could now see that a second fainter light followed a few
paces behind the other. Evidently two individuals, the one with a
lamp and the other with a candle or rushlight, were making a careful
examination of the building.

“Let ilka man blaw his ain parritch,” said Seth Jamieson doggedly,
coming to a dead stop. “What is it tae us if a wraith or a bogle
minds tae tak' a fancy tae Cloomber? It's no canny tae meddle wi' such
things.”

“Why, man,” I cried, “you don't suppose a wraith came here in a gig?
What are those lights away yonder by the avenue gates?”

“The lamps o' a gig, sure enough!” exclaimed my companion in a less
lugubrious voice. “Let's steer for it, Master West, and speer where she
hails frae.”

By this time night had closed in save for a single long, narrow slit in
the westward. Stumbling across the moor together, we made our way into
the Wigtown Road, at the point where the high stone pillars mark the
entrance to the Cloomber avenue. A tall dog-cart stood in front of the
gateway, the horse browsing upon the thin border of grass which skirted
the road.

“It's a' richt!” said Jamieson, taking a close look at the deserted
vehicle. “I ken it weel. It belongs tae Maister McNeil, the factor body
frae Wigtown--him wha keeps the keys.”

“Then we may as well have speech with him now that we are here,” I
answered. “They are coming down, if I am not mistaken.”

As I spoke we heard the slam of the heavy door and within a few minutes
two figures, the one tall and angular, the other short and thick came
towards us through the darkness. They were talking so earnestly that
they did not observe us until they had passed through the avenue gate.

“Good evening, Mr. McNeil,” said I, stepping forward and addressing the
Wigtown factor, with whom I had some slight acquaintance.

The smaller of the two turned his face towards me as I spoke, and showed
me that I was not mistaken in his identity, but his taller companion
sprang back and showed every sign of violent agitation.

“What is this, McNeil?” I heard him say, in a gasping, choking voice.
“Is this your promise? What is the meaning of it?”

“Don't be alarmed, General! Don't be alarmed!” said the little fat
factor in a soothing fashion, as one might speak to a frightened child.
“This is young Mr. Fothergill West, of Branksome, though what brings him
up here tonight is more than I can understand. However, as you are to be
neighbours, I can't do better than take the opportunity to introduce you
to each other. Mr. West, this is General Heatherstone, who is about to
take a lease of Cloomber Hall.”

I held out my hand to the tall man, who took it in a hesitating,
half-reluctant fashion.

“I came up,” I explained, “because I saw your lights in the windows, and
I thought that something might be wrong. I am very glad I did so, since
it has given me the chance of making the general's acquaintance.”

Whilst I was talking, I was conscious that the new tenant of Cloomber
Hall was peering at me very closely through the darkness. As I
concluded, he stretched out a long, tremulous arm, and turned the
gig-lamp in such a way as to throw a flood of light upon my face.

“Good Heavens, McNeil!” he cried, in the same quivering voice as before,
“the fellow's as brown as chocolate. He's not an Englishman. You're not
an Englishman--you, sir?”

“I'm a Scotchman, born and bred,” said I, with an inclination to laugh,
which was only checked by my new acquaintance's obvious terror.

“A Scotchman, eh?” said he, with a sigh of relief. “It's all one
nowadays. You must excuse me, Mr.--Mr. West. I'm nervous, infernally
nervous. Come along, McNeil, we must be back in Wigtown in less than an
hour. Good-night, gentlemen, good-night!”

The two clambered into their places; the factor cracked his whip,
and the high dog-cart clattered away through the darkness, casting a
brilliant tunnel of yellow light on either side of it, until the rumble
of its wheels died away in the distance.

“What do you think of our new neighbour, Jamieson?” I asked, after a
long silence.

“'Deed, Mr. West, he seems, as he says himsel', to be vera nervous.
Maybe his conscience is oot o' order.”

“His liver, more likely,” said I. “He looks as if he had tried his
constitution a bit. But it's blowing chill, Seth, my lad, and it's time
both of us were indoors.”

I bade my companion good-night, and struck off across the moors for the
cheery, ruddy light which marked the parlour windows of Branksome.




CHAPTER III.
OF OUR FURTHER ACQUAINTANCE WITH MAJOR-GENERAL J. B. HEATHERSTONE


There was, as may well be imagined, much stir amongst our small
community at the news that the Hall was to be inhabited once more, and
considerable speculation as to the new tenants, and their object in
choosing this particular part of the country for their residence.

It speedily became apparent that, whatever their motives might be, they
had definitely determined upon a lengthy stay, for relays of plumbers
and of joiners came down from Wigtown, and there was hammering and
repairing going on from morning till night.

It was surprising how quickly the signs of the wind and weather were
effaced, until the great, square-set house was all as spick-and-span
as though it had been erected yesterday. There were abundant signs that
money was no consideration to General Heatherstone, and that it was not
on the score of retrenchment that he had taken up his abode among us.

“It may be that he is devoted to study,” suggested my father, as we
discussed the question round the breakfast table. “Perhaps he has chosen
this secluded spot to finish some magnum opus upon which he is engaged.
If that is the case I should be happy to let him have the run of my
library.”

Esther and I laughed at the grandiloquent manner in which he spoke of
the two potato-sacksful of books.

“It may be as you say,” said I, “but the general did not strike me
during our short interview as being a man who was likely to have any
very pronounced literary tastes. If I might hazard a guess, I should say
that he is here upon medical advice, in the hope that the complete quiet
and fresh air may restore his shattered nervous system. If you had seen
how he glared at me, and the twitching of his fingers, you would have
thought it needed some restoring.”

“I do wonder whether he has a wife and a family,” said my sister. “Poor
souls, how lonely they will be! Why, excepting ourselves, there is not a
family that they could speak to for seven miles and more.”

“General Heatherstone is a very distinguished soldier,” remarked my
father.

“Why, papa, however came you to know anything about him?”

“Ah, my dears,” said my father, smiling at us over his coffee-cup, “you
were laughing at my library just now, but you see it may be very useful
at times.” As he spoke he took a red-covered volume from a shelf and
turned over the pages. “This is an Indian Army List of three
years back,” he explained, “and here is the very gentleman we
want--'Heatherstone, J. B., Commander of the Bath,' my dears, and 'V.C.',
think of that, 'V.C.'--'formerly colonel in the Indian Infantry, 41st
Bengal Foot, but now retired with the rank of major-general.' In this
other column is a record of his services--'capture of Ghuznee and
defence of Jellalabad, Sobraon 1848, Indian Mutiny and reduction of
Oudh. Five times mentioned in dispatches.' I think, my dears, that we
have cause to be proud of our new neighbour.”

“It doesn't mention there whether he is married or not, I suppose?”
 asked Esther.

“No,” said my father, wagging his white head with a keen appreciation
of his own humour. “It doesn't include that under the heading of 'daring
actions'--though it very well might, my dear, it very well might.”

All our doubts, however, upon this head were very soon set at rest, for
on the very day that the repairing and the furnishing had been completed
I had occasion to ride into Wigtown, and I met upon the way a carriage
which was bearing General Heatherstone and his family to their new home.
An elderly lady, worn and sickly-looking, was by his side, and opposite
him sat a young fellow about my own age and a girl who appeared to be a
couple of years younger.

I raised my hat, and was about to pass them, when the general shouted to
his coachman to pull up, and held out his hand to me. I could see now
in the daylight that his face, although harsh and stern, was capable of
assuming a not unkindly expression.

“How are you, Mr. Fothergill West?” he cried. “I must apologise to
you if I was a little brusque the other night--you will excuse an old
soldier who has spent the best part of his life in harness--All
the same, you must confess that you are rather dark-skinned for a
Scotchman.”

“We have a Spanish strain in our blood,” said I, wondering at his
recurrence to the topic.

“That would, of course, account for it,” he remarked. “My dear,” to his
wife, “allow me to introduce Mr. Fothergill West to you. This is my son
and my daughter. We have come here in search of rest, Mr. West--complete
rest.”

“And you could not possibly have come to a better place,” said I.

“Oh, you think so?” he answered. “I suppose it is very quiet indeed, and
very lonely. You might walk through these country lanes at night, I dare
say, and never meet a soul, eh?”

“Well, there are not many about after dark,” I said.

“And you are not much troubled with vagrants or wandering beggars, eh?
Not many tinkers or tramps or rascally gipsies--no vermin of that sort
about?”

“I find it rather cold,” said Mrs. Heatherstone, drawing her thick
sealskin mantle tighter round her figure. “We are detaining Mr. West,
too.”

“So we are, my dear, so we are. Drive on, coachman. Good-day, Mr. West.”

The carriage rattled away towards the Hall, and I trotted thoughtfully
onwards to the little country metropolis.

As I passed up the High Street, Mr. McNeil ran out from his office and
beckoned to me to stop.

“Our new tenants have gone out,” he said. “They drove over this
morning.”

“I met them on the way,” I answered.

As I looked down at the little factor, I could see that his face was
flushed and that he bore every appearance of having had an extra glass.

“Give me a real gentleman to do business with,” he said, with a burst of
laughter. “They understand me and I understand them. 'What shall I fill
it up for?' says the general, taking a blank cheque out o' his pouch and
laying it on the table. 'Two hundred,' says I, leaving a bit o' a margin
for my own time and trouble.”

“I thought that the landlord had paid you for that,” I remarked.

“Aye, aye, but it's well to have a bit margin. He filled it up and threw
it over to me as if it had been an auld postage stamp. That's the way
business should be done between honest men--though it wouldna do if one
was inclined to take an advantage. Will ye not come in, Mr. West, and
have a taste of my whisky?”

“No, thank you,” said I, “I have business to do.”

“Well, well, business is the chief thing. It's well not to drink in the
morning, too. For my own part, except a drop before breakfast to give
me an appetite, and maybe a glass, or even twa, afterwards to promote
digestion, I never touch spirits before noon. What d'ye think o' the
general, Mr. West?”

“Why, I have hardly had an opportunity of judging,” I answered.

Mr. McNeil tapped his forehead with his forefinger.

“That's what I think of him,” he said in a confidential whisper, shaking
his head at me. “He's gone, sir, gone, in my estimation. Now what would
you take to be a proof of madness, Mr. West?”

“Why, offering a blank cheque to a Wigtown house-agent,” said I.

“Ah, you're aye at your jokes. But between oorsel's now, if a man asked
ye how many miles it was frae a seaport, and whether ships come there
from the East, and whether there were tramps on the road, and whether
it was against the lease for him to build a high wall round the grounds,
what would ye make of it, eh?”

“I should certainly think him eccentric,” said I.

“If every man had his due, our friend would find himsel' in a house with
a high wall round the grounds, and that without costing him a farthing,”
 said the agent.

“Where then?” I asked, humouring his joke.

“Why, in the Wigtown County Lunatic Asylum,” cried the little man, with
a bubble of laughter, in the midst of which I rode on my way, leaving
him still chuckling over his own facetiousness.

The arrival of the new family at Cloomber Hall had no perceptible effect
in relieving the monotony of our secluded district, for instead of
entering into such simple pleasures as the country had to offer, or
interesting themselves, as we had hoped, in our attempts to improve
the lot of our poor crofters and fisherfolk, they seemed to shun all
observation, and hardly ever to venture beyond the avenue gates.

We soon found, too, that the factor's words as to the inclosing of the
grounds were founded upon fact, for gangs of workmen were kept hard at
work from early in the morning until late at night in erecting a high,
wooden fence round the whole estate.

When this was finished and topped with spikes, Cloomber Park became
impregnable to any one but an exceptionally daring climber. It was as
if the old soldier had been so imbued with military ideas that, like my
Uncle Toby, he could not refrain even in times of peace from standing
upon the defensive.

Stranger still, he had victualled the house as if for a siege, for
Begbie, the chief grocer of Wigtown, told me himself in a rapture
of delight and amazement that the general had sent him an order for
hundreds of dozens of every imaginable potted meat and vegetable.

It may be imagined that all these unusual incidents were not allowed to
pass without malicious comment. Over the whole countryside and as far
away as the English border there was nothing but gossip about the new
tenants of Cloomber Hall and the reasons which had led them to come
among us.

The only hypothesis, however, which the bucolic mind could evolve, was
that which had already occurred to Mr. McNeil, the factor--namely, that
the old general and his family were one and all afflicted with madness,
or, as an alternative conclusion, that he had committed some heinous
offence and was endeavouring to escape the consequences of his misdeeds.

These were both natural suppositions under the circumstances, but
neither of them appeared to me to commend itself as a true explanation
of the facts.

It is true that General Heatherstone's behaviour on the occasion of our
first interview was such as to suggest some suspicion of mental disease,
but no man could have been more reasonable or more courteous than he had
afterwards shown himself to be.

Then, again, his wife and children led the same secluded life that he
did himself, so that the reason could not be one peculiar to his own
health.

As to the possibility of his being a fugitive from justice, that theory
was even more untenable. Wigtownshire was bleak and lonely, but it was
not such an obscure corner of the world that a well-known soldier could
hope to conceal himself there, nor would a man who feared publicity set
every one's tongue wagging as the general had done.

On the whole, I was inclined to believe that the true solution of the
enigma lay in his own allusion to the love of quiet, and that they
had taken shelter here with an almost morbid craving for solitude and
repose. We very soon had an instance of the great lengths to which this
desire for isolation would carry them.

My father had come down one morning with the weight of a great
determination upon his brow.

“You must put on your pink frock to-day, Esther,” said he, “and you,
John, you must make yourself smart, for I have determined that the three
of us shall drive round this afternoon and pay our respects to Mrs.
Heatherstone and the general.”

“A visit to Cloomber,” cried Esther, clapping her hands.

“I am here,” said my father, with dignity, “not only as the laird's
factor, but also as his kinsman. In that capacity I am convinced that he
would wish me to call upon these newcomers and offer them any politeness
which is in our power. At present they must feel lonely and friendless.
What says the great Firdousi? 'The choicest ornaments to a man's house
are his friends.'”

My sister and I knew by experience that when the old man began to
justify his resolution by quotations from the Persian poets there was no
chance of shaking it. Sure enough that afternoon saw the phaeton at the
door, with my father perched upon the seat, with his second-best coat on
and a pair of new driving-gloves.

“Jump in, my dears,” he cried, cracking his whip briskly, “we shall show
the general that he has no cause to be ashamed of his neighbours.”

Alas! pride always goes before a fall. Our well-fed ponies and shining
harness were not destined that day to impress the tenants of Cloomber
with a sense of our importance.

We had reached the avenue gate, and I was about to get out and open it,
when our attention was arrested by a very large wooden placard, which
was attached to one of the trees in such a manner that no one could
possibly pass without seeing it. On the white surface of this board was
printed in big, black letters the following hospitable inscription:

                      GENERAL AND MRS. HEATHERSTONE
                              HAVE NO WISH
                              TO INCREASE
                    THE CIRCLE OF THEIR ACQUAINTANCE.

We all sat gazing at this announcement for some moments in silent
astonishment. Then Esther and I, tickled by the absurdity of the thing,
burst out laughing, but my father pulled the ponies' heads round, and
drove home with compressed lips and the cloud of much wrath upon his
brow. I have never seen the good man so thoroughly moved, and I am
convinced that his anger did not arise from any petty feeling of injured
vanity upon his own part, but from the thought that a slight had been
offered to the Laird of Branksome, whose dignity he represented.




CHAPTER IV.
OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A GREY HEAD


If I had any personal soreness on account of this family snub, it was a
very passing emotion, and one which was soon effaced from my mind.

It chanced that on the very next day after the episode I had occasion
to pass that way, and stopped to have another look at the obnoxious
placard. I was standing staring at it and wondering what could have
induced our neighbours to take such an outrageous step, when I became
suddenly aware of a sweet, girlish face which peeped out at me from
between the bars of the gate, and of a white hand which eagerly beckoned
me to approach. As I advanced to her I saw that it was the same young
lady whom I had seen in the carriage.

“Mr. West,” she said, in a quick whisper, glancing from side to side as
she spoke in a nervous, hasty manner, “I wish to apologise to you for
the indignity to which you and your family were subjected yesterday.
My brother was in the avenue and saw it all, but he is powerless to
interfere. I assure you, Mr. West, that if that hateful thing,” pointing
up at the placard, “has given you any annoyance, it has given my brother
and myself far more.”

“Why, Miss Heatherstone,” said I, putting the matter off with a laugh,
“Britain is a free country, and if a man chooses to warn off visitors
from his premises there is no reason why he should not.”

“It is nothing less than brutal,” she broke out, with a petulant
stamp of the foot. “To think that your sister, too, should have such an
unprovoked insult offered to her! I am ready to sink with shame at the
very thought.”

“Pray do not give yourself one moment's uneasiness upon the subject,”
 said I earnestly, for I was grieved at her evident distress. “I am sure
that your father has some reason unknown to us for taking this step.”

“Heaven knows he has!” she answered, with ineffable sadness in her
voice, “and yet I think it would be more manly to face a danger than
to fly from it. However, he knows best, and it is impossible for us to
judge. But who is this?” she exclaimed, anxiously, peering up the dark
avenue. “Oh, it is my brother Mordaunt. Mordaunt,” she said, as the
young man approached us, “I have been apologising to Mr. West for what
happened yesterday, in your name as well as my own.”

“I am very, very glad to have the opportunity of doing it in person,”
 said he courteously. “I only wish that I could see your sister and your
father as well as yourself, to tell them how sorry I am. I think you
had better run up to the house, little one, for it's getting near
tiffin-time. No--don't you go Mr. West. I want to have a word with you.”

Miss Heatherstone waved her hand to me with a bright smile, and tripped
up the avenue, while her brother unbolted the gate, and, passing
through, closed it again, locking it upon the outside.

“I'll have a stroll down the road with you, if you have no objection.
Have a manilla.” He drew a couple of cheroots from his pocket and
handed one to me. “You'll find they are not bad,” he said. “I became a
connoisseur in tobacco when I was in India. I hope I am not interfering
with your business in coming along with you?”

“Not at all,” I answered, “I am very glad to have your company.”

“I'll tell you a secret,” said my companion. “This is the first time
that I have been outside the grounds since we have been down here.”

“And your sister?”

“She has never been out, either,” he answered. “I have given the
governor the slip to-day, but he wouldn't half like it if he knew. It's
a whim of his that we should keep ourselves entirely to ourselves. At
least, some people would call it a whim, for my own part I have reason
to believe that he has solid grounds for all that he does--though
perhaps in this matter he may be a little too exacting.”

“You must surely find it very lonely,” said I. “Couldn't you manage to
slip down at times and have a smoke with me? That house over yonder is
Branksome.”

“Indeed, you are very kind,” he answered, with sparkling eyes. “I should
dearly like to run over now and again. With the exception of Israel
Stakes, our old coachman and gardener, I have not a soul that I can
speak to.”

“And your sister--she must feel it even more,” said I, thinking in my
heart that my new acquaintance made rather too much of his own troubles
and too little of those of his companion.

“Yes; poor Gabriel feels it, no doubt,” he answered carelessly, “but
it's a more unnatural thing for a young man of my age to be cooped up in
this way than for a woman. Look at me, now. I am three-and-twenty next
March, and yet I have never been to a university, nor to a school for
that matter. I am as complete an ignoramus as any of these clodhoppers.
It seems strange to you, no doubt, and yet it is so. Now, don't you
think I deserve a better fate?”

He stopped as he spoke, and faced round to me, throwing his palms
forward in appeal.

As I looked at him, with the sun shining upon his face, he certainly did
seem a strange bird to be cooped up in such a cage. Tall and muscular,
with a keen, dark face, and sharp, finely cut features, he might have
stepped out of a canvas of Murillo or Velasquez. There were latent
energy and power in his firm-set mouth, his square eyebrows, and the
whole pose of his elastic, well-knit figure.

“There is the learning to be got from books and the learning to be got
from experience,” said I sententiously. “If you have less of your share
of the one, perhaps you have more of the other. I cannot believe you
have spent all your life in mere idleness and pleasure.”

“Pleasure!” he cried. “Pleasure! Look at this!” He pulled off his hat,
and I saw that his black hair was all decked and dashed with streaks of
grey. “Do you imagine that this came from pleasure?” he asked, with a
bitter laugh.

“You must have had some great shock,” I said, astonished at the sight,
“some terrible illness in your youth. Or perhaps it arises from a more
chronic cause--a constant gnawing anxiety. I have known men as young as
you whose hair was as grey.”

“Poor brutes!” he muttered. “I pity them.”

“If you can manage to slip down to Branksome at times,” I said, “perhaps
you could bring Miss Heatherstone with you. I know that my father and my
sister would be delighted to see her, and a change, if only for an hour
or two, might do her good.”

“It would be rather hard for us both to get away together,” he answered.
“However, if I see a chance I shall bring her down. It might be
managed some afternoon perhaps, for the old man indulges in a siesta
occasionally.”

We had reached the head of the winding lane which branches off from the
high road and leads to the laird's house, so my companion pulled up.

“I must go back,” he said abruptly, “or they will miss me. It's very
kind of you, West, to take this interest in us. I am very grateful to
you, and so will Gabriel be when she hears of your kind invitation.
It's a real heaping of coals of fire after that infernal placard of my
father's.”

He shook my hand and set off down the road, but he came running after me
presently, calling me to stop.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “that you must consider us a great
mystery up there at Cloomber. I dare say you have come to look upon
it as a private lunatic asylum, and I can't blame you. If you are
interested in the matter, I feel it is unfriendly upon my part not to
satisfy your curiosity, but I have promised my father to be silent about
it. And indeed if I were to tell you all that I know you might not
be very much the wiser after all. I would have you understand this,
however--that my father is as sane as you or I, and that he has very
good reasons for living the life which he does. I may add that his wish
to remain secluded does not arise from any unworthy or dishonourable
motives, but merely from the instinct of self-preservation.”

“He is in danger, then?” I ejaculated.

“Yes; he is in constant danger.”

“But why does he not apply to the magistrates for protection?” I asked.
“If he is afraid of any one, he has only to name him and they will bind
him over to keep the peace.”

“My dear West,” said young Heatherstone, “the danger with which
my father is threatened is one that cannot be averted by any human
intervention. It is none the less very real, and possibly very
imminent.”

“You don't mean to assert that it is supernatural,” I said
incredulously.

“Well, hardly that, either,” he answered with hesitation. “There,” he
continued, “I have said rather more than I should, but I know that you
will not abuse my confidence. Good-bye!”

He took to his heels and was soon out of sight round a curve in the
country road.

A danger which was real and imminent, not to be averted by human means,
and yet hardly supernatural--here was a conundrum indeed!

I had come to look upon the inhabitants of the Hall as mere eccentrics,
but after what young Mordaunt Heatherstone had just told me, I could
no longer doubt that some dark and sinister meaning underlay all their
actions. The more I pondered over the problem, the more unanswerable did
it appear, and yet I could not get the matter out of my thoughts.

The lonely, isolated Hall, and the strange, impending catastrophe which
hung over its inmates, appealed forcibly to my imagination. All that
evening, and late into the night, I sat moodily by the fire, pondering
over what I had heard, and revolving in my mind the various incidents
which might furnish me with some clue to the mystery.




CHAPTER V.
HOW FOUR OF US CAME TO BE UNDER THE SHADOW OF CLOOMBER


I trust that my readers will not set me down as an inquisitive busybody
when I say that as the days and weeks went by I found my attention and
my thoughts more and more attracted to General Heatherstone and the
mystery which surrounded him.

It was in vain that I endeavoured by hard work and a strict attention to
the laird's affairs to direct my mind into some more healthy channel.
Do what I would, on land or on the water, I would still find myself
puzzling over this one question, until it obtained such a hold upon me
that I felt it was useless for me to attempt to apply myself to anything
until I had come to some satisfactory solution of it.

I could never pass the dark line of five-foot fencing, and the great
iron gate, with its massive lock, without pausing and racking my brain
as to what the secret might be which was shut in by that inscrutable
barrier. Yet, with all my conjectures and all my observations, I could
never come to any conclusion which could for a moment be accepted as an
explanation of the facts.

My sister had been out for a stroll one night, visiting a sick peasant
or performing some other of the numerous acts of charity by which she
had made herself beloved by the whole countryside.

“John,” she said when she returned, “have you seen Cloomber Hall at
night?”

“No,” I answered, laying down the book which I was reading. “Not since
that memorable evening when the general and Mr. McNeil came over to make
an inspection.”

“Well, John, will you put your hat on and come a little walk with me?”

I could see by her manner that something had agitated or frightened her.

“Why, bless the girl!” cried I boisterously, “what is the matter? The
old Hall is not on fire, surely? You look as grave as if all Wigtown
were in a blaze.”

“Not quite so bad as that,” she said, smiling. “But do come out, Jack. I
should very much like you to see it.”

I had always refrained from saying anything which might alarm my sister,
so that she knew nothing of the interest which our neighbours' doings
had for me. At her request I took my hat and followed her out into the
darkness. She led the way along a little footpath over the moor, which
brought us to some rising ground, from which we could look down upon the
Hall without our view being obstructed by any of the fir-trees which had
been planted round it.

“Look at that!” said my sister, pausing at the summit of this little
eminence.

Cloomber lay beneath us in a blaze of light. In the lower floors the
shutters obscured the illumination, but above, from the broad windows
of the second storey to the thin slits at the summit of the tower, there
was not a chink or an aperture which did not send forth a stream of
radiance. So dazzling was the effect that for a moment I was persuaded
that the house was on fire, but the steadiness and clearness of the
light soon freed me from that apprehension. It was clearly the result of
many lamps placed systematically all over the building.

It added to the strange effect that all these brilliantly illuminated
rooms were apparently untenanted, and some of them, so far as we could
judge, were not even furnished. Through the whole great house there was
no sign of movement or of life--nothing but the clear, unwinking flood
of yellow light.

I was still lost in wonder at the sight when I heard a short, quick sob
at my side.

“What is it, Esther, dear?” I asked, looking down at my companion.

“I feel so frightened. Oh, John, John, take me home, I feel so
frightened!”

She clung to my arm, and pulled at my coat in a perfect frenzy of fear.

“It's all safe, darling,” I said soothingly. “There is nothing to fear.
What has upset you so?”

“I am afraid of them, John; I am afraid of the Heatherstones. Why is
their house lit up like this every night? I have heard from others that
it is always so. And why does the old man run like a frightened hare if
any one comes upon him. There is something wrong about it, John, and it
frightens me.”

I pacified her as well as I could, and led her home with me, where I
took care that she should have some hot port negus before going to bed.
I avoided the subject of the Heatherstones for fear of exciting her,
and she did not recur to it of her own accord. I was convinced, however,
from what I had heard from her, that she had for some time back been
making her own observations upon our neighbours, and that in doing so
she had put a considerable strain upon her nerves.

I could see that the mere fact of the Hall being illuminated at night
was not enough to account for her extreme agitation, and that it must
have derived its importance in her eyes from being one in a chain of
incidents, all of which had left a weird or unpleasant impression upon
her mind.

That was the conclusion which I came to at the time, and I have reason
to know now that I was right, and that my sister had even more cause
than I had myself for believing that there was something uncanny about
the tenants of Cloomber.

Our interest in the matter may have arisen at first from nothing higher
than curiosity, but events soon took a turn which associated us more
closely with the fortunes of the Heatherstone family.

Mordaunt had taken advantage of my invitation to come down to the
laird's house, and on several occasions he brought with him his
beautiful sister. The four of us would wander over the moors together,
or perhaps if the day were fine set sail upon our little skiff and stand
off into the Irish Sea.

On such excursions the brother and sister would be as merry and as happy
as two children. It was a keen pleasure to them to escape from their
dull fortress, and to see, if only for a few hours, friendly and
sympathetic faces round them.

There could be but one result when four young people were brought
together in sweet, forbidden intercourse. Acquaintance-ship warmed into
friendship, and friendship flamed suddenly into love.

Gabriel sits beside me now as I write, and she agrees with me that, dear
as is the subject to ourselves, the whole story of our mutual affection
is of too personal a nature to be more than touched upon in this
statement. Suffice it to say that, within a few weeks of our first
meeting Mordaunt Heatherstone had won the heart of my dear sister, and
Gabriel had given me that pledge which death itself will not be able to
break.

I have alluded in this brief way to the double tie which sprang up
between the two families, because I have no wish that this narrative
should degenerate into anything approaching to romance, or that I should
lose the thread of the facts which I have set myself to chronicle. These
are connected with General Heatherstone, and only indirectly with my own
personal history.

It is enough if I say that after our engagement the visits to Branksome
became more frequent, and that our friends were able sometimes to spend
a whole day with us when business had called the general to Wigtown, or
when his gout confined him to his room.

As to our good father, he was ever ready to greet us with many small
jests and tags of Oriental poems appropriate to the occasion, for we had
no secrets from him, and he already looked upon us all as his children.

There were times when on account of some peculiarly dark or restless fit
of the general's it was impossible for weeks on end for either Gabriel
or Mordaunt to get away from the grounds. The old man would even stand
on guard, a gloomy and silent sentinel, at the avenue gate, or pace up
and down the drive as though he suspected that attempts had been made to
penetrate his seclusion.

Passing of an evening I have seen his dark, grim figure flitting about
in the shadow of the trees, or caught a glimpse of his hard, angular,
swarthy face peering out suspiciously at me from behind the bars.

My heart would often sadden for him as I noticed his uncouth, nervous
movements, his furtive glances and twitching features. Who would have
believed that this slinking, cowering creature had once been a dashing
officer, who had fought the battles of his country and had won the palm
of bravery among the host of brave men around him?

In spite of the old soldier's vigilance, we managed to hold
communication with our friends.

Immediately behind the Hall there was a spot where the fencing had been
so carelessly erected that two of the rails could be removed without
difficulty, leaving a broad gap, which gave us the opportunity for
many a stolen interview, though they were necessarily short, for the
general's movements were erratic, and no part of the grounds was secure
from his visitations.

How vividly one of these hurried meetings rises before me! It stands out
clear, peaceful, and distinct amid the wild, mysterious incidents which
were destined to lead up to the terrible catastrophe which has cast a
shade over our lives.

I can remember that as I walked through the fields the grass was damp
with the rain of the morning, and the air was heavy with the smell of
the fresh-turned earth. Gabriel was waiting for me under the hawthorn
tree outside the gap, and we stood hand-in-hand looking down at the long
sweep of moorland and at the broad blue channel which encircled it with
its fringe of foam.

Far away in the north-west the sun glinted upon the high peak of Mount
Throston. From where we stood we could see the smoke of the steamers as
they ploughed along the busy water-way which leads to Belfast.

“Is it not magnificent?” Gabriel cried, clasping her hands round my arm.
“Ah, John, why are we not free to sail away over these waves together,
and leave all our troubles behind us on the shore?”

“And what are the troubles which you would leave behind you, dear one?”
 I asked. “May I not know them, and help you to bear them?”

“I have no secrets from you, John,” she answered. “Our chief trouble is,
as you may guess, our poor father's strange behaviour. Is it not a sad
thing for all of us that a man who has played such a distinguished part
in the world should skulk from one obscure corner of the country to
another, and should defend himself with locks and barriers as though he
were a common thief flying from justice? This is a trouble, John, which
it is out of your power to alleviate.”

“But why does he do it, Gabriel?” I asked.

“I cannot tell,” she answered frankly. “I only know that he imagines
some deadly danger to be hanging over his head, and that this danger was
incurred by him during his stay in India. What its nature may be I have
no more idea than you have.”

“Then your brother has,” I remarked. “I am sure from the way in which he
spoke to me about it one day that he knows what it is, and that he looks
upon it as real.”

“Yes, he knows, and so does my mother,” she answered, “but they have
always kept it secret from me. My poor father is very excited at
present. Day and night he is in an agony of apprehension, but it will
soon be the fifth of October, and after that he will be at peace.”

“How do you know that?” I asked in surprise.

“By experience,” she answered gravely. “On the fifth of October these
fears of his come to a crisis. For years back he has been in the habit
of locking Mordaunt and myself up in our rooms on that date, so that we
have no idea what occurs, but we have always found that he has been
much relieved afterwards, and has continued to be comparatively in peace
until that day begins to draw round again.”

“Then you have only ten days or so to wait,” I remarked, for September
was drawing to a close. “By the way, dearest, why is it that you light
up all your rooms at night?”

“You have noticed it, then?” she said. “It comes also from my father's
fears. He does not like to have one dark corner in the whole house.
He walks about a good deal at night, and inspects everything, from the
attics right down to the cellars. He has large lamps in every room and
corridor, even the empty ones, and he orders the servants to light them
all at dusk.”

“I am rather surprised that you manage to keep your servants,” I said,
laughing. “The maids in these parts are a superstitious class, and
their imaginations are easily excited by anything which they don't
understand.”

“The cook and both housemaids are from London, and are used to our
ways. We pay them on a very high scale to make up for any inconvenience to
which they may be put. Israel Stakes, the coachman, is the only one who
comes from this part of the country, and he seems to be a stolid, honest
fellow, who is not easily scared.”

“Poor little girl,” I exclaimed, looking down at the slim, graceful
figure by my side. “This is no atmosphere for you to live in. Why will
you not let me rescue you from it? Why won't you allow me to go straight
and ask the general for your hand? At the worst he could only refuse.”

She turned quite haggard and pale at the very thought.

“For Heaven's sake, John,” she cried earnestly, “do nothing of the kind.
He would whip us all away in the dead of the night, and within a week
we should be settling down again in some wilderness where we might never
have a chance of seeing or hearing from you again. Besides, he never
would forgive us for venturing out of the grounds.”

“I don't think that he is a hard-hearted man,” I remarked. “I have seen
a kindly look in his eyes, for all his stern face.”

“He can be the kindest of fathers,” she answered. “But he is terrible
when opposed or thwarted. You have never seen him so, and I trust you
never will. It was that strength of will and impatience of opposition
which made him such a splendid officer. I assure you that in India every
one thought a great deal of him. The soldiers were afraid of him, but
they would have followed him anywhere.”

“And had he these nervous attacks then?”

“Occasionally, but not nearly so acutely. He seems to think that the
danger--whatever it may be--becomes more imminent every year. Oh, John,
it is terrible to be waiting like this with a sword over our heads--and
all the more terrible to me since I have no idea where the blow is to
come from.”

“Dear Gabriel,” I said, taking her hand and drawing her to my side,
“look over all this pleasant countryside and the broad blue sea. Is it
not all peaceful and beautiful? In these cottages, with their red-tiled
roofs peeping out from the grey moor, there live none but simple,
God-fearing men, who toil hard at their crafts and bear enmity to no
man. Within seven miles of us is a large town, with every civilised
appliance for the preservation of order. Ten miles farther there is
a garrison quartered, and a telegram would at any time bring down a
company of soldiers. Now, I ask you, dear, in the name of common-sense,
what conceivable danger could threaten you in this secluded
neighbourhood, with the means of help so near? You assure me that the
peril is not connected with your father's health?”

“No, I am sure of that. It is true that Dr. Easterling, of Stranraer,
has been over to see him once or twice, but that was merely for some
small indisposition. I can assure you that the danger is not to be
looked for in that direction.”

“Then I can assure you,” said I, laughing, “that there is no danger
at all. It must be some strange monomania or hallucination. No other
hypothesis will cover the facts.”

“Would my father's monomania account for the fact of my brother's hair
turning grey and my mother wasting away to a mere shadow?”

“Undoubtedly,” I answered. “The long continued worry of the general's
restlessness and irritability would produce those effects on sensitive
natures.”

“No, no!” said she, shaking her head sadly, “I have been exposed to his
restlessness and irritability, but they have had no such effect upon
me. The difference between us lies in the fact that they know this awful
secret and I do not.”

“My dear girl,” said I, “the days of family apparitions and that kind
of thing are gone. Nobody is haunted nowadays, so we can put that
supposition out of the question. Having done so, what remains? There is
absolutely no other theory which could even be suggested. Believe me,
the whole mystery is that the heat of India has been too much for your
poor father's brain.”

What she would have answered I cannot tell, for at that moment she gave
a start as if some sound had fallen upon her ear. As she looked round
apprehensively, I suddenly saw her features become rigid and her eyes
fixed and dilated.

Following the direction of her gaze, I felt a sudden thrill of fear pass
through me as I perceived a human face surveying us from behind one of
the trees--a man's face, every feature of which was distorted by the
most malignant hatred and anger. Finding himself observed, he stepped
out and advanced towards us, when I saw that it was none other than the
general himself. His beard was all a-bristle with fury, and his deepset
eyes glowed from under their heavily veined lids with a most sinister
and demoniacal brightness.




CHAPTER VI.
HOW I CAME TO BE ENLISTED AS ONE OF THE GARRISON OF CLOOMBER


“To your room, girl!” he cried in a hoarse, harsh voice, stepping in
between us and pointing authoritatively towards the house.

He waited until Gabriel, with a last frightened glance at me, had
passed through the gap, and then he turned upon me with an expression so
murderous that I stepped back a pace or two, and tightened my grasp upon
my oak stick.

“You-you--” he spluttered, with his hand twitching at his throat, as
though his fury were choking him. “You have dared to intrude upon my
privacy! Do you think I built this fence that all the vermin in the
country might congregate round it? Oh, you have been very near your
death, my fine fellow! You will never be nearer until your time comes.
Look at this!” He pulled a squat, thick pistol out of his bosom. “If
you had passed through that gap and set foot on my land I'd have let
daylight into you. I'll have no vagabonds here. I know how to treat
gentry of that sort, whether their faces are black or white.”

“Sir,” said I, “I meant no harm by coming here, and I do not know how I
have deserved this extraordinary outburst. Allow me to observe, however,
that you are still covering me with your pistol, and that, as your hand
is rather tremulous, it is more than possible that it may go off. If
you don't turn the muzzle down I shall be compelled in self-defence to
strike you over the wrist with my stick.”

“What the deuce brought you here, then?” he asked, in a more composed
voice, putting his weapon back into his bosom. “Can't a gentleman live
quietly without your coming to peep and pry? Have you no business
of your own to look after, eh? And my daughter? how came you to know
anything of her? and what have you been trying to squeeze out of her? It
wasn't chance that brought you here.”

“No,” said I boldly, “it was not chance which brought me here. I have
had several opportunities of seeing your daughter and of appreciating
her many noble qualities. We are engaged to be married to each other,
and I came up with the express intention of seeing her.”

Instead of blazing into a fury, as I had expected, the general gave a
long whistle of astonishment, and then leant up against the railings,
laughing softly to himself.

“English terriers are fond of nosing worms,” he remarked at last. “When
we brought them out to India they used to trot off into the jungle and
begin sniffing at what they imagined to be worms there. But the worm
turned out to be a venomous snake, and so poor doggy played no more. I
think you'll find yourself in a somewhat analogous position if you don't
look out.”

“You surely don't mean to cast an aspersion upon your own daughter?” I
said, flushing with indignation.

“Oh, Gabriel is all right,” he answered carelessly. “Our family is not
exactly one, however, which I should recommend a young fellow to marry
into. And pray how is it that I was not informed of this snug little
arrangement of yours?”

“We were afraid, sir, that you might separate us,” I replied, feeling
that perfect candour was the best policy under the circumstances. “It is
possible that we were mistaken. Before coming to any final decision, I
implore you to remember that the happiness of both of us is at stake. It
is in your power to divide our bodies, but our souls shall be for ever
united.”

“My good fellow,” said the general, in a not unkindly tone, “you don't
know what you are asking for. There is a gulf between you and any one of
the blood of Heatherstone which can never be bridged over.”

All trace of anger had vanished now from his manner, and given place to
an air of somewhat contemptuous amusement.

My family pride took fire at his words. “The gulf may be less than you
imagine,” I said coldly. “We are not clodhoppers because we live in this
out-of-the-way place. I am of noble descent on one side, and my mother
was a Buchan of Buchan. I assure you that there is no such disparity
between us as you seem to imagine.”

“You misunderstand me,” the general answered. “It is on our side that
the disparity lies. There are reasons why my daughter Gabriel should
live and die single. It would not be to your advantage to marry her.”

“But surely, sir,” I persisted, “I am the best judge of my own interests
and advantages. Since you take this ground all becomes easy, for I do
assure you that the one interest which overrides all others is that I
should have the woman I love for my wife. If this is your only objection
to our match you may surely give us your consent, for any danger or
trial which I may incur in marrying Gabriel will not weigh with me one
featherweight.”

“Here's a young bantam!” exclaimed the old soldier, smiling at my
warmth. “It's easy to defy danger when you don't know what the danger
is.”

“What is it, then?” I asked, hotly. “There is no earthly peril which
will drive me from Gabriel's side. Let me know what it is and test me.”

“No, no. That would never do,” he answered with a sigh, and then,
thoughtfully, as if speaking his mind aloud: “He has plenty of pluck and
is a well-grown lad, too. We might do worse than make use of him.”

He went on mumbling to himself with a vacant stare in his eyes as if he
had forgotten my presence.

“Look here, West,” he said presently. “You'll excuse me if I spoke
hastily a little time ago. It is the second time that I have had
occasion to apologise to you for the same offence. It shan't occur
again. I am rather over-particular, no doubt, in my desire for complete
isolation, but I have good reasons for insisting on the point. Rightly
or wrongly, I have got it into my head that some day there might be an
organised raid upon my grounds. If anything of the sort should occur I
suppose I might reckon upon your assistance?”

“With all my heart.”

“So that if ever you got a message such as 'Come up,' or even
'Cloomber,' you would know that it was an appeal for help, and would
hurry up immediately, even if it were in the dead of the night?”

“Most certainly I should,” I answered. “But might I ask you what the
nature of the danger is which you apprehend?”

“There would be nothing gained by your knowing. Indeed, you would hardly
understand it if I told you. I must bid you good day now, for I have
stayed with you too long. Remember, I count upon you as one of the
Cloomber garrison now.”

“One other thing, sir,” I said hurriedly, for he was turning away, “I
hope that you will not be angry with your daughter for anything which I
have told you. It was for my sake that she kept it all secret from you.”

“All right,” he said, with his cold, inscrutable smile. “I am not such
an ogre in the bosom of my family as you seem to think. As to this
marriage question, I should advise you as a friend to let it drop
altogether, but if that is impossible I must insist that it stand over
completely for the present. It is impossible to say what unexpected turn
events may take. Good-bye.”

He plunged into the wood and was quickly out of sight among the dense
plantation.

Thus ended this extraordinary interview, in which this strange man
had begun by pointing a loaded pistol at my breast and had ended,
by partially acknowledging the possibility of my becoming his future
son-in-law. I hardly knew whether to be cast down or elated over it.

On the one hand he was likely, by keeping a closer watch over his
daughter, to prevent us from communicating as freely as we had done
hitherto. Against this there was the advantage of having obtained an
implied consent to the renewal of my suit at some future date. On the
whole, I came to the conclusion as I walked thoughtfully home that I had
improved my position by the incident.

But this danger--this shadowy, unspeakable danger--which appeared to
rise up at every turn, and to hang day and night over the towers of
Cloomber! Rack my brain as I would, I could not conjure up any solution
to the problem which was not puerile and inadequate.

One fact struck me as being significant. Both the father and the son had
assured me, independently of each other, that if I were told what the
peril was, I would hardly realise its significance. How strange and
bizarre must the fear be which can scarcely be expressed in intelligible
language!

I held up my hand in the darkness before I turned to sleep that night,
and I swore that no power of man or devil should ever weaken my love for
the woman whose pure heart I had had the good fortune to win.




CHAPTER VII.
OF CORPORAL RUFUS SMITH AND HIS COMING TO CLOOMBER


In making this statement I have purposely couched it in bald and simple
language, for fear I should be accused of colouring my narrative for the
sake of effect. If, however, I have told my story with any approach to
realism, the reader will understand me when I say that by this time
the succession of dramatic incidents which had occurred had arrested
my attention and excited my imagination to the exclusion of all minor
topics.

How could I plod through the dull routine of an agent's work, or
interest myself in the thatch of this tenant's bothy or the sails of
that one's boat, when my mind was taken up by the chain of events which
I have described, and was still busy seeking an explanation for them.

Go where I would over the countryside, I could see the square, white
tower shooting out from among the trees, and beneath that tower this
ill-fated family were watching and waiting, waiting and watching--and
for what? That was still the question which stood like an impassable
barrier at the end of every train of thought.

Regarded merely as an abstract problem, this mystery of the Heatherstone
family had a lurid fascination about it, but when the woman whom I
loved a thousandfold better than I did myself proved to be so deeply
interested in the solution, I felt that it was impossible to turn my
thoughts to anything else until it had been finally cleared up.

My good father had received a letter from the laird, dated from Naples,
which told us that he had derived much benefit from the change, and that
he had no intention of returning to Scotland for some time. This was
satisfactory to all of us, for my father had found Branksome such an
excellent place for study that it would have been a sore trial to him
to return to the noise and tumult of a city. As to my dear sister and
myself, there were, as I have shown, stronger reasons still to make us
love the Wigtownshire moors.

In spite of my interview with the general--or perhaps I might say on
account of it--I took occasion at least twice a day to walk towards
Cloomber and satisfy myself that all was well there. He had begun by
resenting my intrusion, but he had ended by taking me into a sort of
half-confidence, and even by asking my assistance, so I felt that I
stood upon a different footing with him than I had done formerly, and
that he was less likely to be annoyed by my presence. Indeed, I met him
pacing round the inclosure a few days afterwards, and his manner towards
me was civil, though he made no allusion to our former conversation.

He appeared to be still in an extreme state of nervousness, starting
from time to time, and gazing furtively about him, with little
frightened, darting glances to the right and the left. I hoped that his
daughter was right in naming the fifth of October as the turning point
of his complaint, for it was evident to me as I looked at his gleaming
eyes and quivering hands, that a man could not live long in such a state
of nervous tension.

I found on examination that he had had the loose rails securely fastened
so as to block up our former trysting-place, and though I prowled round
the whole long line of fencing, I was unable to find any other place
where an entrance could be effected.

Here and there between the few chinks left in the barrier I could catch
glimpses of the Hall, and once I saw a rough-looking, middle-aged man
standing at a window on the lower floor, whom I supposed to be Israel
Stakes, the coachman. There was no sign, however, of Gabriel or of
Mordaunt, and their absence alarmed me. I was convinced that, unless
they were under some restraint, they would have managed to communicate
with my sister or myself. My fears became more and more acute as day
followed day without our seeing or hearing anything of them.

One morning--it was the second day of October--I was walking towards the
Hall, hoping that I might be fortunate enough to learn some news of my
darling, when I observed a man perched upon a stone at the side of the
road.

As I came nearer to him I could see that he was a stranger, and from his
dusty clothes and dilapidated appearance he seemed to have come from a
distance. He had a great hunk of bread on his knee and a clasp-knife
in his hand, but he had apparently just finished his breakfast, for he
brushed the crumbs off his lap and rose to his feet when he perceived
me.

Noticing the great height of the fellow and that he still held his
weapon, I kept well to the other side of the road, for I knew that
destitution makes men desperate and that the chain that glittered on
my waistcoat might be too great a temptation to him upon this lonely
highway. I was confirmed in my fears when I saw him step out into the
centre of the road and bar my progress.

“Well, my lad,” I said, affecting an ease which I by no means felt,
“what can I do for you this morning?”

The fellow's face was the colour of mahogany with exposure to the
weather, and he had a deep scar from the corner of his mouth to his ear,
which by no means improved his appearance. His hair was grizzled, but
his figure was stalwart, and his fur cap was cocked on one side so as to
give him a rakish, semi-military appearance. Altogether he gave me the
impression of being one of the most dangerous types of tramp that I had
ever fallen in with.

Instead of replying to my question, he eyed me for some time in silence
with sullen, yellow-shot eyes, and then closed his knife with a loud
snick.

“You're not a beak,” he said, “too young for that, I guess. They had me
in chokey at Paisley and they had me in chokey at Wigtown, but by
the living thunder if another of them lays a hand on me I'll make him
remember Corporal Rufus Smith! It's a darned fine country this, where
they won't give a man work, and then lay him by the heels for having no
visible means of subsistence.”

“I am sorry to see an old soldier so reduced,” said I. “What corps did
you serve in?”

“H Battery, Royal Horse Artillery. Bad cess to the Service and every
one in it! Here I am nigh sixty years of age, with a beggarly pension of
thirty-eight pound ten--not enough to keep me in beer and baccy.”

“I should have thought thirty-eight pound ten a year would have been a
nice help to you in your old age,” I remarked.

“Would you, though?” he answered with a sneer, pushing his
weather-beaten face forward until it was within a foot of my own.

“How much d'ye think that slash with a tulwar is worth? And my foot with
all the bones rattling about like a bagful of dice where the trail
of the gun went across it. What's that worth, eh? And a liver like a
sponge, and ague whenever the wind comes round to the east--what's the
market value of that? Would you take the lot for a dirty forty pound a
year--would you now?”

“We are poor folk in this part of the country,” I answered. “You would
pass for a rich man down here.”

“They are fool folk and they have fool tastes,” said he, drawing a black
pipe from his pocket and stuffing it with tobacco. “I know what good
living is, and, by cripes! while I have a shilling in my pocket I like
to spend it as a shilling should be spent. I've fought for my country
and my country has done darned little for me. I'll go to the Rooshians,
so help me! I could show them how to cross the Himalayas so that it
would puzzle either Afghans or British to stop 'em. What's that secret
worth in St. Petersburg, eh, mister?”

“I am ashamed to hear an old soldier speak so, even in jest,” said I
sternly.

“Jest, indeed!” he cried, with a great, roaring oath. “I'd have done it
years ago if the Rooshians had been game to take it up. Skobeloff
was the best of the bunch, but he's been snuffed out. However, that's
neither here nor there. What I want to ask you is whether you've ever
heard anything in this quarter of a man called Heatherstone, the same
who used to be colonel of the 41st Bengalis? They told me at Wigtown
that he lived somewhere down this way.”

“He lives in that large house over yonder,” said I, pointing to Cloomber
Tower. “You'll find the avenue gate a little way down the road, but the
general isn't over fond of visitors.”

The last part of my speech was lost upon Corporal Rufus Smith; for the
instant that I pointed out the gate he set off hopping down the road.

His mode of progression was the most singular I have ever seen, for he
would only put his right foot to the ground once in every half-dozen
strides, while he worked so hard and attained such a momentum with the
other limb that he got over the ground at an astonishing speed.

I was so surprised that I stood in the roadway gazing after this hulking
figure until the thought suddenly struck me that some serious result
might come from a meeting between a man of such blunt speech and the
choleric, hot-headed general. I therefore followed him as he hopped
along like some great, clumsy bird, and overtook him at the avenue gate,
where he stood grasping the ironwork and peering through at the dark
carriage-drive beyond.

“He's a sly old jackal,” he said, looking round at me and nodding his
head in the direction of the Hall. “He's a deep old dog. And that's his
bungalow, is it, among the trees?”

“That is his house,” I answered; “but I should advise you to keep a more
civil tongue in your head if you intend to speak with the general. He is
not a man to stand any nonsense.”

“Right you are. He was always a hard nut to crack. But isn't this him
coming down the avenue?”

I looked through the gate and saw that it was indeed the general, who,
having either seen us or been attracted by our voices, was hurrying down
towards us. As he advanced he would stop from time to time and peer at
us through the dark shadow thrown by the trees, as if he were irresolute
whether to come on or no.

“He's reconnoitering!” whispered my companion with a hoarse chuckle.
“He's afraid--and I know what he's afraid of. He won't be caught in a
trap if he can help it, the old 'un. He's about as fly as they make 'em,
you bet!”

Then suddenly standing on his tip-toes and waving his hand through the
bars of the gate, he shouted at the top of his voice:

“Come on, my gallant commandant! Come on! The coast's clear, and no
enemy in sight.”

This familiar address had the effect of reassuring the general, for he
came right for us, though I could tell by his heightened colour that his
temper was at boiling point.

“What, you here, Mr. West?” he said, as his eye fell upon me. “What is
it you want, and why have you brought this fellow with you?”

“I have not brought him with me, sir,” I answered, feeling rather
disgusted at being made responsible for the presence of the
disreputable-looking vagabond beside me. “I found him on the road here,
and he desired to be directed to you, so I showed him the way. I know
nothing of him myself.”

“What do you want with me, then?” the general asked sternly, turning to
my companion.

“If you please, sir,” said the ex-corporal, speaking in a whining voice,
and touching his moleskin cap with a humility which contrasted strangely
with the previous rough independence of his bearing, “I'm an old gunner
in the Queen's service, sir, and knowing your name by hearing it in
India I thought that maybe you would take me as your groom or gardener,
or give me any other place as happened to be vacant.”

“I am sorry that I cannot do anything for you, my man,” the old soldier
answered impressively.

“Then you'll give me a little just to help me on my way, sir,” said the
cringing mendicant. “You won't see an old comrade go to the bad for the
sake of a few rupees? I was with Sale's brigade in the Passes, sir, and
I was at the second taking of Cabul.”

General Heatherstone looked keenly at the supplicant, but was silent
to his appeal.

“I was in Ghuznee with you when the walls were all shook down by an
earthquake, and when we found forty thousand Afghans within gunshot of
us. You ask me about it, and you'll see whether I'm lying or not. We
went through all this when we were young, and now that we are old you
are to live in a fine bungalow, and I am to starve by the roadside. It
don't seem to me to be fair.”

“You are an impertinent scoundrel,” said the general. “If you had been a
good soldier you would never need to ask for help. I shall not give you
a farthing.”

“One word more, sir,” cried the tramp, for the other was turning away,
“I've been in the Tarada Pass.”

The old soldier sprang round as if the words had been a pistol-shot.

“What--what d'ye mean?” he stammered.

“I've been in the Tarada Pass, sir, and I knew a man there called
Ghoolab Shah.”

These last were hissed out in an undertone, and a malicious grin
overspread the face of the speaker.

Their effect upon the general was extraordinary. He fairly staggered
back from the gateway, and his yellow countenance blanched to a livid,
mottled grey. For a moment he was too overcome to speak. At last he
gasped out:

“Ghoolab Shah? Who are you who know Ghoolab Shah?”

“Take another look,” said the tramp, “your sight is not as keen as it
was forty years ago.”

The general took a long, earnest look at the unkempt wanderer in front
of him, and as he gazed I saw the light of recognition spring up in his
eyes.

“God bless my soul!” he cried. “Why, it's Corporal Rufus Smith.”

“You've come on it at last,” said the other, chuckling to himself. “I
was wondering how long it would be before you knew me. And, first
of all, just unlock this gate, will you? It's hard to talk through a
grating. It's too much like ten minutes with a visitor in the cells.”

The general, whose face still bore evidences of his agitation, undid the
bolts with nervous, trembling fingers. The recognition of Corporal Rufus
Smith had, I fancied, been a relief to him, and yet he plainly showed
by his manner that he regarded his presence as by no means an unmixed
blessing.

“Why, Corporal,” he said, as the gate swung open, “I have often wondered
whether you were dead or alive, but I never expected to see you again.
How have you been all these long years?”

“How have I been?” the corporal answered gruffly. “Why, I have been
drunk for the most part. When I draw my money I lay it out in liquor,
and as long as that lasts I get some peace in life. When I'm cleaned out
I go upon tramp, partly in the hope of picking up the price of a dram,
and partly in order to look for you.”

“You'll excuse us talking about these private matters, West,” the
general said, looking round at me, for I was beginning to move away.
“Don't leave us. You know something of this matter already, and may find
yourself entirely in the swim with us some of these days.”

Corporal Rufus Smith looked round at me in blank astonishment.

“In the swim with us?” he said. “However did he get there?”

“Voluntarily, voluntarily,” the general explained, hurriedly sinking his
voice. “He is a neighbour of mine, and he has volunteered his help in
case I should ever need it.”

This explanation seemed, if anything, to increase the big stranger's
surprise.

“Well, if that don't lick cock-fighting!” he exclaimed, contemplating me
with admiration. “I never heard tell of such a thing.”

“And now you have found me, Corporal Smith,” said the tenant of
Cloomber, “what is it that you want of me?”

“Why, everything. I want a roof to cover me, and clothes to wear, and
food to eat, and, above all, brandy to drink.”

“Well, I'll take you in and do what I can for you,” said the general
slowly. “But look here, Smith, we must have discipline. I'm the general
and you are the corporal; I am the master and you are the man. Now,
don't let me have to remind you of that again.”

The tramp drew himself up to his full height and raised his right hand
with the palm forward in a military salute.

“I can take you on as gardener and get rid of the fellow I have got.
As to brandy, you shall have an allowance and no more. We are not deep
drinkers at the Hall.”

“Don't you take opium, or brandy, or nothing yourself, sir?” asked
Corporal Rufus Smith.

“Nothing,” the general said firmly.

“Well, all I can say is, that you've got more nerve and pluck than I
shall ever have. I don't wonder now at your winning that Cross in the
Mutiny. If I was to go on listening night after night to them things
without ever taking a drop of something to cheer my heart--why, it would
drive me silly.”

General Heatherstone put his hand up, as though afraid that his
companion might say too much.

“I must thank you, Mr. West,” he said, “for having shown this man my
door. I would not willingly allow an old comrade, however humble, to go
to the bad, and if I did not acknowledge his claim more readily it
was simply because I had my doubts as to whether he was really what he
represented himself to be. Just walk up to the Hall, Corporal, and I
shall follow you in a minute.”

“Poor fellow!” he continued, as he watched the newcomer hobbling up the
avenue in the ungainly manner which I have described. “He got a gun over
his foot, and it crushed the bones, but the obstinate fool would not let
the doctors take it off. I remember him now as a smart young soldier in
Afghanistan. He and I were associated in some queer adventures, which I
may tell you of some day, and I naturally feel sympathy towards him, and
would befriend him. Did he tell you anything about me before I came?”

“Not a word,” I replied.

“Oh,” said the general carelessly, but with an evident expression of
relief, “I thought perhaps he might have said something of old times.
Well, I must go and look after him, or the servants will be frightened,
for he isn't a beauty to look at. Good-bye!”

With a wave of the hand the old man turned away from me and hurried
up the drive after this unexpected addition to his household, while I
strolled on round the high, black paling, peering through every chink
between the planks, but without seeing a trace either of Mordaunt or of
his sister.

I have now brought this statement down to the coming of Corporal Rufus
Smith, which will prove to be the beginning of the end.

I have set down soberly and in order the events which brought us to
Wigtownshire, the arrival of the Heatherstones at Cloomber, the many
strange incidents which excited first our curiosity and finally our
intense interest in that family, and I have briefly touched upon the
circumstances which brought my sister and myself into a closer and more
personal relationship with them. I think that there cannot be a better
moment than this to hand the narrative over to those who had means of
knowing something of what was going on inside Cloomber during the months
that I was observing it from without.

Israel Stakes, the coachman, proved to be unable to read or write, but
Mr. Mathew Clark, the Presbyterian Minister of Stoneykirk, has copied
down his deposition, duly attested by the cross set opposite to his
name. The good clergyman has, I fancy, put some slight polish upon the
narrator's story, which I rather regret, as it might have been more
interesting, if less intelligible, when reported verbatim. It still
preserves, however, considerable traces of Israel's individuality,
and may be regarded as an exact record of what he saw and did while in
General Heatherstone's service.




CHAPTER VIII.
STATEMENT OF ISRAEL STAKES


(Copied and authenticated by the Reverend Mathew Clark, Presbyterian
Minister of Stoneykirk, in Wigtownshire)

Maister Fothergill West and the meenister say that I maun tell all I can
aboot General Heatherstone and his hoose, but that I maunna say muckle
aboot mysel' because the readers wouldna care to hear aboot me or my
affairs. I am na sae sure o' that, for the Stakes is a family weel
kenned and respecked on baith sides o' the Border, and there's mony in
Nithsdale and Annandale as would be gey pleased to hear news o' the son
o' Archie Stakes, o' Ecclefechan.

I maun e'en do as I'm tauld, however, for Mr. West's sake, hoping he'll
no forget me when I chance to hae a favour tae ask.(1) I'm no able tae
write mysel' because my feyther sent me oot to scare craws instead o'
sendin' me tae school, but on the ither hond he brought me up in the
preenciples and practice o' the real kirk o' the Covenant, for which may
the Lord be praised!

It way last May twel'month that the factor body, Maister McNeil, cam
ower tae me in the street and speered whether I was in want o' a place
as a coachman and gairdner. As it fell oot I chanced tae be on the look
oot for something o' the sort mysel' at the time, but I wasna ower quick
to let him see that I wanted it.

“Ye can tak it or leave it,” says he sharp like. “It's a guid place,
and there's mony would be glad o't. If ye want it ye can come up tae my
office at twa the morn and put your ain questions tae the gentleman.”

That was a' I could get frae him, for he's a close man and a hard one at
a bargain--which shall profit him leetle in the next life, though he lay
by a store o' siller in this. When the day comes there'll be a hantle o'
factors on the left hand o' the throne, and I shouldna be surprised if
Maister McNeil found himsel' amang them.

Weel, on the morn I gaed up to the office and there I foond the factor
and a lang, thin, dour man wi' grey hair and a face as brown and
crinkled as a walnut. He looked hard at me wi' a pair o' een that glowed
like twa spunks, and then he says, says he:

“You've been born in these pairts, I understan'?”

“Aye,” says I, “and never left them neither.”

“Never been oot o' Scotland?” he speers.

“Twice to Carlisle fair,” says I, for I am a man wha loves the truth;
and besides I kenned that the factor would mind my gaeing there, for I
bargained fur twa steers and a stirk that he wanted for the stockin' o'
the Drumleugh Fairm.

“I learn frae Maister McNeil,” says General Heatherstone--for him it was
and nane ither--“that ye canna write.”

“Na,” says I.

“Nor read?”

“Na,” says I.

“It seems tae me,” says he, turnin' tae the factor, “that this is the
vera man I want. Servants is spoilt noo-a-days,” says he, “by ower
muckle eddication. I hae nae doobt, Stakes, that ye will suit me well
enough. Ye'll hae three pund a month and a' foond, but I shall resairve
the right o' givin' ye twenty-four hoors' notice at any time. How will
that suit ye?”

“It's vera different frae my last place,” says I, discontented-like.

And the words were true enough, for auld Fairmer Scott only gave me a
pund a month and parritch twice a day.

“Weel, weel,” says he, “maybe we'll gie ye a rise if ye suit. Meanwhile
here's the han'sel shillin' that Maister McNeil tells me it's the custom
tae give, and I shall expec' tae see ye at Cloomber on Monday.”

When the Monday cam roond I walked oot tae Cloomber, and a great muckle
hoose it is, wi' a hunderd windows or mair, and space enough tae hide
awa' half the parish.

As tae gairdening, there was no gairden for me tae work at, and the
horse was never taken oot o' the stables frae week's end tae week's end.
I was busy enough for a' that, for there was a deal o' fencing tae
be put up, and one thing or anither, forbye cleanin' the knives and
brushin' the boots and such-like jobs as is mair fit for an auld wife
than for a grown man.

There was twa besides mysel' in the kitchen, the cook Eliza, and Mary
the hoosemaid, puir, benighted beings baith o' them, wha had wasted a'
their lives in London, and kenned leetle aboot the warld or the ways o'
the flesh.

I hadna muckle tae say to them, for they were simple folk who could
scarce understand English, and had hardly mair regard for their ain
souls than the tods on the moor. When the cook said she didna think
muckle o' John Knox, and the ither that she wouldna give saxpence tae
hear the discourse o' Maister Donald McSnaw o' the true kirk, I kenned
it was time for me tae leave them tae a higher Judge.

There was four in family, the general, my leddy, Maister Mordaunt,
and Miss Gabriel, and it wasna long before I found that a' wasna just
exactly as it should be. My leddy was as thin and as white as a ghaist,
and many's the time as I've come on her and found her yammerin' and
greetin' all by hersel'. I've watched her walkin' up and doon in the
wood where she thought nane could see her and wringin' her honds like
one demented.

There was the young gentleman, tae, and his sister--they baith seemed
to hae some trouble on their minds, and the general maist of a', for the
ithers were up ane day and down anither; but he was aye the same, wi' a
face as dour and sad as a felon when he feels the tow roond his neck.

I speered o' the hussies in the kitchen whether they kenned what was
amiss wi' the family, but the cook she answered me back that it wasna
for her tae inquire into the affairs o' her superiors, and that it was
naething to her as long as she did her work and had her wages. They were
puir, feckless bodies, the twa o' them, and would scarce gie an answer
tae a ceevil question, though they could clack lood eneugh when they had
a mind.

Weel, weeks passed into months and a' things grew waur instead o'
better in the Hall. The general he got mair nairvous, and his leddy
mair melancholy every day, and yet there wasna any quarrel or bickering
between them, for when they've been togither in the breakfast room
I used often tae gang round and prune the rose-tree alongside o'
the window, so that I couldna help hearin' a great pairt o' their
conversation, though sair against the grain.

When the young folk were wi' them they would speak little, but when they
had gone they would aye talk as if some waefu' trial ere aboot to fa'
upon them, though I could never gather from their words what it was that
they were afeared o'.

I've heard the general say mair than ance that he wasna frighted o'
death, or any danger that he could face and have done wi', but that it
was the lang, weary waitin' and the uncertainty that had taken a' the
strength and the mettle oot o' him. Then my leddy would console him and
tell him that maybe it wasna as bad as he thocht, and that a' would come
richt in the end--but a' her cheery words were clean throwed away upon
him.

As tae the young folks, I kenned weel that they didna bide in the
groonds, and that they were awa' whenever they got a chance wi' Maister
Fothergill West tae Branksome, but the general was too fu' o' his ain
troubles tae ken aboot it, and it didna seem tae me that it was pairt
o' my duties either as coachman or as gairdner tae mind the bairns.
He should have lairnt that if ye forbid a lassie and a laddie to dae
anything it's just the surest way o' bringin' it aboot. The Lord foond
that oot in the gairden o' Paradise, and there's no muckle change
between the folk in Eden and the folk in Wigtown.

There's ane thing that I havena spoke aboot yet, but that should be set
doon.

The general didna share his room wi' his wife, but slept a' alane in a
chamber at the far end o' the hoose, as distant as possible frae every
one else. This room was aye lockit when he wasna in it, and naebody was
ever allowed tae gang into it. He would mak' his ain bed, and red it up
and dust it a' by himsel', but he wouldna so much as allow one o' us to
set fut on the passage that led tae it.

At nicht he would walk a' ower the hoose, and he had lamps hung in every
room and corner, so that no pairt should be dark.

Many's the time frae my room in the garret I've heard his futsteps
comin' and gangin', comin' and gangin' doon one passage and up anither
frae midnight till cockcraw. It was weary wark to lie listenin' tae his
clatter and wonderin' whether he was clean daft, or whether maybe he'd
lairnt pagan and idolatrous tricks oot in India, and that his conscience
noo was like the worm which gnaweth and dieth not. I'd ha' speered frae
him whether it wouldna ease him to speak wi' the holy Donald McSnaw, but
it might ha' been a mistake, and the general wasna a man that you'd care
tae mak' a mistake wi'.

Ane day I was workin' at the grass border when he comes up and he says,
says he:

“Did ye ever have occasion tae fire a pistol, Israel?”

“Godsakes!” says I, “I never had siccan a thing in my honds in my life.”

“Then you'd best not begin noo,” says he. “Every man tae his ain
weepon,” he says. “Now I warrant ye could do something wi' a guid
crab-tree cudgel!”

“Aye, could I,” I answered blithely, “as well as ony lad on the Border.”

“This is a lonely hoose,” says he, “and we might be molested by some
rascals. It's weel tae be ready for whatever may come. Me and you and my
son Mordaunt and Mr. Fothergill West of Branksome, who would come if he
was required, ought tae be able tae show a bauld face--what think ye?”

“'Deed, sir,” I says, “feastin' is aye better than fechtin'--but if
ye'll raise me a pund a month, I'll no' shirk my share o' either.”

“We won't quarrel ower that,” says he, and agreed tae the extra twal'
pund a year as easy as though it were as many bawbees. Far be it frae me
tae think evil, but I couldna help surmisin' at the time that money that
was so lightly pairted wi' was maybe no' so very honestly cam by.

I'm no' a curious or a pryin' mun by nature, but I was sair puzzled in
my ain mind tae tell why it was that the general walked aboot at nicht
and what kept him frae his sleep.

Weel, ane day I was cleanin' doon the passages when my e'e fell on a
great muckle heap o' curtains and auld cairpets and sic' like things
that were piled away in a corner, no vera far frae the door o' the
general's room. A' o' a sudden a thocht came intae my heid and I says
tae mysel':

“Israel, laddie,” says I, “what's tae stop ye frae hidin' behind that
this vera nicht and seein' the auld mun when he doesna ken human e'e is
on him?”

The mair I thocht o't the mair seemple it appeared, and I made up my
mind tae put the idea intae instant execution.

When the nicht cam roond I tauld the women-folk that I was bad wi' the
jawache, and would gang airly tae my room. I kenned fine when ance I got
there that there was na chance o' ony ane disturbin' me, so I waited a
wee while, and then when a' was quiet, I slippit aff my boots and ran
doon the ither stair until I cam tae the heap o' auld clothes, and there
I lay doon wi' ane e'e peepin' through a kink and a' the rest covered up
wi' a great, ragged cairpet.

There I bided as quiet as a mouse until the general passed me on his
road tae bed, and a' was still in the hoose.

My certie! I wouldna gang through wi' it again for a' the siller at the
Union Bank of Dumfries, I canna think o't noo withoot feelin' cauld a'
the way doon my back.

It was just awfu' lyin' there in the deid silence, waitin' and waitin'
wi' never a soond tae break the monotony, except the heavy tickin' o' an
auld clock somewhere doon the passage.

First I would look doon the corridor in the one way, and syne I'd look
doon in t'ither, but it aye seemed to me as though there was something
coming up frae the side that I wasna lookin' at. I had a cauld sweat on
my broo, and my hairt was beatin' twice tae ilka tick o' the clock, and
what feared me most of a' was that the dust frae the curtains and things
was aye gettin' doon intae my lungs, and it was a' I could dae tae keep
mysel' frae coughin'.

Godsakes! I wonder my hair wasna grey wi' a' that I went through. I
wouldna dae it again to be made Lord Provost o' Glasgie.

Weel, it may have been twa o'clock in the mornin' or maybe a little
mair, and I was just thinkin' that I wasna tae see onything after
a'--and I wasna very sorry neither--when all o' a sudden a soond cam tae
my ears clear and distinct through the stillness o' the nicht.

I've been asked afore noo tae describe that soond, but I've aye foond
that it's no' vera easy tae gie a clear idea o't, though it was unlike
any other soond that ever I hearkened tae. It was a shairp, ringin'
clang, like what could be caused by flippin' the rim o' a wineglass, but
it was far higher and thinner than that, and had in it, tae, a kind o'
splash, like the tinkle o' a rain-drop intae a water-butt.

In my fear I sat up amang my cairpets, like a puddock among
gowan-leaves, and I listened wi' a' my ears. A' was still again noo,
except for the dull tickin' o' the distant clock.

Suddenly the soond cam again, as clear, as shrill, as shairp as ever,
and this time the general heard it, for I heard him gie a kind o' groan,
as a tired man might wha has been roosed oot o' his sleep.

He got up frae his bed, and I could make oot a rustling noise, as though
he were dressin' himsel', and presently his footfa' as he began tae walk
up and doon in his room.

Mysakes! it didna tak lang for me tae drap doon amang the cairpets again
and cover mysel' ower. There I lay tremblin' in every limb, and sayin'
as mony prayers as I could mind, wi' my e'e still peepin' through the
keek-hole, and fixed upon the door o' the general's room.

I heard the rattle o' the handle presently, and the door swung slowly
open. There was a licht burnin' in the room beyond, an' I could just
catch a glimpse o' what seemed tae me like a row o' swords stuck alang
the side o' the wa', when the general stepped oot and shut the door
behind him. He was dressed in a dressin' goon, wi' a red smokin'-cap
on his heid, and a pair o' slippers wi' the heels cut off and the taes
turned up.

For a moment it cam into my held that maybe he was walkin' in his sleep,
but as he cam towards me I could see the glint o' the licht in his e'en,
and his face was a' twistin', like a man that's in sair distress o'
mind. On my conscience, it gies me the shakes noo when I think o' his
tall figure and his yelley face comin' sae solemn and silent doon the
lang, lone passage.

I haud my breath and lay close watchin' him, but just as he cam tae
where I was my vera hairt stood still in my breast, for “ting!”--loud
and clear, within a yaird o' me cam the ringin', clangin' soond that I
had a'ready hairkened tae.

Where it cam frae is mair than I can tell or what was the cause o't. It
might ha' been that the general made it, but I was sair puzzled tae tell
hoo, for his honds were baith doon by his side as he passed me. It cam
frae his direction, certainly, but it appeared tae me tae come frae ower
his heid, but it was siccan a thin, eerie, high-pitched, uncanny kind o'
soond that it wasna easy tae say just exactly where it did come frae.

The general tuk nae heed o't, but walked on and was soon oot o' sicht,
and I didna lose a minute in creepin' oot frae my hidin' place and
scamperin' awa' back tae my room, and if a' the bogies in the Red Sea
were trapesin' up and doon the hale nicht through, I wud never put my
heid oot again tae hae a glimpse o' them.

I didna say a word tae anybody aboot what I'd seen, but I made up my
mind that I wudna stay muckle langer at Cloomber Ha'. Four pund a month
is a good wage, but it isna enough tae pay a man for the loss o' his
peace o' mind, and maybe the loss o' his soul as weel, for when the deil
is aboot ye canna tell what sort o' a trap he may lay for ye, and though
they say that Providence is stronger than him, it's maybe as weel no' to
risk it.

It was clear tae me that the general and his hoose were baith under some
curse, and it was fit that that curse should fa' on them that had earned
it, and no' on a righteous Presbyterian, wha had ever trod the narrow
path.

My hairt was sair for young Miss Gabriel--for she was a bonnie and
winsome lassie--but for a' that, I felt that my duty was tae mysel' and
that I should gang forth, even as Lot ganged oot o' the wicked cities o'
the plain.

That awfu' cling-clang was aye dingin' in my lugs, and I couldna bear
to be alane in the passages for fear o' hearin' it ance again. I only
wanted a chance or an excuse tae gie the general notice, and tae gang
back to some place where I could see Christian folk, and have the kirk
within a stone-cast tae fa' back upon.

But it proved tae be ordained that, instead o' my saying the word, it
should come frae the general himsel'.

It was ane day aboot the beginning of October, I was comin' oot o' the
stable, after giein' its oats tae the horse, when I seed a great muckle
loon come hoppin' on ane leg up the drive, mair like a big, ill-faured
craw than a man.

When I clapped my een on him I thocht that maybe this was ane of the
rascals that the maister had been speakin' aboot, so withoot mair ado
I fetched oot my bit stick with the intention o' tryin' it upon the
limmer's heid. He seed me comin' towards him, and readin' my intention
frae my look maybe, or frae the stick in my hand, he pu'ed oot a lang
knife frae his pocket and swore wi' the most awfu' oaths that if I didna
stan' back he'd be the death o' me.

Ma conscience! the words the chiel used was eneugh tae mak' the hair
stand straight on your heid. I wonder he wasna struck deid where he
stood.

We were still standin' opposite each ither--he wi' his knife and me wi'
the stick--when the general he cam up the drive and foond us. Tae my
surprise he began tae talk tae the stranger as if he'd kenned him a' his
days.

“Put your knife in your pocket, Corporal,” says he. “Your fears have
turned your brain.”

“Blood an' wounds!” says the other. “He'd ha' turned my brain tae some
purpose wi' that muckle stick o' his if I hadna drawn my snickersnee.
You shouldna keep siccan an auld savage on your premises.”

The maister he frooned and looked black at him, as though he didna
relish advice comin' frae such a source. Then turnin' tae me--“You won't
be wanted after to-day, Israel,” he says; “you have been a guid servant,
and I ha' naething tae complain of wi' ye, but circumstances have arisen
which will cause me tae change my arrangements.”

“Vera guid, sir,” says I.

“You can go this evening,” says he, “and you shall have an extra month's
pay tae mak up t'ye for this short notice.”

Wi' that he went intae the hoose, followed by the man that he ca'ed the
corporal, and frae that day tae this I have never clapped een either on
the ane or the ither. My money was sent oot tae me in an envelope,
and havin' said a few pairtin' words tae the cook and the wench wi'
reference tae the wrath tae come and the treasure that is richer than
rubies, I shook the dust o' Cloomber frae my feet for ever.

Maister Fothergill West says I maunna express an opeenion as tae what
cam aboot afterwards, but maun confine mysel' tae what I saw mysel'. Nae
doubt he has his reasons for this--and far be it frae me tae hint that
they are no' guid anes--but I maun say this, that what happened didna
surprise me. It was just as I expeckit, and so I said tae Maister Donald
McSnaw.

I've tauld ye a' aboot it noo, and I havena a word tae add or tae
withdraw. I'm muckle obleeged tae Maister Mathew Clairk for puttin'
it a' doon in writin' for me, and if there's ony would wish tae speer
onything mair o' me I'm well kenned and respeckit in Ecclefechan, and
Maister McNeil, the factor o' Wigtown, can aye tell where I am tae be
foond.


(1) The old rascal was well paid for his trouble, so he need not have
made such a favour of it.--J.F.W.




CHAPTER IX.
NARRATIVE OF JOHN EASTERLING, F.R.C.P.EDIN.


Having given the statement of Israel Stakes _in extenso_, I shall append
a short memorandum from Dr. Easterling, now practising at Stranraer.
It is true that the doctor was only once within the walls of Cloomber
during its tenancy by General Heatherstone, but there were some
circumstances connected with this visit which made it valuable,
especially when considered as a supplement to the experiences which I
have just submitted to the reader.

The doctor has found time amid the calls of a busy country practice
to jot down his recollections, and I feel that I cannot do better than
subjoin them exactly as they stand.

I have very much pleasure in furnishing Mr. Fothergill West with an
account of my solitary visit to Cloomber Hall, not only on account
of the esteem which I have formed for that gentleman ever since his
residence at Branksome, but also because it is my conviction that the
facts in the case of General Heatherstone are of such a singular nature
that it is of the highest importance that they should be placed before
the public in a trustworthy manner.

It was about the beginning of September of last year that I received
a note from Mrs. Heatherstone, of Cloomber Hall, desiring me to make a
professional call upon her husband, whose health, she said, had been for
some time in a very unsatisfactory state.

I had heard something of the Heatherstones and of the strange seclusion
in which they lived, so that I was very much pleased at this opportunity
of making their closer acquaintance, and lost no time in complying with
her request.

I had known the Hall in the old days of Mr. McVittie, the original
proprietor, and I was astonished on arriving at the avenue gate to
observe the changes which had taken place.

The gate itself, which used to yawn so hospitably upon the road, was
now barred and locked, and a high wooden fence, with nails upon the
top, encircled the whole grounds. The drive itself was leaf-strewn and
uncared-for, and the whole place had a depressing air of neglect and
decay.

I had to knock twice before a servant-maid opened the door and showed me
through a dingy hall into a small room, where sat an elderly, careworn
lady, who introduced herself as Mrs. Heatherstone. With her pale face,
her grey hair, her sad, colourless eyes, and her faded silk dress, she
was in perfect keeping with her melancholy surroundings.

“You find us in much trouble, doctor,” she said, in a quiet, refined
voice. “My poor husband has had a great deal to worry him, and his
nervous system for a long time has been in a very weak state. We came to
this part of the country in the hope that the bracing air and the quiet
would have a good effect upon him. Instead of improving, however, he
has seemed to grow weaker, and this morning he is in a high fever and a
little inclined to be delirious. The children and I were so frightened
that we sent for you at once. If you will follow me I will take you to
the general's bedroom.”

She led the way down a series of corridors to the chamber of the sick
man, which was situated in the extreme wing of the building.

It was a carpetless, bleak-looking room, scantily furnished with a small
truckle bed, a campaigning chair, and a plain deal table, on which were
scattered numerous papers and books. In the centre of this table there
stood a large object of irregular outline, which was covered over with a
sheet of linen.

All round the walls and in the corners were arranged a very choice and
varied collection of arms, principally swords, some of which were of
the straight pattern in common use in the British Army, while among
the others were scimitars, tulwars, cuchurries, and a score of other
specimens of Oriental workmanship. Many of these were richly mounted,
with inlaid sheaths and hilts sparkling with precious stones, so that
there was a piquant contrast between the simplicity of the apartment and
the wealth which glittered on the walls.

I had little time, however, to observe the general's collection, since
the general himself lay upon the couch and was evidently in sore need of
my services.

He was lying with his head turned half away from us. Breathing heavily,
and apparently unconscious of our presence. His bright, staring eyes and
the deep, hectic flush upon his cheek showed that his fever was at its
height.

I advanced to the bedside, and, stooping over him, I placed my fingers
upon his pulse, when immediately he sprang up into the sitting position
and struck at me frenziedly with his clenched hands. I have never seen
such intensity of fear and horror stamped upon a human face as appeared
upon that which was now glaring up at me.

“Bloodhound!” he yelled; “let me go--let me go, I say! Keep your hands
off me! Is it not enough that my life has been ruined? When is it all to
end? How long am I to endure it?”

“Hush, dear, hush!” said his wife in a soothing voice, passing her
cool hand over his heated forehead. “This is Doctor Easterling, from
Stranraer. He has not come to harm you, but to do you good.”

The general dropped wearily back upon his pillow, and I could see by the
changed expression of his face that his delirium had left him, and that
he understood what had been said.

I slipped my clinical thermometer into his armpit and counted his pulse
rate. It amounted to 120 per minute, and his temperature proved to be
104 degrees. Clearly it was a case of remittent fever, such as occurs in
men who have spent a great part of their lives in the tropics.

“There is no danger,” I remarked. “With a little quinine and arsenic we
shall very soon overcome the attack and restore his health.”

“No danger, eh?” he said. “There never is any danger for me. I am as
hard to kill as the Wandering Jew. I am quite clear in the head now,
Mary; so you may leave me with the doctor.”

Mrs. Heatherstone left the room--rather unwillingly, as I thought--and
I sat down by the bedside to listen to anything which my patient might
have to communicate.

“I want you to examine my liver,” he said when the door was closed. “I
used to have an abscess there, and Brodie, the staff-surgeon, said that
it was ten to one that it would carry me off. I have not felt much of it
since I left the East. This is where it used to be, just under the angle
of the ribs.”

“I can find the place,” said I, after making a careful examination;
“but I am happy to tell you that the abscess has either been entirely
absorbed, or has turned calcareous, as these solitary abscesses will.
There is no fear of its doing you any harm now.”

He seemed to be by no means overjoyed at the intelligence.

“Things always happen so with me,” he said moodily. “Now, if another
fellow was feverish and delirious he would surely be in some danger, and
yet you will tell me that I am in none. Look at this, now.” He bared
his chest and showed me a puckered wound over the region of the heart.
“That's where the jezail bullet of a Hillman went in. You would think
that was in the right spot to settle a man, and yet what does it do but
glance upon a rib, and go clean round and out at the back, without so
much as penetrating what you medicos call the pleura. Did ever you hear
of such a thing?”

“You were certainly born under a lucky star,” I observed, with a smile.

“That's a matter of opinion,” he answered, shaking his head. “Death
has no terrors for me, if it will but come in some familiar form, but I
confess that the anticipation of some strange, some preternatural form
of death is very terrible and unnerving.”

“You mean,” said I, rather puzzled at his remark, “that you would prefer
a natural death to a death by violence?”

“No, I don't mean that exactly,” he answered. “I am too familiar with
cold steel and lead to be afraid of either. Do you know anything about
odyllic force, doctor?”

“No, I do not,” I replied, glancing sharply at him to see if there were
any signs of his delirium returning. His expression was intelligent,
however, and the feverish flush had faded from his cheeks.

“Ah, you Western scientific men are very much behind the day in some
things,” he remarked. “In all that is material and conducive to the
comfort of the body you are pre-eminent, but in what concerns the subtle
forces of Nature and the latent powers of the human spirit your best
men are centuries behind the humblest coolies of India. Countless
generations of beef-eating, comfort loving ancestors have given our
animal instincts the command over our spiritual ones. The body, which
should have been a mere tool for the use of the soul, has now become a
degrading prison in which it is confined. The Oriental soul and body are
not so welded together as ours are, and there is far less wrench when
they part in death.”

“They do not appear to derive much benefit from this peculiarity in
their organisation,” I remarked incredulously.

“Merely the benefit of superior knowledge,” the general answered. “If
you were to go to India, probably the very first thing you would see in
the way of amusement would be a native doing what is called the mango
trick. Of course you have heard or read of it. The fellow plants a mango
seed, and makes passes over it until it sprouts and bears leaves and
fruit--all in the space of half-an-hour. It is not really a trick--it
is a power. These men know more than your Tyndalls or Huxleys do about
Nature's processes, and they can accelerate or retard her workings
by subtle means of which we have no conception. These low-caste
conjurers--as they are called--are mere vulgar dabblers, but the men who
have trod the higher path are as far superior to us in knowledge as we
are to the Hottentots or Patagonians.”

“You speak as if you were well acquainted with them,” I remarked.

“To my cost, I am,” he answered. “I have been brought in contact with
them in a way in which I trust no other poor chap ever will be. But,
really, as regards odyllic force, you ought to know something of it,
for it has a great future before it in your profession. You should read
Reichenbach's 'Researches on Magnetism and Vital Force,' and Gregory's
'Letters on Animal Magnetism.' These, supplemented by the twenty-seven
Aphorisms of Mesmer, and the works of Dr. Justinus Kerner, of Weinsberg,
would enlarge your ideas.”

I did not particularly relish having a course of reading prescribed for
me on a subject connected with my own profession, so I made no comment,
but rose to take my departure. Before doing so I felt his pulse once
more, and found that the fever had entirely left him in the sudden,
unaccountable fashion which is peculiar to these malarious types of
disease.

I turned my face towards him to congratulate him upon his improvement,
and stretched out my hand at the same time to pick my gloves from the
table, with the result that I raised not only my own property, but also
the linen cloth which was arranged over some object in the centre.

I might not have noticed what I had done had I not seen an angry look
upon the invalid's face and heard him utter an impatient exclamation.
I at once turned, and replaced the cloth so promptly that I should
have been unable to say what was underneath it, beyond having a general
impression that it looked like a bride-cake.

“All right, doctor,” the general said good-humouredly, perceiving how
entirely accidental the incident was. “There is no reason why you should
not see it,” and stretching out his hand, he pulled away the linen
covering for the second time.

I then perceived that what I had taken for a bride-cake was really an
admirably executed model of a lofty range of mountains, whose snow-clad
peaks were not unlike the familiar sugar pinnacles and minarets.

“These are the Himalayas, or at least the Surinam branch of them,” he
remarked, “showing the principal passes between India and Afghanistan.
It is an excellent model. This ground has a special interest for me,
because it is the scene of my first campaign. There is the pass opposite
Kalabagh and the Thul valley, where I was engaged during the summer
of 1841 in protecting the convoys and keeping the Afridis in order. It
wasn't a sinecure, I promise you.”

“And this,” said I, indicating a blood-red spot which had been marked
on one side of the pass which he had pointed out--“this is the scene of
some fight in which you were engaged.”

“Yes, we had a skirmish there,” he answered, leaning forward and looking
at the red mark. “We were attacked by--”

At this moment he fell back upon his pillow as if he had been shot,
while the same look of horror came over his face which I had observed
when I first entered the room. At the same instant there came,
apparently from the air immediately above his bed, a sharp, ringing,
tinkling sound, which I can only compare with the noise made by a
bicycle alarm, though it differed from this in having a distinctly
throbbing character. I have never, before or since, heard any sound
which could be confounded with it.

I stared round in astonishment, wondering where it could have come from,
but without perceiving anything to which it could be ascribed.

“It's all right, doctor,” the general said with a ghastly smile. “It's
only my private gong. Perhaps you had better step downstairs and write
my prescription in the dining-room.”

He was evidently anxious to get rid of me, so I was forced to take my
departure, though I would gladly have stayed a little longer, in the
hope of learning something as to the origin of the mysterious sound.

I drove away from the house with the full determination of calling again
upon my interesting patient, and endeavouring to elicit some further
particulars as to his past life and his present circumstances. I was
destined, however, to be disappointed, for I received that very evening
a note from the general himself, enclosing a handsome fee for my single
visit, and informing me that my treatment had done him so much good that
he considered himself to be convalescent, and would not trouble me to
see him again.

This was the last and only communication which I ever received from the
tenant of Cloomber.

I have been asked frequently by neighbours and others who were
interested in the matter whether he gave me the impression of insanity.
To this I must unhesitatingly answer in the negative. On the contrary,
his remarks gave me the idea of a man who had both read and thought
deeply.

I observed, however, during our single interview, that his reflexes
were feeble, his arcus senilis well marked, and his arteries
atheromatous--all signs that his constitution was in an unsatisfactory
condition, and that a sudden crisis might be apprehended.




CHAPTER X.
OF THE LETTER WHICH CAME FROM THE HALL


Having thrown this side-light upon my narrative, I can now resume the
statement of my own personal experiences. These I had brought down, as
the reader will doubtless remember, to the date of the arrival of the
savage-looking wanderer who called himself Corporal Rufus Smith. This
incident occurred about the beginning of the month of October, and I
find upon a comparison of dates that Dr. Easterling's visit to Cloomber
preceded it by three weeks or more.

During all this time I was in sore distress of mind, for I had never
seen anything either of Gabriel or of her brother since the interview
in which the general had discovered the communication which was kept up
between us. I had no doubt that some sort of restraint had been placed
upon them; and the thought that we had brought trouble on their heads
was a bitter one both to my sister and myself.

Our anxiety, however, was considerably mitigated by the receipt, a
couple of days after my last talk with the general, of a note from
Mordaunt Heatherstone. This was brought us by a little, ragged urchin,
the son of one of the fishermen, who informed us that it had been handed
to him at the avenue gate by an old woman--who, I expect, must have been
the Cloomber cook.

“MY DEAREST FRIENDS,” it ran, “Gabriel and I have grieved to think how
concerned you must be at having neither heard from nor seen us. The fact
is that we are compelled to remain in the house. And this compulsion is
not physical but moral.

“Our poor father, who gets more and more nervous every day, has
entreated us to promise him that we will not go out until after the
fifth of October, and to allay his fears we have given him the desired
pledge. On the other hand, he has promised us that after the fifth--that
is, in less than a week--we shall be as free as air to come or go as we
please, so we have something to look forward to.

“Gabriel says that she has explained to you that the governor is always
a changed man after this particular date, on which his fears reach a
crisis. He apparently has more reason than usual this year to anticipate
that trouble is brewing for this unfortunate family, for I have never
known him to take so many elaborate precautions or appear so thoroughly
unnerved. Who would ever think, to see his bent form and his shaking
hands, that he is the same man who used some few short years ago to
shoot tigers on foot among the jungles of the Terai, and would laugh at
the more timid sportsmen who sought the protection of their elephant's
howdah?

“You know that he has the Victoria Cross, which he won in the streets
of Delhi, and yet here he is shivering with terror and starting at every
noise, in the most peaceful corner of the world. Oh, the pity of it.
West! Remember what I have already told you--that it is no fanciful or
imaginary peril, but one which we have every reason to suppose to be
most real. It is, however, of such a nature that it can neither be
averted nor can it profitably be expressed in words. If all goes well,
you will see us at Branksome on the sixth.

“With our fondest love to both of you, I am ever, my dear friends, your
attached

“MORDAUNT.”

This letter was a great relief to us as letting us know that the brother
and sister were under no physical restraint, but our powerlessness and
inability even to comprehend what the danger was which threatened those
whom we had come to love better than ourselves was little short of
maddening.

Fifty times a day we asked ourselves and asked each other from what
possible quarter this peril was to be expected, but the more we thought
of it the more hopeless did any solution appear.

In vain we combined our experiences and pieced together every word
which had fallen from the lips of any inmate of Cloomber which might be
supposed to bear directly or indirectly upon the subject.

At last, weary with fruitless speculation, we were fain to try to drive
the matter from our thoughts, consoling ourselves with the reflection
that in a few more days all restrictions would be removed, and we should
be able to learn from our friends' own lips.

Those few intervening days, however, would, we feared, be dreary, long
ones. And so they would have been, had it not been for a new and most
unexpected incident, which diverted our minds from our own troubles and
gave them something fresh with which to occupy themselves.




CHAPTER XI.
OF THE CASTING AWAY OF THE BARQUE “BELINDA”


The third of October had broken auspiciously with a bright sun and a
cloudless sky. There had in the morning been a slight breeze, and a few
little white wreaths of vapour drifted here and there like the scattered
feathers of some gigantic bird, but, as the day wore on, such wind as
there was fell completely away, and the air became close and stagnant.

The sun blazed down with a degree of heat which was remarkable so late
in the season, and a shimmering haze lay upon the upland moors and
concealed the Irish mountains on the other side of the Channel.

The sea itself rose and fell in a long, heavy, oily roll, sweeping
slowly landward, and breaking sullenly with a dull, monotonous booming
upon the rock-girt shore. To the inexperienced all seemed calm and
peaceful, but to those who are accustomed to read Nature's warnings
there was a dark menace in air and sky and sea.

My sister and I walked out in the afternoon, sauntering slowly along
the margin of the great, sandy spit which shoots out into the Irish Sea,
flanking upon one side the magnificent Bay of Luce, and on the other the
more obscure inlet of Kirkmaiden, on the shores of which the Branksome
property is situated.

It was too sultry to go far, so we soon seated ourselves upon one of the
sandy hillocks, overgrown with faded grass-tufts, which extend along the
coast-line, and which form Nature's dykes against the encroachments of
the ocean.

Our rest was soon interrupted by the scrunching of heavy boots upon the
shingle, and Jamieson, the old man-o'-war's man whom I have already had
occasion to mention, made his appearance, with the flat, circular net
upon his back which he used for shrimp-catching. He came towards us upon
seeing us, and said in his rough, kindly way that he hoped we would
not take it amiss if he sent us up a dish of shrimps for our tea at
Branksome.

“I aye make a good catch before a storm,” he remarked.

“You think there is going to be a storm, then?” I asked.

“Why, even a marine could see that,” he answered, sticking a great wedge
of tobacco into his cheek. “The moors over near Cloomber are just white
wi' gulls and kittiewakes. What d'ye think they come ashore for except
to escape having all the feathers blown out o' them? I mind a day like
this when I was wi' Charlie Napier off Cronstadt. It well-nigh blew us
under the guns of the forts, for all our engines and propellers.”

“Have you ever known a wreck in these parts?” I asked.

“Lord love ye, sir, it's a famous place for wrecks. Why, in that very
bay down there two o' King Philip's first-rates foundered wi' all hands
in the days o' the Spanish war. If that sheet o' water and the Bay o'
Luce round the corner could tell their ain tale they'd have a gey lot
to speak of. When the Jedgment Day comes round that water will be
just bubbling wi' the number o' folks that will be coming up frae the
bottom.”

“I trust that there will be no wrecks while we are here,” said Esther
earnestly.

The old man shook his grizzled head and looked distrustfully at the hazy
horizon.

“If it blows from the west,” he said, “some o' these sailing ships may
find it no joke to be caught without sea-room in the North Channel.
There's that barque out yonder--I daresay her maister would be glad
enough to find himsel' safe in the Clyde.”

“She seems to be absolutely motionless,” I remarked, looking at the
vessel in question, whose black hull and gleaming sails rose and fell
slowly with the throbbing of the giant pulse beneath her. “Perhaps,
Jamieson, we are wrong, and there will be no storm after all.”

The old sailor chuckled to himself with an air of superior knowledge,
and shuffled away with his shrimp-net, while my sister and I walked
slowly homewards through the hot and stagnant air.

I went up to my father's study to see if the old gentleman had any
instructions as to the estate, for he had become engrossed in a new work
upon Oriental literature, and the practical management of the property
had in consequence devolved entirely upon me.

I found him seated at his square library table, which was so heaped with
books and papers that nothing of him was visible from the door except a
tuft of white hair.

“My dear son,” he said to me as I entered, “it is a great grief to me
that you are not more conversant with Sanscrit. When I was your age, I
could converse not only in that noble language, but also in the Tamulic,
Lohitic, Gangelic, Taic, and Malaic dialects, which are all offshoots
from the Turanian branch.”

“I regret extremely, sir,” I answered, “that I have not inherited your
wonderful talents as a polyglot.”

“I have set myself a task,” he explained, “which, if it could only be
continued from generation to generation in our own family until it was
completed, would make the name of West immortal. This is nothing less
than to publish an English translation of the Buddhist Djarmas, with a
preface giving an idea of the position of Brahminism before the coming
of Sakyamuni. With diligence it is possible that I might be able myself
to complete part of the preface before I die.”

“And pray, sir,” I asked, “how long would the whole work be when it was
finished?”

“The abridged edition in the Imperial Library of Pekin,” said my father,
rubbing his hands together, “consists of 325 volumes of an average
weight of five pounds. Then the preface, which must embrace some
account of the Rig-veda, the Sama-veda, the Yagur-veda, and the
Atharva-veda, with the Brahmanas, could hardly be completed in less
than ten volumes. Now, if we apportion one volume to each year, there is
every prospect of the family coming to an end of its task about the date
2250, the twelfth generation completing the work, while the thirteenth
might occupy itself upon the index.”

“And how are our descendants to live, sir,” I asked, with a smile,
“during the progress of this great undertaking:”

“That's the worst of you, Jack,” my father cried petulantly. “There is
nothing practical about you. Instead of confining your attention to the
working out of my noble scheme, you begin raising all sorts of absurd
objections. It is a mere matter of detail how our descendants live, so
long as they stick to the Djarmas. Now, I want you to go up to the bothy
of Fergus McDonald and see about the thatch, and Willie Fullerton has
written to say that his milk-cow is bad. You might took in upon your way
and ask after it.”

I started off upon my errands, but before doing so I took a look at the
barometer upon the wall. The mercury had sunk to the phenomenal point
of twenty-eight inches. Clearly the old sailor had not been wrong in his
interpretation of Nature's signs.

As I returned over the moors in the evening, the wind was blowing in
short, angry puffs, and the western horizon was heaped with sombre
clouds which stretched their long, ragged tentacles right up to the
zenith.

Against their dark background one or two livid, sulphur-coloured
splotches showed up malignant and menacing, while the surface of the
sea had changed from the appearance of burnished quicksilver to that of
ground glass. A low, moaning sound rose up from the ocean as if it knew
that trouble was in store for it.

Far out in the Channel I saw a single panting, eager steam vessel making
its way to Belfast Lough, and the large barque which I had observed in
the morning still beating about in the offing, endeavouring to pass to
the northward.

At nine o'clock a sharp breeze was blowing, at ten it had freshened into
a gale, and before midnight the most furious storm was raging which I
can remember upon that weather-beaten coast.

I sat for some time in our small, oak-panelled sitting-room listening to
the screeching and howling of the blast and to the rattle of the gravel
and pebbles as they pattered against the window. Nature's grim orchestra
was playing its world-old piece with a compass which ranged from
the deep diapason of the thundering surge to the thin shriek of the
scattered shingle and the keen piping of frightened sea birds.

Once for an instant I opened the lattice window, but a gust of wind and
rain came blustering through, bearing with it a great sheet of seaweed,
which flapped down upon the table. It was all I could do to close it
again with a thrust of my shoulder in the face of the blast.

My sister and father had retired to their rooms, but my thoughts
were too active for sleep, so I continued to sit and to smoke by the
smouldering fire.

What was going on in the Hall now, I wondered? What did Gabriel think of
the storm, and how did it affect the old man who wandered about in the
night? Did he welcome these dread forces of Nature as being of the same
order of things as his own tumultuous thoughts?

It was only two days now from the date which I had been assured was to
mark a crisis in his fortunes. Would he regard this sudden tempest as
being in any way connected with the mysterious fate which threatened
him?

Over all these things and many more I pondered as I sat by the glowing
embers until they died gradually out, and the chill night air warned me
that it was time to retire.

I may have slept a couple of hours when I was awakened by someone
tugging furiously at my shoulder. Sitting up in bed, I saw by the dim
light that my father was standing half-clad by my bedside, and that it
was his grasp which I felt on my night-shirt.

“Get up, Jack, get up!” he was crying excitedly. “There's a great ship
ashore in the bay, and the poor folk will all be drowned. Come down, my
boy, and let us see what we can do.”

The good old man seemed to be nearly beside himself with excitement and
impatience. I sprang from my bed, and was huddling on a few clothes,
when a dull, booming sound made itself heard above the howling of the
wind and the thunder of the breakers.

“There it is again!” cried my father. “It is their signal gun, poor
creatures! Jamieson and the fishermen are below. Put your oil-skin coat
on and the Glengarry hat. Come, come, every second may mean a human
life!”

We hurried down together and made our way to the beach, accompanied by a
dozen or so of the inhabitants of Branksome.

The gale had increased rather than moderated, and the wind screamed all
round us with an infernal clamour. So great was its force that we had
to put our shoulders against it, and bore our way through it, while the
sand and gravel tingled up against our faces.

There was just light enough to make out the scudding clouds and the
white gleam of the breakers, but beyond that all was absolute darkness.

We stood ankle deep in the shingle and seaweed, shading our eyes with
our hands and peering out into the inky obscurity.

It seemed to me as I listened that I could hear human voices loud
in intreaty and terror, but amid the wild turmoil of Nature it was
difficult to distinguish one sound from another.

Suddenly, however, a light glimmered in the heart of the tempest, and
next instant the beach and sea and wide, tossing bay were brilliantly
illuminated by the wild glare of a signal light.

The ship lay on her beam-ends right in the centre of the terrible Hansel
reef, hurled over to such an angle that I could see all the planking of
her deck. I recognised her at once as being the same three-masted barque
which I had observed in the Channel in the morning, and the Union
Jack which was nailed upside down to the jagged slump of her mizzen
proclaimed her nationality.

Every spar and rope and writhing piece of cordage showed up hard and
clear under the vivid light which spluttered and flickered from the
highest portion of the forecastle. Beyond the doomed ship, out of the
great darkness came the long, rolling lines of big waves, never ending,
never tiring, with a petulant tuft of foam here and there upon their
crests. Each as it reached the broad circle of unnatural light appeared
to gather strength and volume and to hurry on more impetuously until
with a roar and a jarring crash it sprang upon its victim.

Clinging to the weather shrouds we could distinctly see ten or a dozen
frightened seamen who, when the light revealed our presence, turned
their white faces towards us and waved their hands imploringly. The poor
wretches had evidently taken fresh hope from our presence, though it was
clear that their own boats had either been washed away or so damaged as
to render them useless.

The sailors who clung to the rigging were not, however, the only
unfortunates on board. On the breaking poop there stood three men who
appeared to be both of a different race and nature from the cowering
wretches who implored our assistance.

Leaning upon the shattered taff-rail they seemed to be conversing
together as quietly and unconcernedly as though they were unconscious of
the deadly peril which surrounded them.

As the signal light flickered over them, we could see from the shore
that these immutable strangers wore red fezes, and that their faces were
of a swarthy, large-featured type, which proclaimed an Eastern origin.

There was little time, however, for us to take note of such details.
The ship was breaking rapidly, and some effort must be made to save the
poor, sodden group of humanity who implored our assistance.

The nearest lifeboat was in the Bay of Luce, ten long miles away, but
here was our own broad, roomy craft upon the shingle, and plenty of
brave fisher lads to form a crew. Six of us sprang to the oars, the
others pushed us off, and we fought our way through the swirling, raging
waters, staggering and recoiling before the great, sweeping billows, but
still steadily decreasing the distance between the barque and ourselves.

It seemed, however, that our efforts were fated to be in vain.

As we mounted upon a surge I saw a giant wave, topping all the others,
and coming after them like a driver following a flock, sweep down upon
the vessel, curling its great, green arch over the breaking deck.

With a rending, riving sound the ship split in two where the terrible,
serrated back of the Hansel reef was sawing into her keel. The
after-part, with the broken mizzen and the three Orientals, sank
backwards into deep water and vanished, while the fore-half oscillated
helplessly about, retaining its precarious balance upon the rocks.

A wail of fear went up from the wreck and was echoed from the beach,
but by the blessing of Providence she kept afloat until we made our way
under her bowsprit and rescued every man of the crew.

We had not got half-way upon our return, however, when another great
wave swept the shattered forecastle off the reef, and, extinguishing the
signal light, hid the wild denouement from our view.

Our friends upon the shore were loud in congratulation and praise, nor
were they backward in welcoming and comforting the castaways. They were
thirteen in all, as cold and cowed a set of mortals as ever slipped
through Death's fingers, save, indeed, their captain, who was a hardy,
robust man, and who made light of the affair.

Some were taken off to this cottage and some to that, but the greater
part came back to Branksome with us, where we gave them such dry clothes
as we could lay our hands on, and served them with beef and beer by the
kitchen fire. The captain, whose name was Meadows, compressed his bulky
form into a suit of my own, and came down to the parlour, where he
mixed himself some grog and gave my father and myself an account of the
disaster.

“If it hadn't been for you, sir, and your brave fellows,” he said,
smiling across at me, “we should be ten fathoms deep by this time. As to
the _Belinda_, she was a leaky old tub and well insured, so neither the
owners nor I are likely to break our hearts over her.”

“I am afraid,” said my father sadly, “that we shall never see your three
passengers again. I have left men upon the beach in case they should be
washed up, but I fear it is hopeless. I saw them go down when the vessel
split, and no man could have lived for a moment among that terrible
surge.”

“Who were they?” I asked. “I could not have believed that it was
possible for men to appear so unconcerned in the face of such imminent
peril.”

“As to who they are or were,” the captain answered, puffing thoughtfully
at his pipe, “that is by no means easy to say. Our last port was
Kurrachee, in the north of India, and there we took them aboard as
passengers for Glasgow. Ram Singh was the name of the younger, and it is
only with him that I have come in contact, but they all appeared to be
quiet, inoffensive gentlemen. I never inquired their business, but I
should judge that they were Parsee merchants from Hyderabad whose trade
took them to Europe. I could never see why the crew should fear them,
and the mate, too, he should have had more sense.”

“Fear them!” I ejaculated in surprise.

“Yes, they had some preposterous idea that they were dangerous
shipmates. I have no doubt if you were to go down into the kitchen now
you would find that they are all agreed that our passengers were the
cause of the whole disaster.”

As the captain was speaking the parlour door opened and the mate of
the barque, a tall, red-bearded sailor, stepped in. He had obtained a
complete rig-out from some kind-hearted fisherman, and looked in his
comfortable jersey and well-greased seaboots a very favourable specimen
of a shipwrecked mariner.

With a few words of grateful acknowledgment of our hospitality, he drew
a chair up to the fire and warmed his great, brown hands before the
blaze.

“What d'ye think now, Captain Meadows?” he asked presently, glancing up
at his superior officer. “Didn't I warn you what would be the upshot of
having those niggers on board the _Belinda_?”

The captain leant back in his chair and laughed heartily.

“Didn't I tell you?” he cried, appealing to us. “Didn't I tell you?”

“It might have been no laughing matter for us,” the other remarked
petulantly. “I have lost a good sea-kit and nearly my life into the
bargain.”

“Do I understand you to say,” said I, “that you attribute your
misfortunes to your ill-fated passengers?”

The mate opened his eyes at the adjective.

“Why ill-fated, sir?” he asked.

“Because they are most certainly drowned,” I answered.

He sniffed incredulously and went on warming his hands.

“Men of that kind are never drowned,” he said, after a pause. “Their
father, the devil, looks after them. Did you see them standing on the
poop and rolling cigarettes at the time when the mizzen was carried away
and the quarter-boats stove? That was enough for me. I'm not surprised
at you landsmen not being able to take it in, but the captain here,
who's been sailing since he was the height of the binnacle, ought to
know by this time that a cat and a priest are the worst cargo you can
carry. If a Christian priest is bad, I guess an idolatrous pagan one is
fifty times worse. I stand by the old religion, and be d--d to it!”

My father and I could not help laughing at the rough sailor's very
unorthodox way of proclaiming his orthodoxy. The mate, however, was
evidently in deadly earnest, and proceeded to state his case, marking
off the different points upon the rough, red fingers of his left hand.

“It was at Kurrachee, directly after they come that I warned ye,” he
said reproachfully to the captain. “There was three Buddhist Lascars in
my watch, and what did they do when them chaps come aboard? Why, they
down on their stomachs and rubbed their noses on the deck--that's what
they did. They wouldn't ha' done as much for an admiral of the R'yal
Navy. They know who's who--these niggers do; and I smelt mischief
the moment I saw them on their faces. I asked them afterwards in your
presence, Captain, why they had done it, and they answered that the
passengers were holy men. You heard 'em yourself.”

“Well, there's no harm in that, Hawkins,” said Captain Meadows.

“I don't know that,” the mate said doubtfully. “The holiest Christian
is the one that's nearest God, but the holiest nigger is, in my opinion,
the one that's nearest the devil. Then you saw yourself, Captain
Meadows, how they went on during the voyage, reading books that was
writ on wood instead o' paper, and sitting up right through the night to
jabber together on the quarter-deck. What did they want to have a chart
of their own for and to mark the course of the vessel every day?”

“They didn't,” said the captain.

“Indeed they did, and if I did not tell you sooner it was because
you were always ready to laugh at what I said about them. They had
instruments o' their own--when they used them I can't say--but every day
at noon they worked out the latitude and longitude, and marked out the
vessel's position on a chart that was pinned on their cabin table. I saw
them at it, and so did the steward from his pantry.”

“Well, I don't see what you prove from that,” the captain remarked,
“though I confess it is a strange thing.”

“I'll tell you another strange thing,” said the mate impressively. “Do
you know the name of this bay in which we are cast away?”

“I have learnt from our kind friends here that we are upon the
Wigtownshire coast,” the captain answered, “but I have not heard the
name of the bay.”

The mate leant forward with a grave face.

“It is the Bay of Kirkmaiden,” he said.

If he expected to astonish Captain Meadows he certainly succeeded, for
that gentleman was fairly bereft of speech for a minute or more.

“This is really marvellous,” he said, after a time, turning to us.
“These passengers of ours cross-questioned us early in the voyage as
to the existence of a bay of that name. Hawkins here and I denied all
knowledge of one, for on the chart it is included in the Bay of
Luce. That we should eventually be blown into it and destroyed is an
extraordinary coincidence.”

“Too extraordinary to be a coincidence,” growled the mate. “I saw
them during the calm yesterday morning, pointing to the land over our
starboard quarter. They knew well enough that that was the port they
were making for.”

“What do you make of it all, then, Hawkins?” asked the captain, with a
troubled face. “What is your own theory on the matter?”

“Why, in my opinion,” the mate answered, “them three swabs have no more
difficulty in raising a gale o' wind than I should have in swallowing
this here grog. They had reasons o' their own for coming to this
God-forsaken--saving your presence, sirs--this God-forsaken bay, and
they took a short cut to it by arranging to be blown ashore there.
That's my idea o' the matter, though what three Buddhist priests could
find to do in the Bay of Kirkmaiden is clean past my comprehension.”

My father raised his eyebrows to indicate the doubt which his
hospitality forbade him from putting into words.

“I think, gentlemen,” he said, “that you are both sorely in need of rest
after your perilous adventures. If you will follow me I shall lead you
to your rooms.”

He conducted them with old-fashioned ceremony to the laird's best spare
bedroom, and then, returning to me in the parlour, proposed that we
should go down together to the beach and learn whether anything fresh
had occurred.

The first pale light of dawn was just appearing in the east when we made
our way for the second time to the scene of the shipwreck. The gale had
blown itself out, but the sea was still very high, and all inside the
breakers was a seething, gleaming line of foam, as though the fierce old
ocean were gnashing its white fangs at the victims who had escaped from
its clutches.

All along the beach fishermen and crofters were hard at work hauling up
spars and barrels as fast as they were tossed ashore. None of them had
seen any bodies, however, and they explained to us that only such things
as could float had any chance of coming ashore, for the undercurrent was
so strong that whatever was beneath the surface must infallibly be swept
out to sea.

As to the possibility of the unfortunate passengers having been able to
reach the shore, these practical men would not hear of it for a moment,
and showed us conclusively that if they had not been drowned they must
have been dashed to pieces upon the rocks.

“We did all that could be done,” my father said sadly, as we returned
home. “I am afraid that the poor mate has had his reason affected by
the suddenness of the disaster. Did you hear what he said about Buddhist
priests raising a gale?”

“Yes, I heard him,” said I. “It was very painful to listen to him,” said
my father. “I wonder if he would object to my putting a small mustard
plaster under each of his ears. It would relieve any congestion of
the brain. Or perhaps it would be best to wake him up and give him two
antibilious pills. What do you think, Jack?”

“I think,” said I, with a yawn, “that you had best let him sleep, and go
to sleep yourself. You can physic him in the morning if he needs it.”

So saying I stumbled off to my bedroom, and throwing myself upon the
couch was soon in a dreamless slumber.




CHAPTER XII.
OF THE THREE FOREIGN MEN UPON THE COAST


It must have been eleven or twelve o'clock before I awoke, and it seemed
to me in the flood of golden light which streamed into my chamber that
the wild, tumultuous episodes of the night before must have formed part
of some fantastic dream.

It was hard to believe that the gentle breeze which whispered so softly
among the ivy-leaves around my window was caused by the same element
which had shaken the very house a few short hours before. It was as if
Nature had repented of her momentary passion and was endeavouring to
make amends to an injured world by its warmth and its sunshine. A chorus
of birds in the garden below filled the whole air with their wonder and
congratulations.

Down in the hall I found a number of the shipwrecked sailors, looking
all the better for their night's repose, who set up a buzz of pleasure
and gratitude upon seeing me.

Arrangements had been made to drive them to Wigtown, whence they were to
proceed to Glasgow by the evening train, and my father had given orders
that each should be served with a packet of sandwiches and hard-boiled
eggs to sustain him on the way.

Captain Meadows thanked us warmly in the name of his employers for the
manner in which we had treated them, and he called for three cheers from
his crew, which were very heartily given. He and the mate walked down
with us after we had broken our fast to have a last look at the scene of
the disaster.

The great bosom of the bay was still heaving convulsively, and its waves
were breaking into sobs against the rocks, but there was none of that
wild turmoil which we had seen in the early morning. The long, emerald
ridges, with their little, white crests of foam, rolled slowly and
majestically in, to break with a regular rhythm--the panting of a tired
monster.

A cable length from the shore we could see the mainmast of the barque
floating upon the waves, disappearing at times in the trough of the sea,
and then shooting up towards Heaven like a giant javelin, shining
and dripping as the rollers tossed it about. Other smaller pieces of
wreckage dotted the waters, while innumerable spars and packages were
littered over the sands. These were being drawn up and collected in
a place of safety by gangs of peasants. I noticed that a couple of
broad-winged gulls were hovering and skimming over the scene of the
shipwreck, as though many strange things were visible to them beneath
the waves. At times we could hear their raucous voices as they cried to
one another of what they saw.

“She was a leaky old craft,” said the captain, looking sadly out to sea,
“but there's always a feeling of sorrow when we see the last of a ship
we have sailed in. Well, well, she would have been broken up in any
case, and sold for firewood.”

“It looks a peaceful scene,” I remarked. “Who would imagine that three
men lost their lives last night in those very waters?”

“Poor fellows,” said the captain, with feeling. “Should they be cast
up after our departure, I am sure, Mr. West, that you will have them
decently interred.”

I was about to make some reply when the mate burst into a loud guffaw,
slapping his thigh and choking with merriment.

“If you want to bury them,” he said, “you had best look sharp, or they
may clear out of the country. You remember what I said last night? Just
look at the top of that 'ere hillock, and tell me whether I was in the
right or not?”

There was a high sand dune some little distance along the coast, and
upon the summit of this the figure was standing which had attracted the
mate's attention. The captain threw up his hands in astonishment as his
eyes rested upon it.

“By the eternal,” he shouted, “it's Ram Singh himself! Let us overhaul
him!”

Taking to his heels in his excitement he raced along the beach, followed
by the mate and myself, as well as by one or two of the fishermen who
had observed the presence of the stranger.

The latter, perceiving our approach, came down from his post of
observation and walked quietly in our direction, with his head sunk upon
his breast, like one who is absorbed in thought.

I could not help contrasting our hurried and tumultuous advance with the
gravity and dignity of this lonely Oriental, nor was the matter mended
when he raised a pair of steady, thoughtful dark eyes and inclined his
head in a graceful, sweeping salutation. It seemed to me that we were
like a pack of schoolboys in the presence of a master.

The stranger's broad, unruffled brow, his clear, searching gaze,
firm-set yet sensitive mouth, and clean-cut, resolute expression, all
combined to form the most imposing and noble presence which I had ever
known. I could not have imagined that such imperturbable calm and at
the same time such a consciousness of latent strength could have been
expressed by any human face.

He was dressed in a brown velveteen coat, loose, dark trousers, with a
shirt that was cut low in the collar, so as to show the muscular,
brown neck, and he still wore the red fez which I had noticed the night
before.

I observed with a feeling of surprise, as we approached him, that none
of these garments showed the slightest indication of the rough treatment
and wetting which they must have received during their wearer's
submersion and struggle to the shore.

“So you are none the worse for your ducking,” he said in a pleasant,
musical voice, looking from the captain to the mate. “I hope that your
poor sailors have found pleasant quarters.”

“We are all safe,” the captain answered. “But we had given you up for
lost--you and your two friends. Indeed, I was just making arrangements
for your burial with Mr. West here.”

The stranger looked at me and smiled.

“We won't give Mr. West that trouble for a little time yet,” he
remarked; “my friends and I came ashore all safe, and we have found
shelter in a hut a mile or so along the coast. It is lonely down there,
but we have everything which we can desire.”

“We start for Glasgow this afternoon,” said the captain; “I shall be
very glad if you will come with us. If you have not been in England
before you may find it awkward travelling alone.”

“We are very much indebted to you for your thoughtfulness,” Ram Singh
answered; “but we will not take advantage of your kind offer. Since
Nature has driven us here we intend to have a look about us before we
leave.”

“As you like,” the captain said, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't
think you are likely to find very much to interest you in this hole of a
place.”

“Very possibly not,” Ram Singh answered with an amused smile. “You
remember Milton's lines:

     'The mind is its own place, and in itself
     Can make a hell of Heaven, a heaven of Hell.'

I dare say we can spend a few days here comfortably enough. Indeed, I
think you must be wrong in considering this to be a barbarous locality.
I am much mistaken if this young gentleman's father is not Mr. James
Hunter West, whose name is known and honoured by the pundits of India.”

“My father is, indeed, a well-known Sanscrit scholar,” I answered in
astonishment.

“The presence of such a man,” observed the stranger slowly, “changes a
wilderness into a city. One great mind is surely a higher indication of
civilisation than are incalculable leagues of bricks and mortar.

“Your father is hardly so profound as Sir William Jones, or so universal
as the Baron Von Hammer-Purgstall, but he combines many of the virtues
of each. You may tell him, however, from me that he is mistaken in
the analogy which he has traced between the Samoyede and Tamulic word
roots.”

“If you have determined to honour our neighbourhood by a short stay,”
 said I, “you will offend my father very much if you do not put up with
him. He represents the laird here, and it is the laird's privilege,
according to our Scottish custom, to entertain all strangers of repute
who visit this parish.”

My sense of hospitality prompted me to deliver this invitation, though
I could feel the mate twitching at my sleeves as if to warn me that
the offer was, for some reason, an objectionable one. His fears were,
however, unnecessary, for the stranger signified by a shake of the head
that it was impossible for him to accept it.

“My friends and I are very much obliged to you,” he said, “but we have
our own reasons for remaining where we are. The hut which we occupy is
deserted and partly ruined, but we Easterns have trained ourselves to
do without most of those things which are looked upon as necessaries in
Europe, believing firmly in that wise axiom that a man is rich, not in
proportion to what he has, but in proportion to what he can dispense
with. A good fisherman supplies us with bread and with herbs, we have
clean, dry straw for our couches; what could man wish for more?”

“But you must feel the cold at night, coming straight from the tropics,”
 remarked the captain. “Perhaps our bodies are cold sometimes. We
have not noticed it. We have all three spent many years in the Upper
Himalayas on the border of the region of eternal snow, so we are not
very sensitive to inconveniences of the sort.”

“At least,” said I, “you must allow me to send you over some fish and
some meat from our larder.”

“We are not Christians,” he answered, “but Buddhists of the higher
school. We do not recognise that man has a moral right to slay an ox or
a fish for the gross use of his body. He has not put life into them, and
has assuredly no mandate from the Almighty to take life from them save
under most pressing need. We could not, therefore, use your gift if you
were to send it.”

“But, sir,” I remonstrated, “if in this changeable and inhospitable
climate you refuse all nourishing food your vitality will fail you--you
will die.”

“We shall die then,” he answered, with an amused smile. “And now,
Captain Meadows, I must bid you adieu, thanking you for your kindness
during the voyage, and you, too, good-bye--you will command a ship of
your own before the year is out. I trust, Mr. West, that I may see you
again before I leave this part of the country. Farewell!”

He raised his red fez, inclined his noble head with the stately grace
which characterised all his actions, and strode away in the direction
from which he had come.

“Let me congratulate you, Mr. Hawkins,” said the captain to the mate as
we walked homewards. “You are to command your own ship within the year.”

“No such luck!” the mate answered, with a pleased smile upon his
mahogany face, “still, there's no saying how things may come out. What
d'ye think of him, Mr. West?”

“Why,” said I, “I am very much interested in him. What a magnificent
head and bearing he has for a young man. I suppose he cannot be more
than thirty.”

“Forty,” said the mate.

“Sixty, if he is a day,” remarked Captain Meadows. “Why, I have heard
him talk quite familiarly of the first Afghan war. He was a man then,
and that is close on forty years ago.”

“Wonderful!” I ejaculated. “His skin is as smooth and his eyes are as
clear as mine are. He is the superior priest of the three, no doubt.”

“The inferior,” said the captain confidently. “That is why he does all
the talking for them. Their minds are too elevated to descend to mere
worldly chatter.”

“They are the strangest pieces of flotsam and jetsam that were ever
thrown upon this coast,” I remarked. “My father will be mightily
interested in them.”

“Indeed, I think the less you have to do with them the better for you,”
 said the mate. “If I do command my own ship I'll promise you that I
never carry live stock of that sort on board of her. But here we are all
aboard and the anchor tripped, so we must bid you good-bye.”

The wagonette had just finished loading up when we arrived, and the
chief places, on either side of the driver, had been reserved for my two
companions, who speedily sprang into them. With a chorus of cheers the
good fellows whirled away down the road, while my father, Esther, and I
stood upon the lawn and waved our hands to them until they disappeared
behind the Cloomber woods, _en route_ for the Wigtown railway station.
Barque and crew had both vanished now from our little world, the only
relic of either being the heaps of _débris_ upon the beach, which were
to lie there until the arrival of an agent from Lloyd's.




CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH I SEE THAT WHICH HAS BEEN SEEN BY FEW


At dinner that evening I mentioned to my father the episode of the three
Buddhist priests, and found, as I had expected, that he was very much
interested by my account of them.

When, however, he heard of the high manner in which Ram Singh had spoken
of him, and the distinguished position which he had assigned him among
philologists, he became so excited that it was all we could do to
prevent him from setting off then and there to make his acquaintance.

Esther and I were relieved and glad when we at last succeeded in
abstracting his boots and manoeuvring him to his bedroom, for the
exciting events of the last twenty-four hours had been too much for his
weak frame and delicate nerves.

I was sitting at the open porch in the gloaming, turning over in my
mind the unexpected events which had occurred so rapidly--the gale, the
wreck, the rescue, and the strange character of the castaways--when my
sister came quietly over to me and put her hand in mine.

“Don't you think, Jack,” she said, in her low, sweet voice, “that we
are forgetting our friends over at Cloomber? Hasn't all this excitement
driven their fears and their danger out of our heads?”

“Out of our heads, but never out of our hearts,” said I, laughing.
“However, you are right, little one, for our attention has certainly
been distracted from them. I shall walk up in the morning and see if I
can see anything of them. By the way, to-morrow is the fateful 5th of
October--one more day, and all will be well with us.”

“Or ill,” said my sister gloomily.

“Why, what a little croaker you are, to be sure!” I cried. “What in the
world is coming over you?”

“I feel nervous and low-spirited,” she answered, drawing closer to my
side and shivering. “I feel as if some great peril were hanging over the
heads of those we love. Why should these strange men wish to stay upon
the coast?”

“What, the Buddhists?” I said lightly. “Oh, these fellows have continual
feast-days and religious rites of all sorts. They have some very good
reason for staying, you may be sure.”

“Don't you think,” said Esther, in an awe-struck whisper, “that it is
very strange that these priests should arrive here all the way from
India just at the present moment? Have you not gathered from all you
have heard that the general's fears are in some way connected with India
and the Indians?”

The remark made me thoughtful.

“Why, now that you mention it,” I answered, “I have some vague
impression that the mystery is connected with some incident which
occurred in that country. I am sure, however, that your fears would
vanish if you saw Ram Singh. He is the very personification of wisdom
and benevolence. He was shocked at the idea of our killing a sheep, or
even a fish for his benefit--said he would rather die than have a hand
in taking the life of an animal.”

“It is very foolish of me to be so nervous,” said my sister bravely.
“But you must promise me one thing, Jack. You will go up to Cloomber in
the morning, and if you can see any of them you must tell them of these
strange neighbours of ours. They are better able to judge than we are
whether their presence has any significance or not.”

“All right, little one,” I answered, as we went indoors. “You have been
over-excited by all these wild doings, and you need a sound night's rest
to compose you. I'll do what you suggest, however, and our friends shall
judge for themselves whether these poor fellows should be sent about
their business or not.”

I made the promise to allay my sister's apprehensions, but in the bright
sunlight of morning it appeared less than absurd to imagine that our
poor vegetarian castaways could have any sinister intentions, or that
their advent could have any effect upon the tenant of Cloomber.

I was anxious, myself, however, to see whether I could see anything of
the Heatherstones, so after breakfast I walked up to the Hall. In their
seclusion it was impossible for them to have learnt anything of the
recent events. I felt, therefore, that even if I should meet the general
he could hardly regard me as an intruder while I had so much news to
communicate.

The place had the same dreary and melancholy appearance which always
characterised it. Looking through between the thick iron bars of the
main gateway there was nothing to be seen of any of the occupants. One
of the great Scotch firs had been blown down in the gale, and its long,
ruddy trunk lay right across the grass-grown avenue; but no attempt had
been made to remove it.

Everything about the property had the same air of desolation and
neglect, with the solitary exception of the massive and impenetrable
fencing, which presented as unbroken and formidable an obstacle as ever
to the would-be trespasser.

I walked round this barrier as far as our old trysting-place without
finding any flaw through which I could get a glimpse of the house, for
the fence had been repaired with each rail overlapping the last, so
as to secure absolute privacy for those inside, and to block those
peep-holes which I had formerly used.

At the old spot, however, where I had had the memorable interview with
the general on the occasion when he surprised me with his daughter, I
found that the two loose rails had been refixed in such a manner that
there was a gap of two inches or more between them.

Through this I had a view of the house and of part of the lawn in front
of it, and, though I could see no signs of life outside or at any of the
windows, I settled down with the intention of sticking to my post until
I had a chance of speaking to one or other of the inmates. Indeed, the
cold, dead aspect of the house had struck such a chill into my heart
that I determined to scale the fence at whatever risk of incurring
the general's displeasure rather than return without news of the
Heatherstones.

Happily there was no need of this extreme expedient, for I had not been
there half-an-hour before I heard the harsh sound of an opening lock,
and the general himself emerged from the main door.

To my surprise he was dressed in a military uniform, and that not the
uniform in ordinary use in the British Army. The red coat was strangely
cut and stained with the weather. The trousers had originally been
white, but had now faded to a dirty yellow. With a red sash across his
chest and a straight sword hanging from his side, he stood the living
example of a bygone type--the John Company's officer of forty years ago.

He was followed by the ex-tramp, Corporal Rufus Smith, now well-clad and
prosperous, who limped along beside his master, the two pacing up and
down the lawn absorbed in conversation. I observed that from time to
time one or other of them would pause and glance furtively all about
them, as though guarding keenly against a surprise. I should have
preferred communicating with the general alone, but since there was no
dissociating him from his companion, I beat loudly on the fencing with
my stick to attract their attention. They both faced round in a moment,
and I could see from their gestures that they were disturbed and
alarmed.

I then elevated my stick above the barrier to show them where the sound
proceeded from. At this the general began to walk in my direction with
the air of a man who is bracing himself up for an effort, but the other
caught him by the wrist and endeavoured to dissuade him.

It was only when I shouted out my name and assured them that I was alone
that I could prevail upon them to approach. Once assured of my identity
the general ran eagerly towards me and greeted me with the utmost
cordiality.

“This is truly kind of you, West,” he said. “It is only at such times
as these that one can judge who is a friend and who not. It would not be
fair to you to ask you to come inside or to stay any time, but I am none
the less very glad to see you.”

“I have been anxious about you all,” I said, “for it is some little
time since I have seen or heard from any of you. How have you all been
keeping?”

“Why, as well as could be expected. But we will be better tomorrow--we
will be different men to-morrow, eh, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir,” said the corporal, raising his hand to his forehead in a
military salute. “We'll be right as the bank to-morrow.”

“The corporal and I are a little disturbed in our minds just now,” the
general explained, “but I have no doubt that all will come right. After
all, there is nothing higher than Providence, and we are all in His
hands. And how have you been, eh?”

“We have been very busy for one thing,” said I. “I suppose you have
heard nothing of the great shipwreck?”

“Not a word,” the general answered listlessly.

“I thought the noise of the wind would prevent you hearing the signal
guns. She came ashore in the bay the night before last--a great barque
from India.”

“From India!” ejaculated the general.

“Yes. Her crew were saved, fortunately, and have all been sent on to
Glasgow.”

“All sent on!” cried the general, with a face as bloodless as a corpse.

“All except three rather strange characters who claim to be Buddhist
priests. They have decided to remain for a few days upon the coast.”

The words were hardly out of my mouth when the general dropped upon his
knees with his long, thin arms extended to Heaven.

“Thy will be done!” he cried in a cracking voice. “Thy blessed will be
done!”

I could see through the crack that Corporal Rufus Smith's face had
turned to a sickly yellow shade, and that he was wiping the perspiration
from his brow.

“It's like my luck!” he said. “After all these years, to come when I
have got a snug billet.”

“Never mind, my lad,” the general said, rising, and squaring his
shoulders like a man who braces himself up for an effort. “Be it what
it may we'll face it as British soldiers should. D'ye remember at
Chillianwallah, when you had to run from your guns to our square, and
the Sikh horse came thundering down on our bayonets? We didn't flinch
then, and we won't flinch now. It seems to me that I feel better than I
have done for years. It was the uncertainty that was killing me.”

“And the infernal jingle-jangle,” said the corporal. “Well, we all go
together--that's some consolation.”

“Good-bye, West,” said the general. “Be a good husband to Gabriel,
and give my poor wife a home. I don't think she will trouble you long.
Good-bye! God bless you!”

“Look here, General,” I said, peremptorily breaking off a piece of wood
to make communication more easy, “this sort of thing has been going on
too long. What are these hints and allusions and innuendoes? It is time
we had a little plain speaking. What is it you fear? Out with it! Are
you in dread of these Hindoos? If you are, I am able, on my father's
authority, to have them arrested as rogues and vagabonds.”

“No, no, that would never do,” he answered, shaking his head. “You will
learn about the wretched business soon enough. Mordaunt knows where to
lay his hand upon the papers bearing on the matter. You can consult him
about it to-morrow.”

“But surely,” I cried, “if the peril is so imminent something may be
done to avert it. If you would but tell me what you fear I should know
how to act.”

“My dear friend,” he said, “there is nothing to be done, so calm
yourself, and let things take their course. It has been folly on my part
to shelter myself behind mere barriers of wood and stone. The fact
is, that inaction was terrible to me, and I felt that to do anything,
however futile, in the nature of a precaution, was better than passive
resignation. My humble friend here and I have placed ourselves in a
position in which, I trust, no poor fellow will ever find himself
again. We can only recommend ourselves to the unfailing goodness of the
Almighty, and trust that what we have endured in this world may lessen
our atonement in the world to come. I must leave you now, for I have
many papers to destroy and much to arrange. Good-bye!”

He pushed his hand through the hole which I had made, and grasped mine
in a solemn farewell, after which he walked back to the Hall with a firm
and decided step, still followed by the crippled and sinister corporal.

I walked back to Branksome much disturbed by this interview, and
extremely puzzled as to what course I should pursue.

It was evident now that my sister's suspicions were correct, and that
there was some very intimate connection between the presence of the
three Orientals and the mysterious peril which hung over the towers of
Cloomber.

It was difficult for me to associate the noble-faced Ram Singh's gentle,
refined manner and words of wisdom with any deed of violence, yet now
that I thought of it I could see that a terrible capacity for wrath lay
behind his shaggy brows and dark, piercing eyes.

I felt that of all men whom I had ever met he was the one whose
displeasure I should least care to face. But how could two men so
widely dissociated as the foul-mouthed old corporal of artillery and
the distinguished Anglo-Indian general have each earned the ill-will of
these strange castaways? And if the danger were a positive physical one,
why should he not consent to my proposal to have the three men placed
under custody--though I confess it would have gone much against my grain
to act in so inhospitable a manner upon such vague and shadowy grounds.

These questions were absolutely unanswerable, and yet the solemn words
and the terrible gravity which I had seen in the faces of both the
old soldiers forbade me from thinking that their fears were entirely
unfounded.

It was all a puzzle--an absolutely insoluble puzzle.

One thing at least was clear to me--and that was that in the present
state of my knowledge, and after the general's distinct prohibition,
it was impossible for me to interfere in any way. I could only wait and
pray that, whatever the danger might be, it might pass over, or at least
that my dear Gabriel and her brother might be protected against it.

I was walking down the lane lost in thought, and had got as far as the
wicket gate which opens upon the Branksome lawn, when I was surprised to
hear my father's voice raised in most animated and excited converse.

The old man had been of late so abstracted from the daily affairs of the
world, and so absorbed in his own special studies, that it was difficult
to engage his attention upon any ordinary, mundane topic. Curious to
know what it was that had drawn him so far out of himself, I opened
the gate softly, and walking quietly round the laurel bushes, found him
sitting, to my astonishment, with none other than the very man who was
occupying my thoughts, Ram Singh, the Buddhist.

The two were sitting upon a garden bench, and the Oriental appeared to
be laying down some weighty proposition, checking every point upon his
long, quivering, brown fingers, while my father, with his hands thrown
abroad and his face awry, was loud in protestation and in argument.

So absorbed were they in their controversy, that I stood within a
hand-touch of them for a minute or more before they became conscious of
my presence.

On observing me the priest sprang to his feet and greeted me with the
same lofty courtesy and dignified grace which had so impressed me the
day before.

“I promised myself yesterday,” he said, “the pleasure of calling upon
your father. You see I have kept my word. I have even been daring enough
to question his views upon some points in connection with the Sanscrit
and Hindoo tongues, with the result that we have been arguing for
an hour or more without either of us convincing the other. Without
pretending to as deep a theoretical knowledge as that which has made the
name of James Hunter West a household word among Oriental scholars,
I happen to have given considerable attention to this one point, and
indeed I am in a position to say that I know his views to be unsound.
I assure you, sir, that up to the year 700, or even later, Sanscrit was
the ordinary language of the great bulk of the inhabitants of India.”

“And I assure you, sir,” said my father warmly, “that it was dead and
forgotten at that date, save by the learned, who used it as a vehicle
for scientific and religious works--just as Latin was used in the Middle
Ages long after it had ceased to be spoken by any European nation.”

“If you consult the puranas you will find,” said Ram Singh, “that this
theory, though commonly received, is entirely untenable.”

“And if you will consult the Ramayana, and more particularly the
canonical books on Buddhist discipline,” cried my father, “you will find
that the theory is unassailable.”

“But look at the Kullavagga,” said our visitor earnestly.

“And look at King Asoka,” shouted my father triumphantly. “When, in the
year 300 before the Christian era--before, mind you--he ordered the laws
of Buddha to be engraved upon the rocks, what language did he employ,
eh? Was it Sanscrit?--no! And why was it not Sanscrit? Because the lower
orders of his subjects would not have been able to understand a word
of it. Ha, ha! That was the reason. How are you going to get round King
Asoka's edicts, eh?”

“He carved them in the various dialects,” Ram Singh answered. “But
energy is too precious a thing to be wasted in mere wind in this style.
The sun has passed its meridian, and I must return to my companions.”

“I am sorry that you have not brought them to see us,” said my father
courteously. He was, I could see, uneasy lest in the eagerness of debate
he had overstepped the bounds of hospitality.

“They do not mix with the world,” Ram Singh answered, rising to
his feet. “They are of a higher grade than I, and more sensitive to
contaminating influences. They are immersed in a six months' meditation
upon the mystery of the third incarnation, which has lasted with few
intermissions from the time that we left the Himalayas. I shall not see
you again, Mr. Hunter West, and I therefore bid you farewell. Your old
age will be a happy one, as it deserves to be, and your Eastern studies
will have a lasting effect upon the knowledge and literature of your own
country. Farewell!”

“And am I also to see no more of you?” I asked.

“Unless you will walk with me along the sea-shore,” he answered. “But
you have already been out this morning, and may be tired. I ask too much
of you.”

“Nay, I should be delighted to come,” I responded from my heart, and we
set off together, accompanied for some little distance by my father, who
would gladly, I could see, have reopened the Sanscrit controversy, had
not his stock of breath been too limited to allow of his talking and
walking at the same time.

“He is a learned man,” Ram Singh remarked, after we had left him behind,
“but, like many another, he is intolerant towards opinions which differ
from his own. He will know better some day.”

I made no answer to this observation, and we trudged along for a time in
silence, keeping well down to the water's edge, where the sands afforded
a good foothold.

The sand dunes which lined the coast formed a continuous ridge upon our
left, cutting us off entirely from all human observation, while on the
right the broad Channel stretched away with hardly a sail to break its
silvery uniformity. The Buddhist priest and I were absolutely alone with
Nature.

I could not help reflecting that if he were really the dangerous man
that the mate affected to consider him, or that might be inferred from
the words of General Heatherstone, I had placed myself completely in his
power.

Yet such was the majestic benignity of the man's aspect, and the
unruffled serenity of his deep, dark eyes, that I could afford in his
presence to let fear and suspicion blow past me as lightly as the breeze
which whistled round us. His face might be stern, and even terrible, but
I felt that he could never be unjust.

As I glanced from time to time at his noble profile and the sweep of his
jet-black beard, his rough-spun tweed travelling suit struck me with
an almost painful sense of incongruity, and I re-clothed him in my
imagination with the grand, sweeping Oriental costume which is the
fitting and proper frame for such a picture--the only garb which does
not detract from the dignity and grace of the wearer.

The place to which he led me was a small fisher cottage which had been
deserted some years before by its tenant, but still stood gaunt and
bare, with the thatch partly blown away and the windows and doors in
sad disrepair. This dwelling, which the poorest Scotch beggar would have
shrunk from, was the one which these singular men had preferred to the
proffered hospitality of the laird's house. A small garden, now a mass
of tangled brambles, stood round it, and through this my acquaintance
picked his way to the ruined door. He glanced into the house and then
waved his hand for me to follow him.

“You have now an opportunity,” he said, in a subdued, reverential voice,
“of seeing a spectacle which few Europeans have had the privilege of
beholding. Inside that cottage you will find two Yogis--men who are only
one remove from the highest plane of adeptship. They are both wrapped
in an ecstatic trance, otherwise I should not venture to obtrude your
presence upon them. Their astral bodies have departed from them, to be
present at the feast of lamps in the holy Lamasery of Rudok in Tibet.
Tread lightly lest by stimulating their corporeal functions you recall
them before their devotions are completed.”

Walking slowly and on tiptoe, I picked my way through the weed-grown
garden, and peered through the open doorway.

There was no furniture in the dreary interior, nor anything to cover the
uneven floor save a litter of fresh straw in a corner.

Among this straw two men were crouching, the one small and wizened, the
other large-boned and gaunt, with their legs crossed in Oriental fashion
and their heads sunk upon their breasts. Neither of them looked up, or
took the smallest notice of our presence.

They were so still and silent that they might have been two bronze
statues but for the slow and measured rhythm of their breathing. Their
faces, however, had a peculiar, ashen-grey colour, very different from
the healthy brown of my companion's, and I observed, on stooping my
head, that only the whites of their eyes were visible, the balls being
turned upwards beneath the lids.

In front of them upon a small mat lay an earthenware pitcher of water
and half-a-loaf of bread, together with a sheet of paper inscribed with
certain cabalistic characters. Ram Singh glanced at these, and then,
motioning to me to withdraw, followed me out into the garden.

“I am not to disturb them until ten o'clock,” he said. “You have now
seen in operation one of the grandest results of our occult philosophy,
the dissociation of spirit from body. Not only are the spirits of these
holy men standing at the present moment by the banks of the Ganges, but
those spirits are clothed in a material covering so identical with their
real bodies that none of the faithful will ever doubt that Lal Hoomi and
Mowdar Khan are actually among them. This is accomplished by our power
of resolving an object into its chemical atoms, of conveying these
atoms with a speed which exceeds that of lightning to any given spot,
and of there re-precipitating them and compelling them to retake their
original form. Of old, in the days of our ignorance, it was necessary to
convey the whole body in this way, but we have since found that it was
as easy and more convenient to transmit material enough merely to build
up an outside shell or semblance. This we have termed the astral body.”

“But if you can transmit your spirits so readily,” I observed, “why
should they be accompanied by any body at all?”

“In communicating with brother initiates we are able to employ our
spirits only, but when we wish to come in contact with ordinary mankind
it is essential that we should appear in some form which they can see
and comprehend.”

“You have interested me deeply in all that you have told me,” I said,
grasping the hand which Ram Singh had held out to me as a sign that
our interview was at an end. “I shall often think of our short
acquaintance.”

“You will derive much benefit from it,” he said slowly, still holding my
hand and looking gravely and sadly into my eyes. “You must remember that
what will happen in the future is not necessarily bad because it does
not fall in with your preconceived ideas of right. Be not hasty in your
judgments. There are certain great rules which must be carried out, at
whatever cost to individuals. Their operation may appear to you to be
harsh and cruel, but that is as nothing compared with the dangerous
precedent which would be established by not enforcing them. The ox and
the sheep are safe from us, but the man with the blood of the highest
upon his hands should not and shall not live.”

He threw up his arms at the last words with a fierce, threatening
gesture, and, turning away from me, strode back to the ruined hut.

I stood gazing after him until he disappeared through the doorway, and
then started off for home, revolving in my mind all that I had heard,
and more particularly this last outburst of the occult philosopher.

Far on the right I could see the tall, white tower of Cloomber standing
out clear-cut and sharp against a dark cloud-bank which rose behind it.
I thought how any traveller who chanced to pass that way would envy in
his heart the tenant of that magnificent building, and how little
they would guess the strange terrors, the nameless dangers, which were
gathering about his head. The black cloud-wrack was but the image, I
reflected, of the darker, more sombre storm which was about to burst.

“Whatever it all means, and however it happens,” I ejaculated, “God
grant that the innocent be not confounded with the guilty.”

My father, when I reached home, was still in a ferment over his learned
disputation with the stranger.

“I trust, Jack,” he said, “that I did not handle him too roughly. I
should remember that I am _in loco magistri_, and be less prone to argue
with my guests. Yet, when he took up this most untenable position, I
could not refrain from attacking him and hurling him out of it, which
indeed I did, though you, who are ignorant of the niceties of the
question, may have failed to perceive it. You observed, however, that my
reference to King Asoka's edicts was so conclusive that he at once rose
and took his leave.”

“You held your own bravely,” I answered, “but what is your impression of
the man now that you have seen him?”

“Why,” said my father, “he is one of those holy men who, under the
various names of Sannasis, Yogis, Sevras, Qualanders, Hakims, and Cufis
have devoted their lives to the study of the mysteries of the Buddhist
faith. He is, I take it, a theosophist, or worshipper of the God of
knowledge, the highest grade of which is the adept. This man and his
companions have not attained this high position or they could not have
crossed the sea without contamination. It is probable that they are all
advanced chelas who hope in time to attain to the supreme honour of
adeptship.”

“But, father,” interrupted my sister, “this does not explain why men of
such sanctity and attainments should choose to take up their quarters on
the shores of a desolate Scotch bay.”

“Ah, there you get beyond me,” my father answered. “I may suggest,
however, that it is nobody's business but their own, so long as they
keep the peace and are amenable to the law of the land.”

“Have you ever heard,” I asked, “that these higher priests of whom you
speak have powers which are unknown to us?”

“Why, Eastern literature is full of it. The Bible is an Eastern book,
and is it not full of the record of such powers from cover to cover?
It is unquestionable that they have in the past known many of Nature's
secrets which are lost to us. I cannot say, however, from my own
knowledge that the modern theosophists really possess the powers that
they claim.”

“Are they a vindictive class of people?” I asked. “Is there any offence
among them which can only be expiated by death?”

“Not that I know of,” my father answered, raising his white eyebrows
in surprise. “You appear to be in an inquisitive humour this
afternoon--what is the object of all these questions? Have our Eastern
neighbours aroused your curiosity or suspicion in any way?”

I parried the question as best I might, for I was unwilling to let the
old man know what was in my mind. No good purpose could come from his
enlightenment; his age and his health demanded rest rather than anxiety;
and indeed, with the best will in the world I should have found it
difficult to explain to another what was so very obscure to myself. For
every reason I felt that it was best that he should be kept in the dark.

Never in all my experience had I known a day pass so slowly as did that
eventful 5th of October. In every possible manner I endeavoured to while
away the tedious hours, and yet it seemed as if darkness would never
arrive.

I tried to read, I tried to write, I paced about the lawn, I walked to
the end of the lane, I put new flies upon my fishing-hooks, I began to
index my father's library--in a dozen ways I endeavoured to relieve the
suspense which was becoming intolerable. My sister, I could see, was
suffering from the same feverish restlessness.

Again and again our good father remonstrated with us in his mild way for
our erratic behaviour and the continual interruption of his work which
arose from it.

At last, however, the tea was brought, and the tea was taken, the
curtains were drawn, the lamps lit, and after another interminable
interval the prayers were read and the servants dismissed to their
rooms. My father compounded and swallowed his nightly jorum of toddy,
and then shuffled off to his room, leaving the two of us in the parlour
with our nerves in a tingle and our minds full of the most vague and yet
terrible apprehensions.




CHAPTER XIV.
OF THE VISITOR WHO RAN DOWN THE ROAD IN THE NIGHT-TIME


It was a quarter past ten o'clock by the parlour timepiece when my
father went off to his room, and left Esther and myself together. We
heard his slow steps dying away up the creaking staircase, until the
distant slamming of a door announced that he had reached his sanctum.

The simple oil lamp upon the table threw a weird, uncertain light over
the old room, flickering upon the carved oak panelling, and casting
strange, fantastic shadows from the high-elbowed, straight-backed
furniture. My sister's white, anxious face stood out in the obscurity
with a startling exactness of profile like one of Rembrandt's portraits.

We sat opposite to each other on either side of the table with no sound
breaking the silence save the measured ticking of the clock and the
intermittent chirping of a cricket beneath the grate.

There was something awe-inspiring in the absolute stillness. The
whistling of a belated peasant upon the high road was a relief to us,
and we strained our ears to catch the last of his notes as he plodded
steadily homewards.

At first we had made some pretence--she of knitting and I of
reading--but we soon abandoned the useless deception, and sat uneasily
waiting, starting and glancing at each other with questioning eyes
whenever the faggot crackled in the fire or a rat scampered behind the
wainscot. There was a heavy electrical feeling in the air, which weighed
us down with a foreboding of disaster.

I rose and flung the hall door open to admit the fresh breeze of the
night. Ragged clouds swept across the sky, and the moon peeped out at
times between their hurrying fringes, bathing the whole countryside in
its cold, white radiance. From where I stood in the doorway I could see
the edge of the Cloomber wood, though the house itself was only
visible from the rising ground some little distance off. At my sister's
suggestion we walked together, she with her shawl over her head, as far
as the summit of this elevation, and looked out in the direction of the
Hall.

There was no illumination of the windows tonight. From roof to basement
not a light twinkled in any part of the great building. Its huge mass
loomed up dark and sullen amid the trees which surrounded it, looking
more like some giant sarcophagus than a human habitation.

To our overwrought nerves there was something of terror in its mere bulk
and its silence. We stood for some little time peering at it through the
darkness, and then we made our way back to the parlour again, where
we sat waiting--waiting, we knew not for what, and yet with absolute
conviction that some terrible experience was in store for us.

It was twelve o'clock or thereabout when my sister suddenly sprang to
her feet and held up her fingers to bespeak attention.

“Do you hear nothing?” she asked.

I strained my ears, but without success.

“Come to the door,” she cried, with a trembling voice. “Now can you hear
anything?”

In the deep silence of the night I distinctly heard a dull, murmuring,
clattering sound, continuous apparently, but very faint and low.

“What is it?” I asked, in a subdued voice.

“It's the sound of a man running towards us,” she answered, and then,
suddenly dropping the last semblance of self-command, she fell upon
her knees beside the table and began praying aloud with that frenzied
earnestness which intense, overpowering fear can produce, breaking off
now and again into half-hysterical whimperings.

I could distinguish the sound clearly enough now to know that her quick,
feminine perception had not deceived her, and that it was indeed caused
by a running man.

On he came, and on down the high road, his footfalls ringing out clearer
and sharper every moment. An urgent messenger he must be, for he neither
paused nor slackened his pace.

The quick, crisp rattle was changed suddenly to a dull, muffled murmur.
He had reached the point where sand had been recently laid down for
a hundred yards or so. In a few moments, however, he was back on hard
ground again and his flying feet came nearer and ever nearer.

He must, I reflected, be abreast of the head of the lane now. Would he
hold on? Or would he turn down to Branksome?

The thought had hardly crossed my mind when I heard by the difference of
the sound that the runner had turned the corner, and that his goal was
beyond all question the laird's house.

Rushing down to the gate of the lawn, I reached it just as our visitor
dashed it open and fell into my arms. I could see in the moonlight that
it was none other than Mordaunt Heatherstone.

“What has happened?” I cried. “What is amiss, Mordaunt?”

“My father!” he gasped--“my father!”

His hat was gone, his eyes dilated with terror, and his face as
bloodless as that of a corpse. I could feel that the hands which clasped
my arms were quivering and shaking with emotion.

“You are exhausted,” I said, leading him into the parlour. “Give
yourself a moment's rest before you speak to us. Be calm, man, you are
with your best friends.”

I laid him on the old horsehair sofa, while Esther, whose fears had all
flown to the winds now that something practical was to be done, dashed
some brandy into a tumbler and brought it to him. The stimulant had a
marvellous effect upon him, for the colour began to come back into his
pale cheeks and the light of recognition in his eyes.

He sat up and took Esther's hand in both of his, like a man who is
waking out of some bad dream and wishes to assure himself that he is
really in safety.

“Your father?” I asked. “What of him?”

“He is gone.”

“Gone!”

“Yes; he is gone; and so is Corporal Rufus Smith. We shall never set
eyes upon them again.”

“But where have they gone?” I cried. “This is unworthy of you, Mordaunt.
What right have we to sit here, allowing our private feelings to
overcome us, while there is a possibility of succouring your father? Up,
man! Let us follow him. Tell me only what direction he took.”

“It's no use,” young Heatherstone answered, burying his face in
his hands. “Don't reproach me, West, for you don't know all the
circumstances. What can we do to reverse the tremendous and unknown laws
which are acting against us? The blow has long been hanging over us, and
now it has fallen. God help us!”

“In Heaven's name tell me what has happened?” said I excitedly. “We must
not yield to despair.”

“We can do nothing until daybreak,” he answered. “We shall then
endeavour to obtain some trace of them. It is hopeless at present.”

“And how about Gabriel and Mrs. Heatherstone?” I asked. “Can we
not bring them down from the Hall at once? Your poor sister must be
distracted with terror.”

“She knows nothing of it,” Mordaunt answered. “She sleeps at the other
side of the house, and has not heard or seen anything. As to my poor
mother, she has expected some such event for so long a time that it has
not come upon her as a surprise. She is, of course, overwhelmed with
grief, but would, I think, prefer to be left to herself for the
present. Her firmness and composure should be a lesson to me, but I am
constitutionally excitable, and this catastrophe coming after our long
period of suspense deprived me of my very reason for a time.”

“If we can do nothing until the morning,” I said, “you have time to tell
us all that has occurred.”

“I will do so,” he answered, rising and holding his shaking hands to the
fire. “You know already that we have had reason for some time--for many
years in fact--to fear that a terrible retribution was hanging over my
father's head for a certain action of his early life. In this action he
was associated with the man known as Corporal Rufus Smith, so that the
fact of the latter finding his way to my father was a warning to us that
the time had come, and that this 5th of October--the anniversary of the
misdeed--would be the day of its atonement. I told you of our fears
in my letter, and, if I am not mistaken, my father also had some
conversation with you, John, upon the subject. When I saw yesterday
morning that he had hunted out the old uniform which he had always
retained since he wore it in the Afghan war, I was sure that the end was
at hand, and that our forebodings would be realised.

“He appeared to be more composed in the afternoon than I have seen him
for years, and spoke freely of his life in India and of the incidents of
his youth. About nine o'clock he requested us to go up to our own rooms,
and locked us in there--a precaution which he frequently took when the
dark fit was upon him. It was always his endeavour, poor soul, to keep
us clear of the curse which had fallen upon his own unfortunate head.
Before parting from us he tenderly embraced my mother and Gabriel,
and 

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